The Rutter

I asked the choir to come to morning rehearsal fifteen minutes early. Thursday night only about half the singers were brave enough to battle the yucky weather to work on the Rutter, and we had only a short rehearsal, dismissing early to get home before the next wave of snow hit.

This morning, we jumped right in, working first without the oboe to help everyone remember how the passages go, where the timing is tricky (triplets followed by eighths and ties all over), how to find starting pitches without help from the accompaniment. It is a more demanding piece than we usually tackle. But well worth the effort.

They stepped right up and worked hard, repeating the trickier parts, speaking the words in rhythm, asking for help with entrances. Then we added the oboe. They have the same reaction I did the first time I sang the piece. You are so drawn into the music as the oboe and piano unfold it that you forget to sing! The sopranos missed the first entrance just as I had done.

Isn't it great when you get so caught up in music? Imagine if I had also been able to get a harp! We reached a good place where everyone knew their part and what to do, and I didn't want to over rehearse, so we stopped even though we had a few more minutes before service.

Then it was time to process. The congregation was noisy, restless. We had to scramble to add a chair (what a great problem to have!), the opening hymn a bit bumpy. Suddenly it was time. The choir stood, and I looked at their faces, proud of the work they had done. I look at the pianist and oboe player, raised my hand, and the wash of beauty began. Each phrase was clear, each line of text well sung.

It was as if I were conducting and watching us at the same time, that unique experience of awareness and enjoyment simultaneously - a sort of floating, suspended outside of time. Yes, it is going well. Even when the timing gets a tad off, we stay together and recover within a few barlines. We sing the final "forever" and the music fades, dies away. The place is silent, savoring, wishing it could go on longer. Then the appreciative applause. Well done, choir! Well done, musicians!

We connect with millions of others who have been uplifted by Psalm 23 for centuries, and by thousands who have heard this setting. We connect with David of old and Jesus of newer and Paul and Augustine and Bonhoeffer and Schaeffer and that host of witnesses long since passed. And with each other. And we know. The Lord IS my shepherd, I shall not want. Amen.

Calisthenics for the Soul

Despite my best laid plans, I cannot seem to get free to keep my dates with the Gulik Gym. I want to exercise. I feel better afterwards. I can sense more strength and less wobbliness after even a single round on the machines. But life keeps interfering. Between snowstorms, kids' schedules, car accidents (Kiel's - nothing major), and teeth, I constantly run into roadblocks.

Today, for example. I had planned to spend the morning at the gym. But my whole mouth aches. Apparently the cutting/stitching took a bigger toll than I realized. I have been gentle, following directions (no spitting, drinking through a straw, brushing teeth, eating spicy or hot foods and drinks, chewing on the other side even though its still tender from the extraction two weeks ago, etc.)

I wake early enough to go, work out, and return before Drew needs to be at Robotics. But I haven't the umpf to drag my weary self out from between the warm covers, shiver into my sweatpants and bound downstairs, battling snow and yuck just to force my muscles to run through the demanding routine. Sigh.

I am so lazy. I know better, but I roll over and slip back to sleep, cradling my throbbing cheek and wishing time would take me beyond the healing process to the point of wellness. Sad how little it takes to make me lose my resolve! Visions of a svelte, well-honed physique are not enough motivation. Besides, I have to work at the library this afternoon. I need to conserve my energy (sounds reasonable enough!).

Drew and I finally head out for Robotics, and I recognize that some of my tiredness comes from having to take the Tylenol. I look at Drew. He is tired too. Last night he didn't get home until 10:30 from Robotics. Because this robot must be built and shipped by the end of the month, the team puts in long hours. They enjoy it, but even young kids get worn down.

I suggest to Drew that he and I pay no attention to the clock which says we are already ten minutes late and take a few minutes to take care of us. He readily agrees. We make a detour to Wegmans to select some fortifying comfort food, then push back the seats in the car, turn on an Adventures in Odyssey CD and listen to some stories while munching away. We are quickly drawn into the action, forgetting the stress of deadlines and workloads.

Though we didn't spend even a half hour taking our mini vacation, it was wonderfully rejuvenating. He finished eating first (I take a long time trying to avoid the owie places in my mouth) and lay his seat back to rest. Without rushing, I returned him to school for his long day of building a soccer playing robot and I got to work with time to spare.

It was nice. Not the Gulik, but perhaps calisthenics for the soul. Deep breath. Then back to life.

Tooth Again

Once more I find myself taking an afternoon off work to sit in the dental emergency room. Another tooth has fractured and it is paining on and off. I don't want to suffer through a weekend, and anyways, Monday is a busy day. Since my calendar is free of obligation, I seize the opportunity and head out.


I have never been to the dental ER in the late afternoon, and I am concerned that I might have to wait until late in the evening to be seen. But its better than the alternative. When I check in, I ask if there are a lot of people waiting to be seen. "Not bad," the receptionist tells me. True, the waiting room isn't excessively overcrowded. I have my book to read for class assignment, and am hopeful that the time will go fast.


I pay attention to who gets called back for x rays ahead of me. It appears there is one man and two women. Not bad. The wait turns out to be only an hour and fifteen minutes. The woman ahead of me comes out in a dither. She asks how to register a complaint. I listen to her litany of issues. The dentist was rude and uncaring, a regular b----.


It seems that her dentist was only interested in going home and getting the heck out of there. The dentist was tired and felt upset that this woman had spent tons of money on her nails and hair (both beautiful) but couldn't manage to see the dentist for regular check-ups. She didn't deserve consideration just because she had been negligent and now had a terrible infection. So they drilled the tooth open and left it. She was instructed to come back Monday. No prescriptions for the infection were given. And the patient was fuming.


Oh, Lord, please don't let me get that dentist. They call my name, and as soon as I am seated, I know I did get that dentist. She was curt, looked at my xray, said the tooth was bad and she was going to pull it. She whisked out of the room, leaving me with the assistant who was mumbling in the background, "I just want to go home. Let me out of here. How many more do we have to deal with. Its 5 o'clock. Any decent person would be on their way home now. Just let me go."


What to do? I sure don't want to be subjected to unnecessary agony because people are overworked and unhappy! I pray hard for wisdom. The dentist returns and shoots me full of novacaine. While we wait for it to take effect, I ask innocently, "Has it been busy here today?" It was like lancing a boil. The poor dentist practically exploded with her angst and distress. A floodgate was opened and it wasn't going to stop any time soon.


I listened carefully, nodding, expressing rightfully deserved sympathy, and apologizing for her difficult situation. She stared at me for a minute, raised her chin, and said,"We are professionals here. We should be used to this by now. Do you know what that last b---- said to me? I asked her if she was allergic to anything, and she said 'YOU' - can you imagine saying something like that? Why do people hate dentists?"


Ah, now we are getting somewhere! I quietly said, "I, for one, LOVE dentists. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate being able to come and see you and have this tooth taken care of." I leaned back and looked at the assistant and said, "And I am really glad you are here to help. You make all the difference between uncomfortable and pleasant. I am delighted for your care."



The two looked at each other over my head in silence, their eyes locking. Then the dentist said, "Well, now. You just moved into 'the best care possible' scenario. I am going to see to it that you are coddled to the max." The assistant agreed. Whew! I was especially worried about removing this tooth because there is only a teensy little nub showing above the gum line. I have concerns about them having to dig around in my gums.



She took a longer look at my chart, telling me once again that this damage is partially caused by the treatment I have undergone. She recommends Biotin, a mouth rinse that will help with the dry mouth syndrome that contributes to this problem (though its probably too little too late at this point). And so she begins.



