Hairy Situations

A hairdo from January. That her sister gave her. Before the great hair exodus.

Chances are, if I’ve seen or talked to you in the last month, if you are a friend, I’ve probably talked to you about Meres’ hair.

You guys…her poor head!

One of the possible side effects of her chemo was that her hair would thin, but that she probably wouldn’t go bald. Which technically happened. Every month towards week three of the cycle, she lost hair. After each of the last two chemo treatments she lost a ton of hair. By a ton of hair I mean, she has three tuffs of her original hair. Everything else has fallen out, and is beginning to regrow. Most of her head is currently covered with new growth, ranging from 1/4” to 1/2”.

Except for those ridiculous three clumps.

So, if you squint, from the front she looks pretty normal. A cute bob, with lots of super short new hair throughout.

The back though….it’s a disaster. It is a swath of short new hair (picture a baby’s head), with two Bozo the clown tuffs sticking out on the sides.

It looks awful.

Thankfully, she can’t see the back, and regardless, she doesn’t really care. She is very matter of fact about how chemo made her hair fall out.

But, it really bothers me.

Seeing her head makes me want to cry. It has been heavy on my heart. And so I’d talk to people about it. And the reaction I kept getting was that it will grow back.

And it is. And I know that.

Here’s the thing…Meres is beautiful-with or without hair. And her personality makes up for any ridiculous hair. It really does. She is beautiful and vivacious, inside and out. And I love her, with or without hair.

So why is this temporary, shallow thing bothering me?

It’s because it’s her HAIR.

And if you are a woman, you can imagine what that means. We spend so much of our lives fooling with our coifs. Curling, straightening, washing, perming, coloring, cutting, styling, nourishing. Maintaining our hair is a costly endeavor-of both time and money.

Meres lost her glorious, long, blonde, curly hair.

And I’m mourning that loss. (Literally. I’m sitting in Panera Bread writing this post and crying.)

That’s why I keep talking about it.

 

It wasn’t until this past Sunday that someone choked up with me about her hair. At that moment I felt like someone finally understood how hard this was for me as a mom to watch. I (maybe selfishly) had been looking for empathy, not a reminder of the obvious. I have two eyes. I can see the hair is growing back. The issue is already being fixed.

In the scheme of things, temporary hair loss is very minor. But it was just.another.thing. in all the awful things we’ve been through this past year.

And I’ve been mourning.

The loss of her beautiful hair. The loss of her beautiful eye. The pokes, and the poisons. The long days and the sense of helplessness.

I wish it was my hair that had fallen out. (though the ratio of salt to pepper has definitely increased on my head this year…)

I wish I could have had the cancer instead of her.

I wish I was the one with a glass eye.

I wish I could have went through the pokes and the chemo for her. The sedations and the surgeries.

Here we are at the almost end. Chemo done. Three clear MRIs. Port removed. Things look really good. Check ups every three months or so.

I feel at peace that everything is going to be alright.

We are moving on from just surviving and coping. I finally have time to breathe and that time is also allowing me room to think and to mourn and to process. Part of that process is acknowledging both the profound and simple layers of losses. Past, present and future losses.

Her hair will grow back. It might be the glorious blond mane of the past. Most likely it will be different. Hair is a temporary loss.

There are more permanent losses. We won’t ever get back this time, this year, this eye, these lives untouched by cancer. Permanent losses. Permanent changes.

That is why I need to mourn the hair. Because it’s not just the hair. 

Weep with those who weep. Then rejoice with those who rejoice.

Jesus wept with his friends when death touched their lives. He wept even though he knew that he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead in just minutes. My friend empathized first, before rejoicing in the new hair.

I want my heart to be soft enough to weep with those who weep. I want to be known for empathy, not problem solving.

It’s what Jesus did. How can I do less?

Lots of Questions...One Answer

As I sit here I am overwhelmed by the silence and the noise.

The silence of some bloggers showing their solidarity and compassion for the Sandy Hook families by not writing.

The abundance of news, blogs, status updates and tweets about Sandy hook. The noise. Everyone contributing their two cents.

The whys and the wherefores.

And I have nothing to add that hasn't been said. I'm just overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the sadness and heartache and evil in our world.

Overwhelmed by this huge tragedy, and the little tragedies that are being faced in each of our lives. Recent death, broken hearts, pain.

Overwhelmed and thinking, "God, I just can't take much more." I can't bear the pain of the hurting. I can't hold the pieces of the broken. I can't deal with another problem.

I have no answers.

I think in times of sorrow we seek answers. Why did this happen? With answers we  hope for closure.

We can assign guilt by casting recriminations. We can absolve ourselves by accusing others.

They should/shouldn't have. Why did/didn't I?

When my sister in law died, I watched the news clip online. And then I made the huge mistake of reading the comments. The comments people left were asinine.

