In June 2021 I received a Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma diagnosis. Yikes! But so many people have helped me along the way that I want to pass along the encouragement and love.
From funny to frustrating to all out embarrassing, I'll share what happens behind-the-scenes in non-traditonal cancer treatments.

Here's the first update I posted on the GoFundMe page that my baby sister Marianne and daughter Patty set up.

And please know, if you're going through a difficult stretch, you aren't alone.

In June 2021 I received a cancer diagnosis: Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Blech! But so many people have helped me along the way. To pass along the encouragement and love, I'll post updates from the GoFundMe page that my baby sister Marianne and daughter Patty set up. Please know, if you're going through a difficult stretch, you aren't alone.

From funny to frustrating to all out embarrassing, I'll share what happens behind-the-scenes in non-traditonal cancer treatments.

Marianne initially wrote:

Sometimes we need laughter to redirect our brains from the seriousness of our situations. Chicken Soup for the Soul's newest release, Read, Laugh, Repeat, had me literally laughing out loud.

My story, "What Goes Up" in included in this hilarious book. Here's a peek:

“Grandma, watch this!”

Our ten-year-old grandson scrambled up our backyard maple tree like King Kong scaling the Empire State building. He stood on a limb, grabbed the one above him, and bounced. Hapless young leaves dropped under his onslaught as the branch bobbed up and down.

My breath caught in my throat, a regular occurrence for a grandparent of an active boy. “Asher, be careful. You haven’t broken any bones yet. Let’s keep it that way.”
He stopped bouncing and plopped onto the limb. My lungs resumed their normal rhythm. “Grandma,” he called in a cajoling tone, “Climb up with me. Please.”

I eyed the old tree. Asher and I considered it our private fortress, but the branch I normally used to boost myself up had broken off in a recent storm. Getting into that tree would take more upper arm strength than I possessed. “Honey, I don’t think I can climb up there anymore.”

Asher’s eyes widened as if I’d uttered a blasphemy. “But Grandma, it’s our special place. You have to try.” His stricken look prompted me to grab a branch. An oversized gorilla hoisting me up would have been more helpful than Asher’s verbal assistance. “Pull harder, Grandma. Boy, you should really start working out. You’re getting pretty weak.”

After multiple tries I hefted myself onto the lowest limb and lay panting against the rough bark. Slow maneuvering brought me to a sitting position.
“See Grandma, I knew you could get up here.” Asher grinned and scooted next to me. We sat together on the branch, our feet dangling. A cool May breeze held the insects at bay as Asher told me about his school day.

I silently thanked God for the opportunity to spend time with this beloved grandson. My husband Jake and I relished our time with him. We’d forged a special bond over the years with this child, so dear to our hearts.
As sunset streaked the sky the breeze died down and mosquitoes began foraging for victims. “OK Sweetie, let’s go in. Your grandpa will be home soon.”

Asher shimmied down the trunk like a competitor in a lumberjack competition. I swung my leg lower, feeling for the limb I always used to descend. “Be careful Grandma. Your climb-down branch is gone, remember?”
I surveyed the hard surface below. The new river rock and brick landscape edging mocked me. Several dismount attempts brought one conclusion. I couldn’t get myself down safely.

“Hurry up, Grandma.” Asher bounced on the patio.
“Sweetie, I’m having trouble getting down.”
Asher stopped jumping and peered up at me. “Grandma, are you stuck in the tree?”
The knobby bark bit into my protesting backside. I cautiously shifted my weight on the branch. “I don’t want you to worry, but . . .”
“Are you REALLY stuck?”
“Yes Asher, I’m really stuck.”
His eyes gleamed with excitement. “Can I call 911?” he asked hopefully.
“No, not 911. Call your grandpa.”

Asher ran inside for the phone. A tiny gnat, the size of a pin head, landed on my arm. I jerked at its needle-jab sting, then fought to keep my balance. A red, dime-sized welt appeared where the gnat stung me. I swatted away another Mutant Robo-Gnat that was dive-bombing my face.
Asher ran back, waving the phone like a prize. “Are you sure I can’t call 911?” he asked again, anticipation written in his countenance. I could see his mental wheels turning. A firetruck or two, perhaps a rescue squad on stand-by would perk up a weekday. And make a great story at school.

