Here’s a little video to serve as an introduction to Feel Christ Close, the new name for my site with a tighter focus on sharing hope in Christ! ☀️It’s OK if we’re not always happy, confident or at peace. Christ is there for us in the storms too. ⛅️He will come to us, mourn with us, and calm the waves…eventually, as we trust in him and lean on his love. Learning how you #feelhimclose is essential to make it through this life’s journey with real hope. 💡I’ve felt his power again and again on my good days so I can remember those moments on my hardest days. When I feel Christ close, I can get through anything.
I’m so grateful for a God that doesn’t need perfection now. ❤️Who loves me where I’m at and teaches me to do the same for myself and others. 🤟We can do all things through Christ when we are close to him and feel his restorative power in us. So turn to him, cleave unto him and find ways to invite him into your life more. That’s the only way to feel lasting hope and peace. 🥲 I’m excited for this more focused journey of coming unto Christ. I hope we can learn from each other and #comeuntohim as we feel Christ close a little bit more each day.
“Live each day like you would if it’s your last.” I unexpectedly came across this message from my “graduated” father this morning. Going through the circus of resetting forgotten passwords to YouTube and my website (as I tried to rekindle my creative motivation to keep sharing uplifting songs and stories), I had to go to an old email account for a security code. It’s a season for organizing, refocusing and rebranding what my sharing is really meant to be, now that I’ve grown up a bit. But apparently I’m not too grownup as I can still use encouragement from my Dad.
Nothing like a looming milestone birthday (The big 40 this month!) to give you a deadline. As a stretched-thin, homeschooling, part-time working mom of three, time is a jigsaw puzzle where me-time rarely seems to fit. Add to that a serious case of perfectionism (at least wanting to create art in my own, perfect-to-me way), and it’s no wonder that a decade later most of my songs and stories have gone unpublished.
But I decided last month that July 1st, today, was going to be day one of writing again. I took a week off of work and emptied a corner of the attic for an office. I began sorting through bin after bin of mementos to find new places for what was in that corner of the attic. Then began all the figuring and refiguring of passwords to get back into sharing until I was back at old yahoo mail, a place my Dad and I had always connected, especially once his terminal illness took his speaking ability. For fun and to feel him close, I did a quick search of emails from Dad and clicked on one randomly. This is what it said…
Email from my Dad:
Hi girls, I’m not sure why, but this story touched me and I thought I should share it with you. I guess you never know when it will be over here on earth, so live each day like you would if it’s your last. Above all, be kind.
Love, Dad
Hearing Dad’s Rare Advice
Dad’s words came from an email where he shared the story of a bright, outgoing 16-year-old named Angela who was unexpectedly killed by a brain aneurism. It was rare for my dad to ever give advice, so this tender mercy of an email was rare in more than one way – the timing of clicking on it the day that I wanted to start motivational blogging again, and that it came at all. I’ve even had meaningful conversations with friends at work on getting messages from parents who passed on, so again, this advice today was uncanny. The words, “live each day like you would if it’s your last,” hit me hard.
The article was heartbreaking, yet beautiful, showing this girls’ zest for life and also her fears. This excerpt with a quote from her guardian and grandfather shows that:
Sometimes Angela worried a little about the example she felt expected to set, recalled her grandfather, Paul Shinn. “Once she looked at me and said: ‘I’m kind of a role model, aren’t I? I don’t know if I can handle that, Grandpa.’ ” He stopped to regain his composure. “I’m known around here as Angela’s grandpa – if that is the only thing I’m ever known for in my whole life, that’s OK.”
Tragedy takes promising teenager Cheerleader served as role model By Dorothy Korber — Bee Staff Writer Published 2:15 am PDT Friday, October 7, 2005
“Live Each Day as You Would If it’s Your Last”
This is the message I’ve needed for so long.
