Lucky 13!!- Another BMT Anniversary

 Another trip around the sun has come and gone as I try to reflect back on how far this journey has brought me. Some days it seems like it happened eons ago and to a completely different person. Other days the lingering effects, the grief of what was lost still hits deep and fresh. Cancer leaves an indelible mark on your life with scars both seen and unseen. Yet, it can also give gifts that you never knew you so desperately needed. As I was looking back today, I was reminded once again of the gift of CONJUNCTIONS, a gift I still walk in. I know it sounds bizarre and kitschy, but hear me out. Thru this journey of low valleys and even more low valleys,  I have learned to live in the beautiful tension of AND. God is good AND Cancer sucks. I can grieve all that I lost AND laugh with joy at the good things I still hold. I can be anxious AND still know that God has got me. I can know truth AND still have questions and doubts. I can love God with my whole heart AND still be angry about why I still feel like the modern day Job. I have also learned to lean into the BUT of life. My current situations with court and the ex and money and jobs and doctors all seem kind of hopeless, like I am stuck on a hamster wheel going, going going.... nowhere. BUT God... so far, He has made a way when I couldn't see a way and provided for my needs. BUT God... at the times when my fingers were slipping off the end of my rope, there He was. BUT God... even in the silence and lingering wilderness and barren desert, He gives me glimpses of his faithfulness to remind me He is still working in the waiting. BUT God... even in my wondering and worrying and fear, He still calls me beloved and worthy of good things.  BUT God... when my arms are tired and I am losing the battle, He brings in the Aaron and Hur to my Moses arms to lift me up and encourage me to finish the fight. 

So to my fellow survivors and sojourners and everyone in between, I pray you will find that sweet spot of tension in all areas of your life. May you have joy amid your heartache, peace within your worry, and hope in spite of your grief. 

Now here is to another Lucky Bakers Dozen of milestones marking my Ebenezers, learning and relearning the same lessons because I'm human, and seeing my purpose finally played out. Thank you to all who have carried me this far on your love, prayers, support and friendship. It takes a village and I couldn't be more grateful for mine. 

His First Heavenly Birthday

     My Grandpa would have been ninety-two today, and instead he is partying it up at the pearly gates. Next week, it will be four months since he breathed his last here on this earth. While the grief is no longer raw, it is still very much woven into the fabric of our everyday. Big milestones are passing, and his presence is dearly missed. Today, I am holding the tension of a spectrum of feelings. I miss my grandpa, his sparkling blue eyes, and weird dad jokes, yet, at the same time my best girl, Nevaeh, his birthday buddy, is turning fourteen tomorrow, leaving middle school behind, and I couldn't be more proud. As I seek to honor these feelings in their acknowledgment and remember my grandpa in the best way, I thought I would share the words I spoke at his funeral. They still hold true today and perfectly describe the incredible man I knew and loved. Happy Heavenly Birthday Opa!! We love you fiercely.

Opa’s Tribute

Opa… such a small name for such a big heart. He loved us all so well in his own ways. He truly lived his life as the ultimate doorkeeper whether at church every single time the doors were opened or at his cozy home where he was the first to welcome all who entered with a hearty handshake, a piercing look in the eye and a warm hello. As a doorkeeper he was also the first to stand guard over his family and loved ones with promises to lay on of hands WITHOUT prayer if needed. Even in these last few years when he couldn’t remember what he had had for breakfast that day, he would still remind me that he could also give the right hand of fellowship, if necessary, all the while shaking his strong fist in the air.

I am so lucky to have had such an amazing and present grandpa. I really can’t think of any childhood memories without him in it, and I didn’t know how big of a blessing that was until I became an adult. One major trait that I always equate with my grandpa is that it was practically a cardinal sin for anyone to go hungry around him, and most of us here have been the true recipients of that firmly held belief. Growing up, even if we had just had lunch at home, he would ask if we were hungry and we would always say yes. There was always time and room for a vanilla cone at McDonalds. Every weekend afternoon and visits from friends and family ultimately led to us eating our body weight in his perfected stovetop popcorn and washing it down with Fresca. I also learned at a young age that a good cup of coffee was never complete unless accompanied by some cookies, a tradition he even enjoyed in his last days. Opa was also never without candy, especially suckers like tootsie pops and dumdums. He kept them everywhere in his pockets, in his truck, in his lunch box, and in his pantry. He used to keep them in a fuzzy pouch hanging off his rearview mirror. As a naïve young child, I thought it was a horses nose and loved to pet it and sift thru it to see what goodies he kept in there. It was so cute and so soft. With much humor, several years later, I finally realized it was not actually a horses nose but a tanned ball sack. We all still  have a good laugh about it to this day. Well Played, Opa.