Some poking and prodding, chiseling and wiggling. I am beginning to wonder when she will bring out the pliers when she says, "It's out." Really? I can hardly believe it. "Believe it. Unless you want me to put it back and try again." Very funny. Everyone laughs. She has had to cut the gum, and insert something to stem the bloodflow. Four stitches later and a mouth full of gauze, I am on my way out the door, wobbling back to my car.



Thank you, Lord for the intervention and helping get things back on an even keel. Now, bring on the Jello! Strawberry kiwi if you please.

Happy Birthday Deej

Can it be that my first born is celebrating his 33rd birthday??!!! It doesn't seem remotely possible! Here he is a grown man with two delightful daughters of his own. He has a wonderful job, a lovely home, and a ton of animals (he always wanted to be a vet). I am so proud of this man. Despite a challenging childhood he has become the kind of man every woman would want to marry.

He is thoughtful, gentle, kind, self sacrificing, a hard worker who still carves out ample family time, a godly man. Oh, I know he has his quirks like everyone, but who would have thought that first moment I saw his wrinkled red face that he would turn out so well despite everything?

I was quite young, and very naive with my first pregnancy. I had these romantic notions that when labor began, we would take a moonlight drive around the lake waiting for the contractions to be ten minutes apart. What was I thinking?? My water broke and those contractions were three minutes apart from the get go. And STRONG!

And he definitely did NOT want to be born. After twelve grueling hours of constant labor, I had finally dilated enough and even though I never felt the urge to push, I pushed when they told me to. Stubborn child insisted on having to be teased out with forceps (the size of tire irons!) and as soon as I heard his first little cry, I was so relieved I cried too.



Now here we are celebrating his adult years. How quickly the time has passed. We are closer now that he is grown and has forgiven me my parental faults. I love chatting with him on the phone. He is wonderful about checking in. Today I call him and offer to sing Happy Birthday. His daughters have beaten me to the punch. AND he had a raspberry lemon cake and presents.

I am glad he is so well taken care of. I send him virtual hugs and kisses, happily remembering little scenes from his childhood that make me smile (I won't embarrass him by talking about the time he cut the phone cord or how cute he was doing his monkey dance or how shy he was in kindergarten or how bouncey and joyous in college . . .)

I will simply wish him a wonderful year filled with good things and happy moments and lots of loving hugs and peace. May this be the best year you have ever enjoyed and may there be many many more. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

A Morning Off

My calendar says that since I work late Wednesday evening (I have the 5 to 9 pm reference shift) I don't have to come to work until noon. But it is difficult to find times when everyone can get together for meetings, and if I am teaching a class I have to come when they are scheduled. I have had something scheduled every Wednesday morning since the semester began.

Not that I am at all complaining. After all, I have to take time off for port draws and doctor appointments. This is one way I can make up the time. But somehow today, there is nothing on my calendar for Wednesday morning! I truly get to stay home until noon. I had intended to go to the Gulik Gym and work out. But Drew was not feeling quite right when he climbed out of bed and asked if he could stay home to rest.

Normally, if there is no fever, I would send him off, knowing that after he got to school, he would manage somehow. Today, I am surprised to hear myself tell him to go back to bed. I know a lot of people who told me they were tired, but pushed through and ended up with the flu. If taking a morning off will prevent that, I am game.

I also go back to bed. How unusual for me. I doze on and off, rolling over to peek at the clock from time to time, justifying not going to the gym by telling myself that I have had a hard year and rest is as important as working out. After all, I have been pushing hard to get back to work and up to speed, and its working, but it takes a toll.

I hear Kiel rumbling around getting ready to leave for class, and I pop up for a minute to see him off, and go back to bed. By eleven, I am ready for a long hot shower after which I slowly dress as warmly as I can. It is a day of coddling and being laid back.

The afternoon is slow. I sip tea in my office and work on projects and statistics. Still, by the time I need to be on the reference desk, I am tired. Not overwhelmingly, to the point of dysfunction, but definitely wishing I were home in my easy chair. The library is busy, but not much of it hits the desk. I wrap up in a shawl against the cold and sort email, catching up where I have forgotten something.

Sleeping in this morning made the difference between handling the night shift and not handling it. On the gain isn't a straight forward process. Some days you are ahead, others you slide back a notch. Today was a slide back, but with cushions. Tomorrow, who knows? Perhaps I will jet ahead. Or not. I am grateful to be gaining even if its a bit uneven.

Prayer

"Why do we pray?" our professor asked us. The class is about suffering, pain and evil and how a good God fits into those horrible scenarios, like what just happened in Haiti. We are hearing stories. Head shaking stories. A church of retired pastors in Florida had just sent two of their congregation to Haiti to help with a building project. They had arrived one hour before the earthquake and were instantly killed since they were in the bottom of the ten story headquarters building getting blueprints. What was the point of that?

Or the people who used their cell phones to call for help and were rescued - why them? What about others who called and died anyways? Its that 9 11 scenario replayed. Senseless destrcution and pain. Its complicated. We discuss the topic at length. For me, it is the same question as Why did Michael die and Why do I have cancer and Why is my son bipolar and Why is my ex mentally ill? Or Why are the poor poor?

The whole class has a fascinating discussion. We look at all the different possible responses and the logical conclusions those responses lead to. I come away understanding better how I got to my own convictions and where those thoughts may need to be rethought.

I still maintain that God does not cause pain and suffering. He does not want people to suffer but works towards making their lives better. Prayer does affect situations - even in my own cancer battle I know that when people pray for me things go better. And in the end, there will be no pain and suffering in heaven.

Do I pray? Absolutely! Do I believe prayer changes things? Yes! Do I understand how it works? No. But that doesn't stop me from praying both because we are instructed to pray in the Bible, and because I have seen enough answered prayer to know that there is merit in doing so.

I invite your thoughts.

Singing in the Rain!

Who would have thought that someone living in Rochester NY - or for that matter anywhere in the frozen Northeast - would need an umbrella in the middle of January when winter has already set in? I've heard of January thaws, but this is ridiculous!

I woke to the steady drumming of rain - yes, rain - on the green grass. No snow in sight, the leftover grass of summer lay flat against the soggy precipitation. Sugar is dismayed at the lack of the snow she so loves and wanders back and forth snuffling the ground for some hint of what has happened to make it disappear.

She and I head for a long walk down the drive clear to the far corner of the apartment complex, I with my umbrella enclosing me in a dry bubble, she shaking her fur coat against the penetration of water. Birds are singing - I clearly hear sparrows, phoebes and jays. One would think it was spring. I can almost smell Easter in the air.

I recall one particularly interesting Easter sunrise service where the weather was much as it is today. A handful of the frozen faithful stood huddled in an ancient cemetery, our umbrellas shielding us from the downpour while daffodils nodded unruffled here and there about the grounds. Weathered and cracked gravestones whose information had long ago been worn to a nub by rain and snow were unmoved at our discomfort, wisely knowing that these seasons come and go.

My father was reading Scripture about Christ arising from the dead. Then he turned on a new fangled little cassette recorder and the bleary watery tones of a piano floated about us. We juggled umbrellas and printed programs, grasping for the words to the sort of familiar hymn and mumbled the music as best we could through purple lips and shaking teeth.

I was attired in my thin new Easter dress and coat, no match for the cold and wet weather. My new white patent leather shoes were caked with mud and I shivered uncontrollably, longing for the warmth of the fellowship hall where even as we paid homage to Christ, a hired cook was flipping golden brown pancakes and turning sizzling sausages on his hot griddle and the Ladies Aid Society were preparing the coffee and hot chocolate.

Unperturbed, the birds sang cheerily in that cemetery, announcing the soon arrival of spring while my fingers turned numb. Dad's mini-meditation seemed to go on forever, a painful delay to my sad estate being remedied.