Comments posted from self righteous perches. Forgetting that in the moment we all react instinctively, not necessarily the way we have been taught.

Comments that ignored the fact that this was a wife, mother, sister, daughter, niece, that died. That our lives have a gaping huge hole. Forgetting this isn't just news, but lives.

Everyone had an answer. A reason.

We seek answers, but the answers aren't really ones we want to hear. We want reasons, but reasons don't make the situation any better.

The reasons are Sin. Sinners. Death. The Devil. The ruler of this world is Satan. And he revels in death and destruction.

We think the answers lie in more regulations and laws (or less). In silence or noise.

But truly, there is only one answer. And that answer is God. And I don't say that tritely. My heart is overwhelmed with too many things right now to be trite.

This I recall to mind, therefore I have hope:
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: Great is Thy Faithfulness. Lamentations 3:21-23

No reasons...but hope. Hope founded in God. That's what I have. That's all I have.

Move Over Stovetop!

I wanted to let you all know that I appreciate your prayers, comments and loving on this Barefoot Hippie Girl and her family.

Today is the funeral. I am not going to pretend it isn't going to be hard. It is. My husband has to give a eulogy.

But, this morning I am going to write a normal post. Not because I'm not grieving. Not because I am pretending everything is okay. I'm not ignoring the pain. I'm not moving on.

By writing a normal post, I am striving for our new normal. A normal with a huge gap. I am coping by crying freely when the grief sneaks up on me. I'm coping by writing because writing is very healing for me.

I've been reminded this week that people grieve differently. Some people cry heart wrenching sobs. Some people are silent criers. Both sets have broken hearts.

I grieve by doing. By running my legs off. By scrubbing my tub. By cooking for my family.

I am also grieving by writing. By talking on the phone. By sharing my pain and letting others minister to me. My family, does not do "letting others help you" very well.

I've grieved this week by sharing my ugly, sin drenched heart with some of my closest friends. And by letting God's forgiveness and grace pour into my soul.

(I am grieving by going on another mouse hunt. Okay, so it isn't really part of the grieving process, but I am trying to catch this fnm. Seriously, here I am typing and this cheeky, fat mouse keeps peaking at me from under the couch. He is studiously avoiding the glue traps. He is driving me nuts.)

Anyway...my normal  post...a small kitchen adventure.

Thanksgiving dinner is the holiday meal to write home about in my mom's house. Christmas dinner is a rather laid back affair. Thanksgiving is a no holds barred event.

We have dishes and dishes of amazing food. And I love it. I love the tradition and I love the leftovers.

This year we are not heading to TX for Mom's and Thanksgiving dinner. But I am still hauling out some of my favorite recipes. Old favorites and newer favorites.

One of the newer favorites is my stuffing. A couple of years ago, we didn't go to TX for Thanksgiving either, because we had already made several trips that year. The Barefoot Hippies were (relatively) on their own that year. And I decided to try out some new recipes. One of which was stuffing.

I found this recipe, and I am never going back to regular stuffing. This recipe combines bread, sausage, apples, roasted nuts and chicken broth for an amazing affect. Mom always stuffed her turkey with stuffing which made for a nice moist dish. This recipe is moist even without going in the turkey.

I generally make it up the day before and then pop it in the oven for a hour before dinner.

Sausage and Apple Stuffing
16-20 ounce loaf Italian bread, cubed
6 Tbsp butter, plus more for topping
1 pound sage sausage
1 onion, chopped
2 cooking apples, peeled, cored, chopped
2 celery stalks with leaves, chopped
1/2 tsp salt
3 cups chicken broth
1 Tbsp parsley
1/2 cup walnut pieces, toasted (350 degrees, 7 minutes)
2 eggs, beaten

Grease a casserole dish. Melt 2 T butter, add sausage, break up with a wooden spoon. Cook until almost not pink (5 minutes). Add sausage and pan drippings to bread cubes in a big bowl. Melt remaining butter in pan. Add onion, apple, celery and salt. Cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Add broth and parsley. Bring to boil. Pour vegetable mixture over stuffing, tossing to evenly moisten. Add eggs and walnuts. Bake uncovered at 325 degrees until top forms a crust. Drizzle 2T of turkey drippings or butter over top and bake for another 20 minutes.

If you haven't planned your stuffing yet, I hope you will give this recipe a whirl. It might just ruin all other stuffing for you.

What dish are you most looking forward to eating next Thursday?


Oh, and I caught my mouse!

It is Well

Because I need something to smile about...Meres first pigtails

You all know I've said before that my Pandora dial is set to Beach Boys, Motown, and Leahy. And for minor heartache-that is just the ticket.

But for the gut wrenching grief, the old hymns are what speak to me.

Just like Motown and Beach Boys, hymns are written about life experience. But, hymns point you to God.

Real people wrote these hymns. Their lives weren't black and white, neat and tidy. They weren't perfect. They were sinners saved by grace.They went through deep, deep waters. And God met them there.