There is so much we could say about the strength and character of this incredible man. He was fiercely loyal and protective and consistent. He was strong and faithful and always had a dad joke ready to share. He worked hard his whole life with a work ethic that could hardly be matched. Then when he retired, he used that same work ethic to bless and serve his family. He stepped into our everyday ordinary and did all the things. He graciously moved me back and forth to and from college so many times with so much stuff and never bemoaned how much crap I actually had. He was mister fix it and always had the tools to jimmy-rig something or create some new masterpiece we didn’t know we needed. When my dad was deployed, he stepped in as bodyguard, and saved me from some hooligan boys that were not worth his Sweetie’s time. He was there to hold me each time my world fell completely apart, letting my tears soak the chest of his favorite western snap shirt. He was always there to cheer us on no matter what activity we were involved in whether it was sports, drama, church and everything in between. Throughout his years, he truly lived his life with open palms and shared all that he had whenever we needed it. Yet, in all of his goodness the one thing that I hold nearest and dearest to my heart was his unwavering faith. He lived his faith everyday in word and in deed. His worn Bible was always close at hand and creaked with years of good use and the current daily bread rested on the bathroom counter. His voice is still ringing in my ears of him reading Luke chapter 2 at the beginning of every Christmas Eve. He led by example and carried that mantle of faith well. It is because of his faith that I have hope today holding tension with my grief. It is because of his faith that I have a tomorrow to look forward to in being reunited with him. It was because of his foundation of faith that I too am able to live and love well. Here’s to you Opa. Well done good and faithful servant.

Love always,

Your Sweetie

A Dozen Years- Happy 12th BMT to Me!

 June 14th.... a day that will always live in infamy in my world. Today, my immune system is a preteen. It sounds so blasé to say it has only been a dozen years {insert a whisk of my hand}, and yet here with are twelve years down and peppered with some awesome teenage angst😃. 

It has been a Dozen Years. A dozen years since since I fought for life to be a mom to my daughter. A dozen years since sickness was my only normal that I thought would never end. A dozen years of walking through fires and hell, sometimes with only a mustard seed of faith and hope to keep taking that next step. Now, here we are. This past year has been different in so many ways compared to previous ones. There have been so many changes, so many feelings, and so so much waiting. This birthday just hits different. I find myself still in the middle of a long wilderness (coming up on a year) knowing that things are moving and shifting, but still anxiously waiting for guidance and clarity because I am still not sure how it will all play out. This is the year where I have actually found myself at a loss for words... crazy I know, but it is true. The lack of blog posts this past year is a testament to that fact. Still, this wilderness has brought its share of blessings too. I may still be in some survival mode, but I have found my inner strength again. Through another chapter of hell, I was given the chance to take back my voice and find my strength. I was able to finally look at my abuser in the eye without fear or trepidation or tears. No longer does that evil make me cower in a corner, for I am no longer that same woman that I once was. Another blessing I have found is that I can trust the wilderness. Honestly, the wilderness sucks. If I had the choice I would not linger here, but I have come to the place of knowing it is only a season. If the God that I know and love is truly El Roi, then He will lead me out when the time is right. I may still lose all that I am and all that I know right now, but I know this isn't the end. God is still present in the wilderness even when He is "silent". God is still present even when I can't see Him working. Right now, this is all I know and that is actually ok even if I have to remind myself of this truth every now and again. Right now, I have no inspiring pearls of wisdom, nothing new to pave the way just the clutching of memories of the past precedence of God's fingerprints in my life. Right now, ALL OF MY THINGS are so completely out of my control, and all I can do is wait and hope and trust that all things will work out for my good. This hope is all I have got, and my little tids and bits of it in the hands of the Almighty can someday multiply into something magnanimous. So happy dozen years to me today and a here's to the hope that my 13th birthday will bring about some epic new things. 