I always felt it my duty to support my Father in his pastoral duties. I was determined to be there for all his services come what may, even though back then I hardly understood what he talked about. I don't know why I felt that way, I just did. As I grew older, I came to appreciate his sermons - surely he had improved over time!

Now, I picture him in heaven happily discussing theology with all his favorite preachers of centuries past, realizing that he knows for certain what it all means. I am grateful for the discomfort of that morning because it provides me a memory hook on which to hang my Father's activities, to know how he touched the lives of others, to be comforted by his presence in my own life.

Even on a rainy January morning, it is good to embrace the memories of his life and be thankful. I have been quietly humming Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Alleluia. I reach the far corner away from the buildings, and I burst forth in song right out loud, cavorting about like Fred Astaire singing in the rain the glorious truth that since Christ is risen, I will see Dad again. Despite the dead of winter in which I am living.

Exile

The minute I stepped into the church building, I knew things were going to be different. People were there who are normally not there. The smell of some glue or adhesive the workmen are using permeates the air headily. There are bits of carpeting here and there, trails of sawdust and dirt about.

I peek into the sanctuary. It is barren, devoid of pews and pulpits, stuff dangling about, a ladder left against the wall, tools abandoned where they were last used. Yes, it is official. We are in exile. Confined to the fellowship hall until the construction is complete. I grab my music folder and head down the hall to see how things are.

It will be interesting, this first service, as we try out how to function within these new parameters. The choir chairs are front and center. There is a white sheet hanging from the front wall, while the hymnbooks are stacked on a table against the back wall. Do we know were everyone will be situated? Will we still process and recess? That's the plan. But we will need to line up differently.

We still rehearse in the music room, but we need a cue to tell us when to come down the hall to enter the fellowship area and indicate the beginning of the service. The pastor is working on helping the acolytes figure out where they should be, the sound tech guys are testing to make sure the speakers and the computer and the projector are all working as well as the mikes.

We finally get in and get seated and the pastor rises to greet us all. It's interesting how often we look a certain direction expecting to find a familiar face or action only to realize it is not there. We must redirect our eyes. The room is abuzz with energy and nervous excitement. We stumble a bit here and there, but overall, the service goes well.

I am amazed at the singing of the congregation! Their faces are not buried in their hymnbooks and they are closer to me. I can actually hear them (although the choir cannot hear me! - we can fix that). I love that they feel more support and sing out more confidently. It's great.

Some people are sitting in the same approximate location as they sat in the sanctuary, others have found a new locale. People are seated closer together. Smiling faces locate where their friends are sitting. We set up more chairs. It is challenging to see the screen from some locations. We can fix that.

Having the words in front of us makes the meaning connect with us in more significant ways. I see it on the faces of the worshipers. Overall, though things still feel strange and a bit awkward, the service is good and we are engaging in ways we have not engaged in for a long time. Keeping this freshness while finding better ways to worship will be interesting and a journey well worth taking.

Hot Tubbing

"You sound like a woman who needs a vacation!" my friend said in her email. "Wanna get together and do something fun?" I passed the first time she extended the invitation. Having fun wasn't something I felt ready to jump into.

But the second invitation, after hearing from the doctor about the "finding," was appealing. A chance to get away and just jell. She offered either a lesson in cross country skiing or an afternoon in her hot tub. The lack of snow decided for us, but I have to admit, I was way leaning towards hot tub anyway.

I pulled into her snowless drive at 2 and her husband greeted me at the door. They were experiencing a typical laid back Saturday. She had made a delicious quiche and some gluten free cupcakes (chocolate cheesecake!) and he was working on kitchen cleanup and soup making. We all gathered in the warm inviting kitchen area to chat, catch up, and unwind a bit.

We decide to take a short walk to limber up our muscles before indulging in the hot tub, and we head up her street and around a loop. The whole distance is about a mile, and we do not hurry. Even though it is January, the day is pleasant and without the biting wind of winter or the flurry of snow.

Back at her house, I mosey down the hall to the bathroom and slip into my faded blue floral swimsuit. E-gads. Hope no body is looking! I tiptoe down the hall, through her bedroom and out onto the back patio where the hot tub is uncovered and steaming. It takes a bit of careful maneuvering to lower myself into the blue interior and sit in the sculpted seat.

I laugh because my body wants to float and I have a hard time staying put. She turns on the water jets and I am surrounded by gently massaging streams of hot water. It feels sooooooo good! She sets a glass of sparkling water near my side of the tub and climbs in.

The sky is robin's egg blue overhead, the air around us filled with floating bubbles rising from the steam. Birds are merrily chirruping around us as we are sheltered from view by the shrubby pine bushes. The sun is warm against our cheeks - I especially feel it on the top of my peach fuzz covered head. I remember reading about the importance of getting enough sun on your pineal gland so you don't get the winter blues. This should help.

We chat about retiring (she can't wait, I can't imagine ever retiring), what she will do when she retires (read a good book! be in a musical), our kids, work, stuff. Its wonderful to just be a lady of leisure, relax, and enjoy life. How many times does one get to do that, really?

I do not think about how many dirty dishes are waiting in my sink, or the piles of laundry. I do not concern myself with going grocery shopping or the 2 page paper I still need to write. I am not thinking about 70 pages of required reading I have yet to address. I refuse to worry about Sugar home alone while Drew is at Robotics and Kiel is out with friends. Nope.

I am on vacation. I didn't get one last summer. I have been pressing to get back up to speed after the grueling demands of cancer treatment. I am probably looking at more treatments yet to come. So I really need this vacation. And I will enjoy it to the full!

After several hours of relaxing, we are turning to prunes, so we reluctantly head inside to change. I bring the sun and blue skies and bird chatter in with me. We regroup over tea and cupcakes, then decide to play some piano duets. She finds the worn volume we have worked in before and we settle at the keyboard of her grand piano and pour over the pages. Schubert? No, too difficult. Rachmaninoff? Sure - we did that one before. A good place to start.

My poor fingers will not cooperate with my brain, and I make clunker after clunker until we are laughing hard. Tears of laughter blur my vision as we pick away at the music, taking a second and third swipe at doing what's written. She is a terrific sight reader, I not so much. I giggle at the lopsided rendition we give to waltzes and ballet pieces and lullabies, my not quite right treble against her perfect bass.

Anyone listening in must think we are crazy, but its so much fun and she is willing to indulge and encourage me. I love it. Finally, I have to give in to the tiredness creeping into my bones. It has been a wonderful day filled with good things. A great vacation. I don't care if I ever get to the stuff needing my attention.

One thing I am sure of - I will sleep well tonight. It has been so nice to not think about responsibilities or health issues or feel the weight of things on my mind. What a delightful way to take a break!

Fragrances

Isn't it interesting how a certain smell can take you to a whole different reality? Like today, I was sitting in a medical waiting area surrounded by, shall we say, those less fortunate than I. As soon as I sat down, I was overwhelmed by a strong musty moldy scent. I realized it was coming from the jacket of the woman next to me.

It is a smell I have encountered before at various used clothing stores, a smell common to clothing that has sat untouched in unventilated closets for long stretches of time. A smell I often encounter when I am assisting older people whose homes have not been properly cleaned and are often prone to dampness where mildew can grow unchecked.

I think about moving to another chair, but as I survey the waiting area, I realize everyone there looks as if they are living under less than ideal circumstances and I may be exchanging one unpleasant scent for another. Having lived in less than ideal circumstances myself now and again, I know how difficult it is to stay clean when there is no running water in the place, or no hot water, or no money to do laundry and no way to dry your clothes quickly enough to avoid the musty odor.

