Beyond Words

Yesterday I felt well enough to go to mass. I usually go to the 11:30 am Sunday mass because I like to sleep later than the morning-people parishioners. It's usually a pretty quiet mass since the families with children for the most part attend the 5pm Saturday or 9am Sunday contemporary music masses. We have the organ and the traditional choir. This time the 11:30 was full of life. We had four baptisms, four new infants brought into the faith. We had a lot of kids counting the friends and families of the newly baptized making our normally sedate mass exciting.

Baptism is new birth in Christ. I don't remember my own baptism. My parents brought six week-old me to the font and I was reborn, marked with the cross of Christ. When we have baptisms at Holy Rosary I feel reborn. When the sponsors and parents make the baptismal vows for the babies we the assembly renew our own baptismal vows. We are sprinkled with the same Holy Water in which the babies were baptized. What a new beginning to the week!

The privilege of going to church

I'm able to make it to church every other week now. Right after chemo, I'm too nauseated and fatigued. It makes me appreciate going to mass more than ever. I miss weekly Eucharist and I miss my church friends.

Yesterday was my day to go to mass. I arrived in my pink scarf, a sign, a person with cancer who made it out of the house. I saw many people I haven't seen in months. One of our number, a woman in her eighties had injured herself in a fall and had a long rehabilitation. It was so good to see her. I had been afraid that for her this would be the fall that disabled her for life. Thank God it wasn't. Another woman had also been out for months with health problems. She was back. There were a couple of women behind me in the pew that I didn't recognize so I introduced myself. They were an adult daughter from Seattle and her mother from out of state. The mother noticed me as one of the afflicted and asked how I was doing. It turns out that she had fought a similar battle against breast cancer ten years ago and she is now fine. She asked me to repeat my name and told me that she would pray for me and that she really meant it. We talked about how important it is for us to have people praying for us. She said that she could feel the prayers of those who had prayed for her. I can't feel prayers but my heart knows that friends, family, and even strangers are praying for me giving me courage and hope.

The mass proceeds from Liturgy of the Word to Liturgy of the Eucharist. We pray the Eucharistic Prayer and we sing the communion procession song of the day. I walk forward realizing how privileged I am to receive Jesus. I eat the bread and drink the wine that are His Very Self. I go back to my pew and reflect on how Jesus is coursing through my body and that everyone in that communion procession is receiving Jesus as well. We are truly the Body of Christ and we are meant to be transformed.

How does Christ being infused in me transform me? What does it mean for my life? As a person with cancer it means that my cancer is not just about me. It is about my friends, family, co-workers, fellow parishioners, doctors, nurses, technicians, receptionists, and phlebotomists. All are affected by my diagnosis and all need love. I know that I can't take care of everyone's feelings; that's not my job. I need to be a calm presence when I can and receive the love and care of others when I can't, when I need someone to be a calm presence. I need to be transformed by Christ.

Moments of Grace

The third time was the charm. My margins are clear--no more surgery! I'm really happy about that. I'll be starting chemotherapy next week. The sooner I start it the sooner it will be over.

I'm reading a book called The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life by James Martin, S.J. It talks about looking through your day and finding the times that God was present. You can find Him in very ordinary circumstances. I find Him at the clinic when I start fainting and panicking and someone from the staff rubs my arm and tells me that they will take good care of me. Their touches tell me they are there more than their words. I find Him in the touch of my husband's hand and in all the myriad ways my family works to care for me during this rocky time. One daughter cleans my house. Another ferries me to the doctor. My son calls me and visits me from miles away. My brother talks about visiting me which he hasn't done in years. My brother-in-law calls to see how I am doing. My sister-in-law waits for me through two surgeries as does my mother-in-law. My church supports me and prays for me and friends and family pray for me as well. I am truly blessed and amazed. I don't have to look far for the hand of God.

A holy moment with a cat

I took our cat Hazzard to the vet today. He is 15 years-old and has been due for his rabies shot since he likes to go outside and sit in the sun from time to time. He also had his fully dilated swollen eye looked at. I usually don't take him to the vet because we have a deal. He doesn't pee in my car or run away from home and I don't take him to the vet.

The doctor was running late so while we were waiting we sat on the exam-room floor. I wanted to be as nervous as Hazzard but that would only upset him more. I've found that the way to have a calm pet is to be calm myself. I knew that he was blind in his eye so that it must be something bad. So, there we were on the floor and I prayed my centering prayer word, Jesus, over and over again. While Hazzard and I waited we sat with God together, breathing slowly.

Hazzard has to have his eye removed. He either has glaucoma or cancer. The surgery is scheduled next week. He is already avoiding me. I'm not letting him outside until he feels safe with me again. Next week I will be in real trouble with him. He's really mad at my but I know that I did the right thing. Doing nothing was not an option. I just wish that he knew that.