D-Day, A Year Later

    Where have the past 365 days gone? This question has been rolling around in my head all week as this anniversary loomed on the horizon. January 19, 2022 held so many HUGE emotions I didn't know how to process them then, and I am still learning how to process them now, so many months later (thank you counseling😍). Last year, I got my first taste of freedom and the future looked as bright as the morning sun bursting with possibilities. God showed up in magnanimous ways to blow my mind and remind me that He is still the God of the impossible. I was so ready to tie up the final loose ends, bid goodbye to my amazing lawyer, and then step into finding a new normal for me and my daughter. It was all so promising.  In the midst of my joy, however, I found myself also grieving for the end of an era, the loss of a soul tie, the harsh reality of co-parenting, and the fear of the unknown future. My soul was literally a cauldron of bubbling emotions. Looking back now, I have a hard time even recognizing the woman that I was back then or imagining the fragile hope that danced on the edges of my healing heart. While it has been a year filled with some amazing moments, it has also been a time of severe drought and wilderness. I continue to be overwhelmed and blessed by a super supportive family and a tightknit group of friends who consistently stand in the gap for me, encourage me, and bring me unspeakable joy. I have also made several new friends that have pushed me out of my comfort zone, inspired me beyond my wildest dreams, and redeemed a few of the broken bits of my story. Besides new people, I bravely found new things to try like dancing lessons and putting my soul on display in my writing for more people to see. Moreover, I found the courage and strength to pull up my big girl pants, and I learned how to not only be a single mom but also how to embrace humility and accept some much needed aid. I have been able to face the barrage of triggers and process them with fewer tears rather than crumbling underneath them ruining my entire day. I can see the forgiveness of my ex and continue to work toward it, instead of being overwhelmed by the feelings of the injustice surrounding it. My mess of a story has become a beautiful message and a beacon of hope for others who are just starting on this painful and arduous and devastating journey. This is a mantle I never would have asked for, but I am so grateful of its power to weave a new story of redemption. On the other side of the pendulum, however, I have also seen my bubbly daughter turn into an angsty teen as she bravely flounders her way through new family members, switching houses and trying to keep her peace in this chaotic time. I am realizing more and more how little I know how to parent and how much my mama bear heart aches to be able to just make things right for her. Instead, I have to continually place her into the hands of the One who made her and trust that it is enough. I have walked through the blazing fire forging my faith and basked in the sweetest intimacy of God in the darkest of nights to suddenly finding myself in a swirling dust storm of wilderness wondering what turn did I miss. I was good until all of a sudden I wasn't. Honestly, it has felt like now that the time of complete and utter desperation has passed that I am supposed to be good to go and just pushed to the side. It sounds absolutely asinine to even have that thought cross my mind, but there it is. The last several months have constantly had a feeling of shifting and shaking with no knowledge of why or what or when. The stinging pain of feelings, beliefs, and identity being stripped down and away has become a regular occurrence. I have found myself more and more like the wandering Israelites and doubting Thomas as the wilderness has stretched on and on before me with no end in sight. This past year has again forced me to match my walk with my talk. The times where my faith has dwindled down from a sword of steel to a miniscule mustard seed, I still cling to it because I know that even in its faintest form, it can still move the mountains and the giants in front of me. Therefore, I can keep going, keep stepping, and keep believing my way forward. I know this next year will become an incredible tapestry, weaving my grief, wanting, waiting, wrestling, believing, hoping and absolute joy as I do the hard and holy work to discover His greatness and His plans for me. So, here I am with open palms and cautious treading steps as I make my way into a new year and and new chapter of  becoming the better and stronger Lindsay Carlene. 

 

Summer of #92

 Ninety-two days. That is how long this summer season has been. I had no freaking idea that these past three months would end up being the bumpy, twisting road that it was. I spent some time going back what I had posted in June as I set out on this new adventure, and without a warning, tears started to flow down my cheeks. I can feel the hope oozing from those words, and the expectations that danced along the edges of my soul. I recall the titillating excitement enshrouded with trepidation at what I had just stepped into. It is all a bit mind blowing as I try to reconcile the journey with this particular destination. I am nowhere near where I thought I would be at this time. The journey to get to this point was nothing like I had expected in both good and not so good ways. I have always written to clear my head, to inspire others, and to set mile markers in my life. Each blog post has been a piece of my soul displayed on a pixelated screen, laid bare for all to see. Yet, I had no idea of the unearthing that would occur and the new battles I would have to face as I sat down to write on a regular basis. I had no idea of the immense wrestling match that would ensue as I continued to face God and my Goliaths. I also had no idea that I could feel so seen and heard. Until this summer, I had never before experienced such an incredible depth of life-giving words spoken over me and to me. I had no idea that there were more gifts and talents to be seen and called out in me by incredible people. I had no idea that I, LINDSAY CARLENE, could be bold and courageous. Yet, here I am still sitting in this tension of the good and the bad, fearful and courageous, and holding both hope and grief. 