“Dial your grandpa and put him on speaker,” I commanded.
Jake answered on the second ring. “Grandma’s stuck in a tree,” Asher announced cheerfully.
“What?”
I rolled my eyes and swatted another gnat.
“Grandma told me to call because she’s stuck in a tree.”
I heard a long pause before my husband asked, “Is Grandma really stuck in a tree?”
“Yeah, and she wants you to come home and help her down,” Asher enthused.
Jake’s hysterical laughter flowed through the phone line.
“You’re on speaker. I can hear you,” I shouted from my perch. ”Now stop cackling, come home, and get me down.”
Between bouts of laughter Jake said, “Tell Grandma to hang on. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok, bye Gramps. I’ll take care of things until you get home.” Asher laid the house phone on the patio table and ran back inside. I smashed a Robo-Gnat attacking my leg as Asher burst through the patio door, his new cell phone in hand. “My grandmother is stuck in a tree,” he said in his best news announcer voice.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked.
“Nobody, Grandma.”

Asher resumed his spiel, “My grandmother is stuck in the tree. She can’t get down. Grandma, would like to say a few words?”

The splintery wood dug into my palms. I tamped down exasperation. “Say a few words to who? Who are you talking to?”
“I’m not talking to anyone. I’m recording you. See?”

He flipped the phone around and held it up for me to view. Sure enough, a video played on-screen. A middle-aged woman wearing silver loafers, dark washed jeans, and an exasperated glare hunched in a maple.
“Give me that!” I make a feeble swipe at the upheld phone. Asher pulled it back and tapped buttons furiously. I wobbled on the branch before regaining my balance. Asher peered up at me through the deepening twilight. “Be careful! You almost fell. Grandma, are you really, truly stuck?”

My heart softened at his evident concern. “Yes Sweetie, but I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said, “I just posted this online. The video already has two ‘likes.’ You’ve gone worldwide.”

So what do you need help with? Work projects? School? Child care? Cooking? Cleaning? Tending sick friends or elderly relatives? 
Be proactive. Seek help from family, friends, neighbors, your church family, and coworkers. Sometimes a small break can make a major difference. Maybe you need a meal delivered, or a few hours without the children. Maybe you need a tutor, or a night out with friends or your spouse. Although that might be a picnic instead of dinner at an exclusive restaurant.
(Insiders note: my husband would rather eat my lethal burnt eggplant than dine in a fine restaurant.)
We live in a constantly changing "new normal" with Covid-19, social unrest, and economic uncertainty. People have contended with plagues, fires, famines, political machinations, and wars for centuries. An ancient book offers advice to deal with it:

"Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done." Phil 4:6 NLT

Which lines up with 1 Peter 5:7, "Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you."
So, I might want to worry. but I need to pray. 

What new--or old--methods are you using to meet your needs and those of others?
By the way, if anyone wants or needs burnt eggplant, I'll gladly share my portion.
(Insider's note: I actually burned the green beans while writing this blog. But I left the smoky pan inside this time to prevent squirrel deaths.)


Photo courtesy [email protected]

"Dad, it feels like Easter is cancelled. Has this ever happened before? Maybe during WW2?"

My eighty-five year old father replied, "Honey, this is a first. Even during wartime we always celebrated Easter. Services at church. The whole family together for dinner. Easter egg hunts for the kids." Dad paused for a moment. "We've never been in a situation like this, but we'll make it through." 

Dad's right. So hit the road, Easter Grinch. Celebrations may look different, but they will continue. Because the whole reason for Easter isn't colored eggs and chocolate bunnies--although I'm a major chocolate bunny fan.

Easter is a celebration of Jesus coming to Earth. Sacrificing His life so we can have new life. And He offers His love, hope, and encouragement throughout the toughest times.