I am curious why so many today seem to fit the category. I glance around and see the sign proclaiming "free wellness screening clinic today 9 to 4 only." Ah, that explains it. I examine the faces of my fellow waitees. I find an epidemic of patient discouragement and downtrodden slumped shoulders. I remember being penniless, living in a virtually empty apartment (we had two mattresses and nothing much else), selling my valuables to get milk and bread.

For me, it was a temporary situation. I knew that jobs would come through, things would improve. I could focus my attention on the kids (we read every book in the Little House series that summer - compliments of the local library) and set my hopes on God. In six months or so we were in a better way.

But these people, these forgotten and, in the minds of many, justifiably condemned, have no hope of their situation changing any time soon barring some miracle. They are locked in their poverty, grateful for a handout like this free clinic, willing to put up with the long wait because the waiting room is warm, the chairs more comfortable than a hard floor, the bathroom nearby and with running water. HOT running water.

We like to believe that they are in the mess they are in because they somehow want to be. They could better themselves if they really wanted to. After all, education is free. They just need to quit being so lazy and stupid. Anyone can be a success if they want to. All it takes is hard work and determination.

I used to think that anyone could do anything if they just put their mind to it. But after dealing with training people for such a long time, I have come to realize that its just not true. Some people's brains just don't function in sync with the behaviors needed to succeed. No one would choose poverty intentionally. As much as we want to believe otherwise, not everyone is able to overcome their life's difficult situation.

The woman next to me is called. She rises and walks away from me and I am relieved to be rid of the musty acrid smell. A young man enters the area immediately and takes her seat. Oh, dear God. A very strong smell of urine assaults my nose. He coughs all over me, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Sigh. I hope they call me soon. I am not here for the free clinic. They are calling someone every ten minutes or so.

Meanwhile, I offer the young man a pack of tissues and try to remember times in my past when I have been less than lovely to those I encountered. He snatches the pack from my hands and glares at me as if I have offended him. I pray for him and for the woman who just left that God would touch their lives in positive ways, that their living situations would improve.

And I determine to up my pledge to the Open Door Mission and to the area food banks who help those in less than ideal circumstances. And please, Lord, let them call me soon.

The Rutter

For some time I have been collecting various settings of Psalm 23. One of my favorites is part of a Requiem by John Rutter, a contemporary English composer. The first time I heard the piece, I was choir hopping. Asbury Methodist Church had offered me a standing invitation to sing in their choir whenever I wished, and one summer I took them up on the offer.

We gathered before service in the choir rehearsal room. The director that Sunday was the assistant conductor, the organist one of the head honchos at Eastman School of Music where I was working at the time. We "sight read" the piece for a few minutes while we were waiting for the oboist to arrive. Most everyone else in the room had sung the piece before, but it was new to me.

I loved it immediately. The introduction with organ and oboe was so breath taking that I forgot to sing when the soprano entrance arrived - as did many of us! We had to take another stab at it. I have since conducted and sung it many times, and although it sounds much easier than it is to sing, the end result, even with amateur voices, is always spellbinding.

What is there about the 23rd Psalm that fascinates us so? It is one of those universal passages well accepted by saint and sinner alike. We can all place ourselves in the shoes of the Psalmist, expressing our longings for the basics of safety, security, provision, protection and a happy ending forever.

Seldom does a musical setting do justice to such ageless truth as this Psalm expresses. And don't get me wrong, I am not a Rutter groupie by any means. I like some of what he has written more than other pieces he has produced. I often wonder how the same person who wrote this can toss off some of the other simple little ditties he has written.

This setting, which I have come to refer to as THE Rutter, captures the peace that passes comprehension, peace in the face of war, peace in the face of death itself - that calm assurance that belongs to Christians who know their Savior and their destiny despite all odds. It has a touch of the majestic while being completely down to earth.

We are learning it in choir to sing during Lent. And also to sing for my Master's Recital coming up some time next year as part of my musical exploration of the Lord's Prayer. I encourage you to listen to a good recording of the entire Requiem or at least this movement of it. Here's a nice recording of it on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovPbeXYUD-g

Take a few moments to sit down and relax, perhaps sip a nice hot cup of tea, clear the frantic from your brain, and imbibe the gentle persuasive music that takes you to inevitable calm. I promise you will like it. And just maybe, if you listen right before going to bed, it will help you sleep peacefully. Enjoy.

Long Day

Before we set up the semester desk schedules, we had scheduled a 10 am meeting for today to address marketing issues for the library. Since I work the evening shift on Wednesdays, I normally don't come in until the afternoon, but this meeting is vital to our strategic plan and we won a grant to work with the Rochester Ad Council, with people who do marketing for a living, and do it well.

I wanted to be there ahead of time, but I just could not get going. I saw Drew off to school, and lay back down. I am so tired. Yesterday after the doctor visit I had to prepare a meal for the Robotics team and deliver it for the 20 kids and mentors who are working hard building this year's robot. Besides that, my house is still in shambles from the kids visiting, making it more difficult to get anything done.

Some of the tiredness is post treatment, some from the disappointment of test results, some because I am not as young as I used to be, some because I am out of shape. I am confident that the tiredness will begin to be resolved once I return to exercising at the Y and have time to recover from the unexpected interruptions in my schedule - kids, grandkids, doctor appointments, etc.. I can live with that.

After I get through today's work schedule of 10 am to 10 pm, I will rest. Tomorrow will be better. Friday an improvement. Saturday a dream. Mostly I am happy to have things to do that I can do. And still have time for those divine interruptions that come my way. To stop cold in my tracks to listen to a young lady who just needed a listening ear. To walk an older woman to her car and carry her bags for her while she pushes her walker. To hold a hungry baby and feed him some applesauce. To gently hug a shy young lady who has been abused and is not sure of anything. Life is full of those little moments. One can never be too tired for those things.

Annual Physical

I love my primary care physician. She insists on seeing all of her patients on a regular basis, no less often than every six months, just to check in and see what is happening. If something is going on or you are going through life changes, you can come in more often even if you are not feeling ill. She would rather prevent than cure. Great philosophy. She let me know that even though I have been seeing doctors throughout my treatment, she needs to check in with me, and I immediately see why.

She asks about every aspect of my life. Am I dating anyone? Who is still living at home with me? Am I being abused in any way? What is my mood like given all I have been through? When was my last ob/gyn exam? Do I have a regular ob/gyn now? No? Here is a list of names. Call and see who might be taking new patients. Am I taking enough Vitamin D and Calcium? She makes recommendations, types notes into my record, asks about my kids in North Carolina and my grand children.

Since I haven't had my H1N1 shot, she consults with my oncologist and makes sure I get that before I go out the door. And a baseline EKG because my last one was a long time ago and pre treatment. She looks at levels in my bloodwork, wants a fasting blood sugar to be done, says my thyroid is fine despite the struggles with the Bexxar. She looks in my mouth and worries about how small my opening is. This could be a partial cause of my blood pressure problems, not just tooth issues. Later, when I am more up to it, she will investigate whether I have apnea which could be corrected and clear up other issues, including overweight.

She looks me over carefully, checks my skin, any moles, my eating habits, do I smoke or drink? She thumps me here, taps me with her rubber hammer there, has me press against her hand to resist so she can test my strength. After all that, I suspect she knows more about me than I do! But she takes good care of me. I love that part. She partners with me to help me get into better shape and do all I can to stay that way.

We talk about losing some weight, she says the Y will help me there. She defers addressing cholesterol testing until I have had more time to recover from the cancer treatments, but we will get to it. She helps me follow through with the additional plans that I discussed with my oncologist. She steers me towards a breast clinic that is less busy than the premier one because I won't get so lost in their shuffle and I should have individual attention right now. Better for me. Yes, this is the way health care should be.

