Living Room

 Losing our hair can be the most emotional challenge of chemotherapy.  Our hair is our power. Our style defines who we are: short & sassy, prim & proper, rebellious, etc. Our hair can reveal our heritage as well as our health. It can reveal who we admire or even our self-esteem.

When you come out of the storm, You won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about. ~ Haruki Murakami When I first saw this quote, I thought of Jesus calming the storm (Matthew 8:23-27; Luke 8:22-25); however, that story is more about who Jesus is and often leaves us feeling weak in our faith.  Sometimes we need that reminder to renew our faith, but more often were looking to calm the storm. The story I turned to instead is that of Jonah* fleeing Ninevah (Jonah 1-2). When the storm arose, Jonah asked to be thrown overboard, into the chaos of the waters, to save the others. Sometimes what saves us from the storm is entering it fully. It is not about fight or flight, but the courage to face the beast and letting it swallow us. It's terrifying! Fear dominates when we face a possibly terminal illness.   The story of Jonah is a classic Hero's Journey, a journey of transformation. Something calls us to the journey (often a medical crisis) and o

 I wrote these back in the mid-80's. My father was diagnosed with melanoma while I was in college; my mother with breast cancer while I was in seminary. This was my response after her diagnosis. He lived 20 more years; she, 30 more years. Yes, my parents have cancer. BOTH my parents now have cancer. And maybe they will die, But maybe they won’t. I don’t know. I just don’t know.   Why do you hide from me? Why, in this moment,

I wrote this at the end of my chemo   I am uncomfortable with the militaristic language used in cancer treatment - warrior, fight, attack, destroy, etc. Such violent language is more wounding than healing. Instead, I've come to appreciate the image of pilgrimage.