We blog our pain. We Facebook our pain. We tweet our pain. They did the next best thing. They wrote hymns.

Their hymns are written out of heart ache and pain. And when you know the back story to the hymns, it makes them even more pertinent.

God showed Himself faithful to these Christians. He was their rock and anchor. He is unchanging, and He is my rock. My anchor.

pigtails exponentially increase the mischief factor

A common funeral hymn is It Is Well with My Soul. This hymn was written by Horatio Spafford. Maybe you have heard his story, maybe you haven't.

Mr. and Mrs. Spafford lived in the 1800s. They were wealthy, affluent and important. They were high society in Chicago. Rubbing shoulders with the who's-who of those days. Lawyer and landowner. They had 5 beautiful children-4 girls and 1 boy. They had it all.

While very young, their son got sick and died.

Within a year or two, the Chicago fire blazed and ate up their material wealth.

Finding nothing to hold them here, the Spaffords decided to join their good friend, Dwight Moody on a gospel campaign in London. Business came up which needed Mr. Spafford's attention, so he sent his wife and girls on to England alone.

Their boat collided with another vessel, and sank. All four daughters drowned. They had it all, and lost it all.

As Mr. Spafford sailed over the ocean to rejoin his wife, he passed by the place the ship had sunk. And this is what he wrote...

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well,
With my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

One thing I learned about rivers when I cooked up at camp, is that the surface can be glassy beautiful, but there are depths of currents moving beneath.

Peace doesn't mean everything is all right. Peace doesn't mean we aren't sorrowing. Peace isn't a pretense. 

It is a rest and confidence that God is in control even in horrific circumstances. It is a knowledge that God is working for our good and His glory. It is knowing that the Prince of Peace, the Sovereign of the Universe is in control even when we can't see beyond our heartache. It is the calm and the currents.

Horatio Spafford and his wife went on to have 3 more children-one of whom died in infancy. They became missionaries in Jerusalem, where they ended up dying in the early 1880s. Life didn't magically become easy because he wrote this hymn. 

But, how many lives have been comforted and strengthened because of the sorrows like sea billows that they experienced? Because he trusted God, and let God use his sorrow?

seems so trite now, but this is my brand new $0.69 jacket! Love it!

How about this precious hymn? You can guess at the buffeting this man is going through while writing...

Though the angry surges roll
On my tempest-driven soul,
I am peaceful, for I know,
Wildly though the winds may blow,
I’ve an anchor safe and sure,
That can evermore endure.

Refrain:
And it holds, my anchor holds:
Blow your wildest, then, O gale,
On my bark so small and frail;
By His grace I shall not fail,
For my anchor holds, my anchor holds.

Mighty tides about me sweep,
Perils lurk within the deep,
Angry clouds o’ershade the sky,
And the tempest rises high;
Still I stand the tempest’s shock,
For my anchor grips the rock.

I can feel the anchor fast
As I meet each sudden blast,
And the cable, though unseen,
Bears the heavy strain between;
Through the storm I safely ride,
Till the turning of the tide.

Troubles almost ’whelm the soul;
Griefs like billows o’er me roll;
Tempters seek to lure astray;
Storms obscure the light of day:
But in Christ I can be bold,
I’ve an anchor that shall hold.

I don't know what God's plan is, for this situation, this time in my life. But, again, I am resting. I am learning experientially to say...

"It is well with my soul."

Raw and Clinging

I have to do this. It's Barefoot Hippie Girl unedited. Because right now, my heart is bleeding.

Writing is the outlet for my heart. And you are getting the raw right now.

My sil died in a car crash yesterday morning. She slowed or swerved to miss a deer and was rear ended by a car behind her.

She is gone.

She is with her Savior.

I totally am at peace with that.

But I grieve. I sorrow.

As Christians, we tend to read 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, and focus on the "sorrow not." But that isn't what it says. It says, "as those who have no hope."

We know death is not the end for a believer. But it doesn't mean that a death doesn't leave a huge gulf in our lives. A place where there was a vibrant person who is no longer with us.

A gulf where there was a wife, and mother. A sister, a daughter. A niece, a friend.

And so we sorrow. Tears come and you wonder if you will ever stop crying.

I am trying to be strong for my husband, and love on him. And my heart is breaking too.

I've shared this hymn before. It is my rock right now. It is based on passages from Isaiah and it is truth. I am clinging...clinging.

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said,
You, who unto Jesus for refuge have fled?

Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;
I’ll strengthen and help thee, and cause thee to stand
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to its foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.

This is my other prayer...

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled, as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
-St. Francis of Assisi

I appreciate all the prayers going up on our behalf. And for the notes. It is painful to read FB right now. My home page is inundated with heart and grief. If I am absent for a few days, just remember,

I'm clinging to the Rock that is higher than I.