She not only knows my name and face, but my complete medical history and my life situation. Given what I am following up with, and the start of the Rituxan in May, we agree that I should connect again with her in late April to review and make sure everything is in place before the maintenance stuff starts. Yes, it was a good change. I expect a lifelong relationship that will encourage me to be better in caring for myself and those around me. Prevent. I like the sound of it.

Bottom line today? I am in great shape! She patted me on the back and said, "Good girl. You had an excellent check up." And I put on my clothes and left, some of the song returning to my heart.

What the Doctor Said

After my usual port draw, I walked down the hall and around the corner to check in at the clinic desk for my appointment. They called me quickly and ushered me to an examining room, then left me with the words "the doctor will be in to see you soon."

As I waited, I found myself singing a catchy Latin rhythm song about singing a new song. Yes, I expect to be done with all this stuff. Released from the rigors and routines of the medical world. Free to pick up the pieces and resume my life. It will be good to close the book and move on. I am happy at the thought of returning to "normal," whatever that now means for me.

I have typed my questions for the doctor to make sure I don't forget anything. It is a whole sheet of paper flowing over in anticipation of getting back to business. Can I go back to the Y? How much longer do I stay on the antiviral meds? Are there after effects I should be watching for? When will I know how much time I will gain as a result of going through nearly a year of treatments? Do I get a decade really?

First, the current intern comes and quickly looks at my sheet of questions. She asks me a few things, then exits to catch up with the doctor. Ten minutes later, a soft knock at the door, and my doctor comes in slowly. She looks tired. She greets me, loves the wig, says I look great.

Then we get down to business. She addresses each question one at a time. She logs on to the computer and we put our heads together and pour over the scans, the bloodwork, the results. She interprets what we are seeing. I feel like a collaborator, confident that I am getting the real skinny on things.

Muscle tone - not great. Going back to the Y will help with the weakness.

Fatigue - that will last for 6 months or so before you start feeling like your old self again.

Bone marrow - no sign of cancer.

Bone involvement - we didn't really do a test for that. We can do one though.

Bloodwork - immune system still compromised, but no longer in the danger zone.

PET scan - uh oh. A "finding." My happiness shrivels, my heartbeat slows. A small peanut sized mass in my intestinal area. I cannot believe I am reading it. This is exactly the same way the post rectal cancer kerflafel began. The words sound familiar.

We aren't sure what this is. It could be nothing. We will watch it to see what develops. Sometimes we see this sort of irritation, a sort of fallout from all the treatment. It could disappear and show up again in another location. It could be a lymph gland still responding to what you have been through. We will take a CT scan in another month or so and see where things lie after a bit.

The doctor looks at another report. "This report makes me feel better," she smiles. She draws me a chart showing me the rate of recurrence over time for those who haven't had my Bexxar treatment. It goes down fast and steadily. Then she draws me a line showing the rate of recurrence over time for those who have had the Bexxar. It doesn't start to go down until 2.5 years, then gently descends in little clumps.

Hum. 2.5 years. I had 10 years more in mind. Or no recurrence. That would be good. But what if this is the rectal cancer returning? Or some new cancer? I am shaken despite the doctor's calm assurance that there is nothing to fret about at this point. Well, I am not planning to fret. Not until there is something definite to fret about, and even then fretting has never been helpful.

It's just that I was planning to celebrate freedom, but already I feel that little tendril grabbing on to my ankle, trying to anchor me in place, to rob me of the planned joy and light heartedness. I try to focus on what she is saying. The maintenance Rituxan will begin in May. Until then, I must stay on the antiviral until the end of February.

Other than that, I am in great shape. The picture of health. Right. All I need do now is have my eyes checked because my vision has changed, see a throat specialist for the singing difficulties I am encountering, have a mammogram (anything obvious would have shown up on the PET scan, but it doesn't catch everything), see my ob/gyn, and get my teeth issue resolved. Oh, and find another multivitamin that I can tolerate because the one I have been taking now makes me nauseous.

I wander down the hallway reeling a bit, my legs rubbery, clutching a sheaf of paperwork and appointment cards. Shoot. That wasn't quite what I was expecting, but at least she didn't say that the cancer had suddenly invaded my entire liver or some such horrible thing. I can live with that - thank goodness! Its just going to take a day or two to readjust my expectations and ratchet down the bubbly optimism. OK. I can do that.

Who Moved My Church?

It is the last Sunday we will be able to hold services in the sanctuary before the renovations begin. The committee has been planning for months, the money arranged for, the contractors contacted, the date set. On Monday, the piano and keyboard will be moved to the fellowship hall along with the choir chairs and altar furniture. Worship will look different next week. Strange.


We are encouraged to join in the exciting adventure, to bring our lawn chairs, the ones with the cup holders so we can comfortably set out coffee cups down, to encounter worship in a whole new way, to use the experience to examine why we "do church" the way we do, and what might we want to do differently when the renovations are complete. We are explorers in search of the truth, God's truth about worship and community for us as a congregation.

It might be uncomfortable for some who have worshiped in the sanctuary for decades, who are used to the way the choir processes down the aisle, the way the acolytes bring the light of Christ into the sanctuary, the way the pastor preaches from the steps and not behind the pulpit. It might not feel right, not feel as if we have gone to church properly if we are not sitting in the same pew that we always sit in next to people who's names we are not quite sure of.

For me it will be less strange than for others. I have worshiped in all sorts of denominational settings from Presbyterian to Baptist, Charismatic to Gospel, home fellowships to mega churches. Each experience offered new insights, activities that brought rich encounters with the Word, with the Lord. All of them had new elements I appreciated, familiar elements I was comfortable with, and other elements I didn't care for. In every case I grew and matured in good, healthy ways and am the better for it.


It will be interesting to learn how we function without the usual props and accouterments, how the renovations affect our sense of family, our mission. I am actually looking forward to next week, while at the same time savoring this week. Sort of like growing up and preparing to go off to college, knowing you will return home, but things will not be the same. Love what you have, but grow into something better. Stay tuned as we ride the rapids together.

Grandson Games

Mark and Faith have come for a visit, bringing my adorable 18 month old grandson Ramseyes. He is getting tall, and chatters away in a lingo known only to him, a few sounds of which are clearly understandable. Mom. Dad. Thank you. Good stuff like that.

He toddles about the apartment, poking at Sugar (dug, duggie - pretty close to doggie) through the mesh of the gate keeping the energetic puppy from knocking the unsteady toddler on his behind. He mushes crackers into the carpet and stares at the Veggie Tales movie Drew has put on, taking long sips of milk from his tippy cup.

He wanders near where I am sitting in the blue recliner, and instinctively, I put my legs around him, capturing the little bundle of wiggles and refusing to let him go. It is a game my father used to play with us when we were little, and with my sons when they were babies. I wonder where my Father learn it? Kiel and Drew both remember and laugh at Ramseyes' predicament.

Kiel remarks how he loved the game, how he would struggle and struggle to get away only to come back for more once he was free. Ramseyes likes it too. He has figured out how to bend over my leg and let gravity assist, laying his head on the rug and kicking his legs. When that doesn't work, he scoots down and tries to escape by pulling himself forward with his hands.

We laugh everytime he manages to free himself because soon after his escape, he finds himself heading back within range, hoping to be captured again. I see him eyeing me with that peculiar mix of hope and defiance.

I am surprised that I play this game with my grandson. I never thought of myself as the grandfatherly type. But here I am carrying on the tradition with the hearty approval of my own sons with whom I did not play this game. How lovely is it that I get a chance to do this! As he grows, I hope I will be able to continue playing with him. The interaction is wonderful. The laughter infectious. The contact welcome.