I started this summer with a dream, a dream to share my story and inspire the world. I had taken a challenge, a small step of faith, to see if I could put momentum behind this dream. I took the first step and then BAM!! The assaults of doubt and fear came out of everywhere. Questions of my worth and talent barreled to the forefront. Doubts of God and wondering how or why He could possibly use me became the song of my tears. I had nothing to say, nothing good to say or at least nothing new to say, still I kept on. I didn’t want to fall into my comfortable habits. I wanted this time to be different. I wanted to show up for myself for once. A friend recently reminded me, that courage is a muscle too and if you don’t use it or work at it you lose it. Well, this small but fierce bold challenge was the boost I needed to start being bold in other places in my life. It helped me to start trusting myself again. As a result, I was able to relish in new joys. I found excitement in trying new things. I made space for new people who eventually became friends. I was able to step out of my comfort zone and get out of my own head. I was doing the hard work of acknowledging the places in my heart that were still wounded from past traumas. I was being intentional about me and my own healing journey. All of a sudden, it was like I hit a pit of quicksand. Hurt, loss, rejection, and grief collided, and I was left flailing and floundering. I literally had nothing more to say or to write. My heart felt desolate like the desert hills. I was questioning the greatness of God and wondering so many whys. I felt emptied of all inspiration and the joy that had been lighting my face was fleeting away like a whisper in the wind. Still, I tried to press on. I continued to take the tiniest of bold steps. I risked rejection and put some of my writing out in different places. I started to put words and a voice behind my dreams that they may find a place to bloom as I cast them forth. Even now, I am still desperately putting pen to paper and fingers to a keyboard as I lay my gifts on the altar praying and hoping it will keep laying a foundation for my dreams. As I said before, this summer became a very different reality for me, and now at the end of it, I am still not where I hope to be. I am still leaning and pushing and grasping at the promises of God as I work through my doubts of yes, He has but will He again. I am still facing my Goliaths of doubt wondering whether I have what it takes or if I misheard His leadings. I am still here tired and exhausted of all the waiting and the wanting. Even so, an old season has closed, and I am still here as ready as I will ever be to face the new season ahead. Here’s to walking in boldness wherever that may lead. Goodbye sweet summer!

Just Another Day: 8/10/22

Ashes. 

Stone cold black dust that is disappearing on the wings of the wind and is all that remains of the past fifteen years. 

A day that once held beauty and hope and ecstatic joy has been reduced to a day smudged with the embers of years gone by. My "I Do" has forever been erased and replaced by the question of "What's Next?". My grief over loss is no longer the guttural cries from a drowning soul, but has become more like the quiet tears shed behind closed doors.

Today, I stand here with cheeks wet and palms open, balancing both the grief of loss and also the hope of a Phoenix rising out of these murky ashes. I hold both the relief of my salvation and freedom and the impatience of something better. I am still walking the edgy road of forgiveness while securing the good memories from my past.  I am embracing my healing while also igniting a new flame of hope. I had no idea how or what to feel today, and apparently, it was a lot more than I was ready for. It probably did not help that I actually crossed paths with Clay today of all days, yet, the heaviness of this day compounded with this dry wilderness season became an incredible tangle within my heart. The hurt, the rejection, and the injustice of it all made themselves known as I worked and walked through my day, being constant companions and a releaser of tears. This mile marker has now become just another day on the calendar. It is now a mosaic of all of the beautiful, ordinary moments that I am blessed to experience as I try to frame the past hurt with the gratitude of my many blessings. I'm sure people wonder why I mark this time, why I write my soul into the the minutes of this particular day. I write and remember because it is important to me. This day was etched into the core of an era of my life. I write to feel, to remind me of who I am and where I have been. I write to remind myself that the trauma of today and this past year do not negate the goodness and the blessings of time gone by. I write so I do not repeat. I write to give myself grace to feel and grieve and remember that the best is still yet to come. I write to remember I am not alone. I write that my grief might be a light for someone else. I write because my soul sometimes needs a language to release its desperate song. I write because I hold a glimmer of hope that one day this special date will be replaced and a new era will be born. 

