You're so Vain

I draw on eyeliner, trying to fake the look of lashes. Next, I tackle the eyebrows. With my bald head, I remind myself of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh. I wish I could say that pleases me, but truth be told I find it rather unsettling. Let’s face it: nobody is building a pyramid in my honor. I move to my closet. Most of what is in there no longer fits, my waistline having expanded from the medication and the disease. I hold up my favorite pair of jeans with a sense of longing and make a mental note to pack it all away for someday, when I can wear them again, hopeful that it is indeed a possibility. I try not to consider the likelihood that I am vain, but I suppose I am. It strikes me as qu

Like Lazarus

To be in remission means to be given another chance, like Lazarus. Indeed it feels much like the hand of God Himself has reached out to touch my sick body and shattered spirit, raising me to a newness of life. And in a sense, it truly has been a baptism by the fire of pain, uncertainty, and fear. Sure, I have always been aware of my mortality, but having come close to the precipice of the mountain, walked through the Valley of the Shadow, I no longer fear what is on the other side. I guess I have discovered my own immortality as well, the Biblical promise that I know to be true. That has been the lovely residual gift from all of this. I recently heard another teal sister say that because sh

Death by Twinkie

My stomach growls as I look over the menu. Burger and fries? Catfish and hushpuppies? Or maybe a salad with bacon and fried chicken and lots of blue cheese dressing? The possibilities are endless, but also, I am told, poison. I wonder if I am willing to die for a slab of baby back ribs with a baked potato. Would I so readily dive into that hot fudge brownie cake if I knew I was shaving six months off of my life? On some days, the answer is yes, but then, reason sets in and I rethink it. Food, it seems, is the new smoking. And although I haven’t yet seen the warning label that reads, “eating this Twinkie may be hazardous to your health,” it is an unspoken reality, especially for someone with

Our Human Family

If you look at satellite images of earth, you see the continents, large land masses with no borders, nothing stopping them until they touch the sea. There isn’t a real division of states in America or markers between countries in Europe. Those exist only on maps, or when you notice the strategically placed signs as you whiz by on the highway. In truth, the dissection of the country, or the earth for that matter, is man-made. Those invisible lines separate us, labeling us as Texans or Georgians or Italians or British. And so it is true with the individuals who make up a society. I often wonder if there is some innate need for us to classify folks, grouping people into some tidy category base

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