The Agony of the Tooth

I wake early and know immediately something is wrong. My tooth is hurting. The one where the dentist had begun a root canal, but got interrupted by my cancer treatment. I have thought several times I need to get back to it, but have been waiting until I get the final go ahead from the doctor. No waiting for that now. If a tooth with no nerves hurts, something is dreadfully wrong.

I head, not to work, but to the dental center, sign in, and wait my turn. In my head, I try to justify my lack of proper care for my mouth, but it always sounds so lame. I am sure the dentist will give me what for. They were having a hard time doing the root canal anyway. Seems my roots are extremely tiny and she couldn't even get her smallest file in them. Besides, they are bent at the end of the root, making it even harder. And if that weren't enough, I have an extra root - three instead of two. Good grief!

They look. The tooth is very fragile. It is because of all the treatment I have undergone. She tells me I will likely continue to encounter problems with my teeth (like I haven't already experienced pieces of teeth falling out of my head). Yes, there is an infection. The decision is made to extract. First, they have to call my primary doctor and makes sure they can pull the tooth without unexpected side effects from my treatment and the status of my immune system. They get the nod.

Tip back. Novocaine sprays everywhere. Don't swallow. Gulp. We have to make sure its good and numb. Besides, you may end up needing oral surgery because of those bent roots. The dentist chisels intently at the offensive tooth. She calls for one tool, then another, then another. Finally she asks for the forceps. Pressure. Rocking. Wiggling. Pulling. It's out! No need for surgery, it came willingly and cleanly. They are mopping my face with wet gauze, packing the hole in my gumline.

I have a sheet of instructions. Pack with ice. Take Tylenol. No spitting (good thing I am not one of my sons!). No drinking through a straw. Don't brush your teeth for two days. Then rinse with warm salt water. Nothing hot to drink for 48 hours. Sigh. I wobble my way back to the car. For a fleeting moment, I consider going to work (it is now 1 pm), and then dismiss the idea.

I hate being undependable for my coworkers. I was supposed to be on reference desk all day. Now someone else will have to step up, not that I think the desk will be very demanding this early in the semester, but I hate not carrying my fair share of the load. When will the impact lessen so I can be the person I want to be?

Soon, I tell myself. Soon I will be able to commit to responsibilities and not have to renege due to some unexpected health issue. Give it time. Remember the last round. It was a couple of years before you were out of the woods. You will gain ground again. Be patient and thankful your colleagues are understanding. This too shall pass.

Snow Bunny

Ach! I am still recovering from the lettuce incident. Drew has kindly agreed (under duress, but he understands) to walk Sugar. He hunts around to find the hook-up system we are currently using (Sugar is teething and has chewed through two harnesses, a leash and innumerable others things we are not happy about, including several CDs!). He slides the hated choker chain around her cowering head and snaps the leash in place.

They head out the door. I feel bad for them both, so I pray for them to be blessed. At least it is comparatively warm outside and not snowing. Ten minutes later, they come bounding through the door, all excited.

"You won't believe it!" Drew exclaims. "I was walking Sugar, and we were by the porch of the next building over. Sugar was sniffing and sniffing at the snow. I wanted her to hurry up, but I was curious what she was sniffing, so I stepped a little closer."

"All of a sudden, a little bunny leapt up out of the snow pile and jumped completely over Sugar and ran away! Boing, boing! It was awesome!" Drew's hands kept up with his description of the poor frightened little bunny bounding over the big bad dog and running for dear life into the woods across the street. Awesome!

We had just watched a DVD about Christmas in Yellowstone where a fox had been hunting the mice buried beneath feet of snow. He could hear them skittering about below the white surface and would pace back and forth until one of the sat still for a minute. Then he dove headfirst into the snow, trying to catch the little meals on wheels. I could just picture Sugar out in the wild nose diving for fresh meat.

Well! Sometimes there is excitement to be had even in the ordinary duties of life! Yahoo!

Still Down

Fortunately, today my calendar is light, my hours shifted down so I can be on the reference desk in the evening. I am glad for some extra time to deal with my internal issues. I email work and let them know that I will only come in for the reference shift in the evening. Hopefully by then I will be able to handle at least that part.

I make myself move about, knowing that to lie still will not help. Sugar and I take a long and slow amble around the complex. The weather is warm, almost springlike. Ah, January thaw. I have always loved that season. A cruel joke to someone from the south who is tricked into thinking that warm weather is just around the corner, who does not know that the real winter has yet to begin, despite the days of snow and cold so far.

I gaze up at the row of icicles dangling from the roofs of all the buildings. Some buildings must have less insulation under their shingles because their icicles stretch clear down to the ground below, the water cascading two full stories in its vain attempt to run from the sun, locked in place until the sun releases it to dissipate into the ground.

Sugar stops to sniff around, licking the snow tentatively. The icicle above the porch we are standing near has drooled onto the bushes beside the door, entrapping them in an immovable glass cage. It looks fragile, but a little kick proves the iron will of the ice. Beautiful and deadly.

How like life! One moment you are fine and elbow deep in the things you love to do, the next you are rendered immovable by some unexpected force over which you have no control. Well, I know the ice maker ice breaker. I can feel my cage melting. Soon I will be free to pursue the things I should.

Meanwhile, its getting chilly out here. Think I will get back inside so I will be ready for tonight's reference shift.

Crash

Sometimes I am too smart for my own good. Like this weekend past, I realized that I can eat lettuce and some raw veggies when they are part of a sub. I think perhaps I am getting better about tolerating the fiber of raw veggies, so I try an experiment. I eat a very small salad from one of those pre-packaged bags. Seemed to be fine!

So the next day, I cut a very tiny slice of lettuce from a fresh green head. It was just a baby slice, really. I swaddled it in my hand and ran water over it to wash any contaminants. Then I placed it on a saucer with a dab of dressing - a smidge really. Oooooo! It tasted soooo good. Like a breath of fresh air to someone who has been cooped up indoors for eons. I wanted more, but I resisted. I have had very bad experiences with trying to digest raw veggies. I know better than to push the envelope too far.

Or do I? Today it began, the cramping and pain, the distress. I know immediately that I have a blockage, that the lettuce is hung up somewhere high in my intestinal tract, that there will be hell to pay for my bold experiment. I do the usual. Walk around. Drink hot fluids. Massage the area where the pain is. Yup. It's getting worse. Breathing is labored. Pain is intense. This will not be a walk in the park.

I know the alternatives. Hospitalization is simply not an option I care to pursue. I must get this darn block to clear. I head home a bit early to cuddle a hot water bottle. Finally, things start moving. This is not fun. I am glad I am home alone so that the bathroom is mine undisturbed for long stretches at a moment's notice. Like every ten minutes. Sigh.

It takes half the night for the pain to move from high up to mid stomach. At least it is moving. And since I am resting a lot, I don't feel quite as wrung out. Mostly I sit in the blue recliner, buried in warm blankets and doze. I have no uumph for anything more. After I walk the dog, I am definitely aware that I am weak and energyless. Lord, let this pass. Please. I promise not to experiment again.

Another Port Draw

You must be as tired of reading about my port draws as I am of writing about them. Yet it is a very real part of my cancer treatment, this weekly pilgrimage to the cancer center. I am vastly familiar with the drill.

Leave 45 minutes before your scheduled appointment because it will take you 20 minutes to park in the garage (5 mph? really?). Check in and wait to be called for vital. Joke around with the staff. Sit in the curtained room and wait until the nurse is free. Watch while she sterilizes her hands and emancipates a half dozen tubes, various paraphernalia, needles, swabs and gloves from their sterile wrappings.

Then she puts on her sterile mask and the gloves and picks up an amazingly
l-o-n-g needle.