August tenth...over and out.

BMT- Still healing after 11 years.

I saw this C.S. Lewis quote on someone's Facebook page recently, and it just sank into the depths of my soul like water on a parched ground. Someone had spoken the words my heart did not have yet have the language for that boiled this entire last year down to one sentence. 

“We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”

This feels like the anthem of not only this past year but these past eleven years. I have seen, heard and tasted the goodness of God. I have declared it in the darkest of nights and shouted it while basking in the gratitude of bountiful gifts. I know in my core how good God is and how good He is to me even though I am sorely, sorely undeserving. With my last breath, whenever that may be, I will still declare that He is good, faithful and still God. However, the pain, the cost, the sacrifice I continue to face now is still hard and unnervingly scary. I was looking back and reading past posts, my Ebenezers, and man, page after page was filled with His faithfulness... Thus far He has been 100%  perfectly faithful. Yet, my frail humanity still sits here with something akin to PTSD. I'm still afraid of the pain of expectations even though I know that what God has for me is the absolute best. This year, especially, my heart has been put through the wringer. It has had to shut down in places just to survive. It is exhausted from pain and heartache. It is just now starting to peek its head out seeing if there is safety out there for both the physical and the emotional sides of me. Still, I know without pain I cannot experience true joy and love, and without heartache I would not know the blessing of hope either. So, as I sit on this anniversary, I think about all of the healing that my body has overcome and contemplate all of the healing that remains to be seen. I still have effects like random bouts of nausea, teeth disintegration, and a thyroid that laughs as it clings to every ounce I carry. I still cannot tolerate even the smell of creamed corn, and the scars that cover my palest of skin reminds me of every poke and every med. That BMT day is a day of pure infamy. A day that required the severest of pains in order that I might live. The cost was high, the sacrifice high, and the pain severely high. This was the route that God allowed for my healing to occur. This was my miracle in medicinal form dependent on the smarts of other beautiful human beings. This route allowed for my best to come through. It brought the refining fire to my faith and relationship with God. It brought me a new appreciation for food and the beautiful intimacy that a shared meal can bring. It brought me to a new place of strength knowing that what I had survived would enable me to face ANYTHING else this world could throw at me. It brought me into new depths of compassion, I didn't know existed. Even now, it is reminding me that ALL healing is a LONG process. Some parts heal quicker than others and that is ok. Some parts may never fully heal and the scar that remains is ok and just more proof that I did, in fact, survive. I am finding I need to keep giving myself more grace. Grace to heal and grace to be at peace with the snail's pace. I remember in the first few months after my BMT and the smallest of tasks would completely exhaust me. I could no longer just tell my body to do whatever I wanted it to, and I was forced to rest. I just didn't have the strength and stamina like before. I remember crying because in the middle of shopping I had to stop as the nausea and dizziness came out of nowhere and literally almost took me out. It was clear I was not the same vibrant 25 year old. My body had aged exponentially, and it was just a fact and side effect of my treatment. Now, eleven years later, my triggers are different, a picture, a gift or a ridiculous bill. They spring up and stab my soul, and all the memories of the rejection, the hurt, the waiting and all of the loss overwhelm me like a tidal wave. No longer can I just stuff it away, and no longer do I want to take that route. Still, I have to take the time to deal with it. I have to process it, and I can't just shake my head and tell myself to get over it like I used to do. In this too, I know my stamina will come and the triggers will shrink eventually. I just have to keep going, keep showing up for myself and my healing. Even as I still need the my anti-emetic Zofran, I may still need other tools or people to show up and help me conquer another trigger that will most definitely come my way. That will be ok too. My worth as a woman and a human being is not negated by my need for help and community. My life's race is set for me and me only. A flower that blooms late is still just as beautiful as the blooms that opened before. Therefore, another year into another decade has come and I am still a warrior, continuing to fight for the woman that was saved from physical death because she has a purpose to fulfill. Eleven years down and the warrior in me is now fighting for her soul that was crushed and left for dead because it also has a new purpose to live out.

Happy 11 years post BMT to me! Eleven years strong and counting.