1 -2 -3 (take a deep breath in) stab. Hold your breath until you see the blood running so you know the port is still viable. Chat with the nurse while she withdraws the necessary amount of your vital fluids (my veins should be totally full of heparin by now). 1 tube. 2 tubes. Then deep breath while she takes the needle out and plasters the spot with a gauze bandage.

This is why I can't go to a regular lab to have the procedure done. It has to be a sterile environment. After all, they are accessing a vein quite near my heart. It would definitely be a bad thing if they inserted an unwanted germ or two along with the needle.

This draw went smoothly and I am released to return to my other world, the one where I am not thinking about cancer or medical stuff. The one where I am still exploring exciting opportunities of engagement and service. The one where the boys and I are working out this semester's interactive schedule so we know where everybody is and when they will be home - no small task indeed.

Pre-Class Homework

Did ever you hear of such a thing? Assignments due the first day of class. Readings expected to be completed. Brain in gear before you know what the course is all about. Its true. I have two classes on Monday nights, and both of them expect you to come to class the first night having read extensively and written papers!

Too bad life doesn't have these sorts of prep times. Think about it. You get a cancer diagnosis, but before you go to your first treatment, you have to complete assigned readings and do some exercises to help you be ready physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually before you undergo treatment.

In fact, it would be helpful to have those sorts of syllabi before any and every major life event - going to school, graduating from high school, going to college, graduating, getting your first job, buying a car, changing jobs, getting married, buying a house, having your first (and subsequent) babies, going to grad school, graduating, caring for your parents, dealing with the death of a loved one, battling any illness, retiring, facing your own death.

Whew! That's a lot of life events. And people wonder why they are always dealing with change. Life is constant change, like it or not. Sometimes it hits so fast it makes our heads spin. I am learning the importance of creating sacred space in my whirling world. Intentionally building into my schedule times to purposefully slow down and meditate on the only existing life manual that can help, the Holy Scripture. Taking time to connect with God and hear what He is instructing about dealing with life events.

I don't always get the connection between the thoughts I encounter during these sacred space moments and what I am dealing with at the time. I do know that when I insist on taking them, I am less ruffled, less tossed and torn, less upset when change hits or something unexpected arises.

Its the closest I can come to doing pre-life event homework so that when I have to step up to the plate, I at least have some idea what I will encounter. Try it. What have you got to lose?

Robotics Kick Off

Ugh! I am not happy to have to get up at the crack of dawn (OK, 7:30 am) on a Saturday when I could be sleeping in. Just because Drew has to be at the Theater on the Ridge by 8:30 is no reason I should have to drag myself out of bed into the cold winter gray. My eyes fly open at 6 (late for me) and I try to roll over and go back to sleep. It is impossible. I am excited for Drew.



I know what its like to be part of something grand, something I love doing. The excitement, the special places and people, the activities, the buzz. Drew, however, is not all that into it in the early morning. Still, I only have to call him twice. He does get up and get going. I walk Sugar and unbury the car, scraping the ice from the windows. I stomp back inside, and Drew is in the kitchen. "I was gonna brush the car off," he mumbles.



"Honey," I patiently explain. "We need to leave now. There isn't an extra 15 minutes to clear off the car." We navigate the Google directions, up 390, exit at Ridge Road 104, take a right, and head toward the Eastman Kodak processing plants. We try to read the street signs looking for Minder Street, but the street signs are white snow-covered blanks. We find the parking lot and pull in.



This year there are 31 teams and well over 700 people participating. How will Drew find his group in such a crowd? It was too big for RIT to host. Drew is not worried. He can text. One group has set up a tent in the parking lot. They kids mill about excitedly, drinking hot chocolate and goofing around. Doors are not quite open. Parents sit in their cars, trying to stay warm.



At last the crowds begin to move toward the building, and Drew asks me to drop him off at the crosswalk. He is so tall, so confident. I am proud of the man he is becoming. I pray he will have a great day, get the kit loaded and moved to the school, work well with his team, and have fun! As for me, I drive home, make a cup of tea, and start the laundry. Its a good day.

Happy Birthday

Dear Deb ~

When you were born, Dad tried to get my elementary school principal to let me stay home and fill in for Mom. I was heart broken that she wouldn't approve such a thing. At the tender age of eleven, I really wanted to help out and was so proud that Dad thought I could handle household responsibilities.

I loved wheeling you around in your stroller and helping feed and dress you. You were a wonderful, life sized doll! It was fun watching you grow up, and for the next seven or eight years, we had a grand time. But too soon the fun and our connection ended. You were mainstream family; I, as a high school senior, was on my way out.

When I left for college, you were in third grade - a mere sprout but so cute with your blond hair and light blue eyes. When I was married, you were there, a willowy pre-teen. Somehow you managed to conquer junior high and high school on your own. I was so wrapped up in first babies I hardly remember your struggles and victories as you became a young woman. I was minimally aware of your college years. We were losing touch.

Then you were in med school, and somehow, thankfully, we reconnected. You used to call me - remember the time we talked all night long until well into daylight? How difficult things were for you, trying so hard to do the impossible with little support able to come from family. Yet amazingly, you did it! What an accomplishment ~ Bravo.

You were then when Michael died, helping, hugging, caring, crying, meeting us at the airport, helping us navigate the confusion. You were there for my first bout of cancer, so confident, so capable. Have the tables turned? Are you now my older sister and I the baby needing help? I am so thankful you are in my life.

Ah, but this year, you outdid yourself. There is nothing easy about being there when your Father is dying. What would we have done without your expertise, your calm and persistent interaction with the doctors and nurses, your translation of medical lingo, your common sense, your knowledge of outcomes and your enabling the best care possible, taking on yourself the burden both physically and monetarily. What a relief knowing that you were there doing what I could not.

If I have not told you how much you mean to me, I will tell you now. You are the sun that shines in the midst of dark clouds. You are the pillar of strength when the hurricane winds are tossing my world askew. You are the gentleness when disease irritates and pains. You bring words of hope when all looks hopeless.

It is a joy to spend time with you, to laugh together, to shop! I love to hear about your dreams, your hopes. Each sister of mine is unique, each has much to offer. But you are the glue that connects us all.

Thank you for the sacrifices you made to be there with Dad. Thank you for being willing to mop up the floor when his illness caused accidents. Thank you for sitting with him for hours while he slept in his drug induced calm. Thank you for chasing down doctors and for hanging on to Dad to steady him as he tried to walk. Thank you for being there even though you fully knew and understood what was going on, even though it was hard to watch the deterioration unfold. Thank you for making sure Mom was able to be with him but not stressed out by what was happening.

If anyone deserves a grand and glorious birthday this year, it is you. I hope you celebrate in fabulous style and that many of your dreams come true in the upcoming year. May you be blessed and unstressed. Most of all, may you know how much we appreciate you and love you and are grateful that you are you.

Happy Birthday, dear "little" sister.

Hugs and kisses, Epper.

PET Scan

It all comes back to me now - the abstinence from exercise, caffeine, tobacco, carbs; the staying warm on the way to the Imaging Center, filling out the forms for the bazillioneth time, the finger stick to check my sugar levels, drinking multiple cups of barium. I am smug thinking that since I have a port, there will be no need to find a viable vein, but I discover to my chagrin that ports hog all the radiation and can't be used. Phooey.

Still, I will not need any fluids and can't have the contrast, so they only need to use a small butterfly needle to insert the radioactive sugar water. The radiologist holds my hand and searches for a candidate vein. Hum. He wraps my hand in a warm blanket, has me hold my hand down low so gravity will help, slaps the back of my hand repeatedly until I am tempted to start some rhythmic clapping and break out into calypso song.

He finds a spot and successfully makes me radioactive. Then the good part - I am swaddled in warm cozy blankies, tipped back in the reclining chair, and encouraged to sleep. They turn out the lights and tiptoe out, leaving me alone with the ticking clock. Too soon the hour flies by and I am once again lying on the skinny tongue of the donut machine being whirled in in in and ever in to the maw of the great magnet whirling laser lighted scanner.

Despite a momentary fear of the machine catching on fire (really - I smell burning wires!) everything goes well and soon I am headed for Panera's and a chocolate chip muffie (after all, it was a six hour fast and my stomach was rumbling loud enough to disturb the neighbors). This is the last test other than blood work before I see the oncologist for post treatment assessment. I fully expect an encouraging report - even for the bone part.

Right now though, I head back to work despite the tiredness that is creeping through my body. I can rest later.

Unintentional Epiphany

When we tried to schedule a staff lunch to undecorate the library, many people had plans to be on the road or away for one reason or another during that last week before the library closed. In past years, we had just gone ahead with whomever was around since the purpose was less about eating and more about packing away the holiday decor. But this year, there was a feeling that we should wait on the meal part until everyone could come.

We tried moving it to the week before the undecorating, but our schedules did not coincide. So we moved it to the first week everyone returned. Today! We gathered in the break room around steaming crockpots of soup and three bean chili. The vibrant greens and reds of a gleaming tossed salad invited us to jump in. There were cheeses and crackers, cookies and brownies, and all varieties of cranberry juices.

It was just the thing to hold us in comfortable fellowship for an hour while we chatted about the destruction of Mercereau Hall which was happening as we munched, about Christmas encounters, about family, about the nativity inaccuracies (what day was Jesus really born and how old was he when the wisemen came?), about the upcoming semester.

It wasn't until after we broke up and headed back to our offices that Linda pointed out how appropriate our gathering was - since today is the Feast of the Epiphany, it seemed fortuitous that we had gathered for a feast and talked about the wisemen! Not planned, but perfect. I wonder if the wisemen ever enjoyed great chili with cheese melting all down over it?

Retreat

Three times a year, the Public Services staff takes time to remove ourselves from the hectic and demanding pace of the library, to come aside far from the circ desk, and take a look back at what the last semester was like, a look ahead at how to best prepare for the upcoming semester. Its helpful to get your head up out of the sand and make sure everything is on track.

We meet at the library, bundle into my car and head for the east side of the city, taking three expressways to get to the Meridian Center, a complex where Roberts rents space for evening classes to meet. They have a nice suite with a kitchen and two large classrooms with internet and projection capability where we can easily get to our online documents.

The rooms are too big for the few of us, but we cozy up and begin, first with a devotional to focus on God's sovereignty, then a time of sussing out why we are all so weary. What is causing us to be heavy and how do we fix that? It is a long discussion, touching on many factors. Some of them an easy fix, others more complicated, a few that will require intervention from those above us, ones that will take time and prayer.

We look at how we are being transformed by change from one model of functionality to another, how some are transitioning easily, others dragging their feet and fighting all the way. We consider how other parts of campus interact with us, how they perceive our change. We wrestle with how to do the same work with fewer people, where are the pressure release valves. It is a long and much needed conversation. we put all the issues on the table and get everything out in the open in an honest way.

Then we go back and discuss solutions to each aspect. How do we make it better? How do we encourage others to move forward? How do we tactfully but firmly insist on assistance? Who can we enlist on our behalf? There are solutions, but we will see if they work. It sounds good on paper, but will it work?

Our heavy work completed, we move on to happier things, the lasagna dinner we will hold for our student workers, the end of year graduation dinner for students who will be leaving us. And then lunch arrives. We have promised ourselves to take full advantage of our built in break times and not multitask. It is tempting to continue discussions while munching, but we resist. Lunch is lunch, a break, a time to rest and regenerate. Let your brains idle a bit.

The morning has flown by. This has been a different sort of retreat, but a necessary piece for moving forward. We pack up our things and head back. I am hopeful that the semester will bring a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction rather than weariness and overwhelmedness. My resolve? Pray more. Be involved more in each area. Be available. Then leave the rest up to the good Lord.

We're Back

Everyone safely returned from their travels and holiday visitings. We are all back in our offices and at our desks, preparing for the return of undergrad students, getting our desk schedules set, marking our calendars, booking library instruction classes, setting out new books, making sure everything is working properly. It is good to have this week of preparation before we jump into the busyness of the semester.

It feels awkward, returning to regularly scheduled activities, akin to going to the gym after laying around doing nothing for weeks. Muscles that have done nothing are now asked to work and work hard. It makes you tired in a healthy way. Good thing we have some time before it gets really hopping around here. Time for the stiffness to dissipate and time for us to get used to high levels of activity once again.

Rest is good, routine is helpful, being fit and capable the best.

Snowy Day Play

I arrive at church early. It will be an intense rehearsal before service for the choir since we have had no weekday rehearsal. I tried to select pieces that will be familiar, requiring only a brush up and run through. I am surprised at how many cars are already in the parking lot when I pull in. The weather is yukky, the travel slow, the roads messy.

I discover our accompanist is not able to make it. I will play for service - good thing my New Year resolutions included playing the piano. I will not be as rusty. I run through the hymns, grateful that I had allotted myself extra time. Especially since the choir is not familiar with the anthem I selected. Still they catch on and do a marvelous job of it. They are troopers.

I enjoy playing, even though I am not that good. I can manage, but I know if I practice on a regular basis, I will be better. Never concert pianist caliber, but at least able to hold my own. Its so easy to get lost in a million other activities. But this year I am determined to do better because it is not just for improvement, but therapy.

I continue to explore the therapeutic effects of music for the spirit as well as the mind and body. It is a complicated process, and not at all the same as music therapy. This is not about expression of angst through the media of music, but about how the sound creates positive healing results within the person as they listen. I have much to learn.

Meanwhile, I am happy to play on a snowy Sunday in 2010.

Back to Work

The last time I seriously went to the library to accomplish my duties was December 22. After that, with Dad's passing, I was otherwise occupied. The college gives us the week between Christmas and New Year's Day off with pay - how amazing! And this year how needed. While it wasn't a vacation for me, it was wonderful to be free to take care of everything without the added pressure of burning up vacation time or sick leave.

Today, in consideration of those students whose courses continue despite the break for undergrads, the library is open in the afternoon. I am happy to be back in the familiar environment and start in easy. We have only a handful of people who venture out into the cold and snow, and it makes catching up with the book returns, the voice mails and emails a more do-able task.

I am happy to spend some time reshelving books- something I don't often get to do since our students are quick and expert at it. It is one aspect of librarianship I have always enjoyed - making things be organized and orderly and findable, being exposed to our collection in a closer way, neatening and straightening the shelves, finding that out of place book and restoring it to its proper habitat.

It is good to be back, good to be involved with basics, good to pick up the reigns gently. How blessed to be allowed to ease back in. Nice!

Happy New Year

I certainly hope this year will be less challenging than last! It would be a blessing to enjoy good health for a change, not to mention not losing anyone else from the family. Still, last year brought its own particular share of blessings despite the hard times. I am lucky to have had so much help, encouragement and support. How great is that!

It is a relief to finally feel as if things are settling down and I can resume some semblance of normal. Even though I still have to take time outs for PET scans and port draws and doctor appointments, my thoughts are focusing on work at the library and coursework at the seminary - a wonderful change of pace.

My resolutions for this new year?

*pray for my family, friends, staff, colleagues with much more intentionality and commitment
*align each day not with what my calendar tells me I must do, but with the divine appointments that come my way without notice
*practice the piano often
*walk every day
*enjoy God's good earth
*love my kids even when they drive me crazy

So far, I am batting a thousand! Let's see how long I can stay attuned.