I’ve heard it in different ways…printed quotes I’ve come across from old planners (They’re scattered through the rest of this post.), General Conference messages (from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), and encouraging memes in my Instagram feed. However, the words from your own precious father can’t be matched. Those messages come with a force of love, a belief in you, a caution and compassion that seem to simultaneously hug you where you are and push you forward.
You feel like you CAN do what you need to because Dad believes in you.
You’ll make mistakes, you’ll be messy, but it’s OK.
Much needed quote from an old planner I found while cleaning this week.
Take the Lead and Keep Living
So, here I go again. Just like I fell off my bike and he helped me back up. Just like when my rough draft of my fifth grade report came back from him with red lines all over it and he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as you think,” I can hear him saying that to me know. Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as you think. You’re not as “late” as you think you are in this journey of adulthood. You’re music isn’t as bad as you think. You have been learning and growing all your life. It’s ok. Not a day was wasted. But don’t let yourself wait any longer. Get back up. Your words are worth the effort. Your songs are worth being sung. Your dreams are worth diving into because, ” you never know when it will be over here on earth.”
“Trust the timing of your life,” another much needed quote I found.
Thank you, Daddy, for continuing to parent me. Thank you, God, for giving me moments when I feel loved. Thank you, Jesus, for always keeping me close to you so I can recognize these moments in my life. They are powerful and needed. They share hope and give inspiration. The song that this moment inspired is below, in all its rawness. 🙂 I’ve also included that priceless email and article too. May it help us all remember: “Live each day like you would if it’s your last.”
One more much needed quote from an old planner I found while cleaning this week.
Article about Angela
Tragedy takes promising teenager Cheerleader served as role model By Dorothy Korber — Bee Staff Writer Published 2:15 am PDT Friday, October 7, 2005
Lovable and lovely, Angela Carland was a born cheerleader: happy, athletic, graceful. Just being with her cheered you up, her family and friends say.
But Angela was born with something else – a flaw that waited in silent ambush for 16 years. Last week, the El Dorado County teenager suffered a brain aneurism that left her in a coma until her death Thursday in a Sacramento hospital.
“How many hearts she has broken, how many hearts she has left behind,” said her grandmother, Joyce Shinn. Angela and her little sister, 13-year-old Brittney, lived with their grandparents on a 10-acre horse ranch in Pleasant Valley, outside Placerville.
Angela’s own heart will beat on, however, since the teen had requested – with no hint then of her own mortality – that her organs be donated to give new life to others.
Angela collapsed Sept. 29 during classes at El Dorado High School, Shinn said. She was a junior at El Dorado, on the varsity cheer squad, captain of the dance team, student body treasurer.
She had suffered a blow to the head the day before at cheerleading practice, but her grandmother said that injury apparently had no relationship to the massive stroke she suffered the next day.
“The doctors told me that it was not the result of any accident; it was a brain aneurysm she was born with, a birth defect that finally did its damage,” Shinn said. “She could have passed on at 5 or 55 or 105. They said there was no way to know it was there, and it could happen to any of us.”
Joyce Shinn, 65, is a special education teacher at El Dorado High, but she was off campus at a meeting when the phone call came: Go to the hospital. Her husband, getting the same message, assumed it was his wife who was stricken, not his lively granddaughter.
The unconscious girl was stabilized at Marshall Medical Center in Placerville and then transported to Sutter General Hospital in Sacramento. After brain surgery that evening, the surgeon gave the Shinns the bad news.
There was no chance for recovery. “When they told me how extensive the damage was, we as a family agreed that we would not allow her to stay on life support for long,” her grandmother said. “That was a wish she had expressed to us. Also that she wished to be an organ donor.”
The day after Angela’s collapse, El Dorado High played its annual football game against archrival Ponderosa High of Shingle Springs. A single rose was placed at Angela’s spot on the cheerleading squad.
The raucous crowd stilled for a moment of silence in her honor, said her friend Emily Martin, who had been a cheerleader with Angela since their days as kids on Pop Warner squads.
“She was amazing,” said Martin, who graduated from El Dorado High last spring. “She was a beautiful person – absolutely gorgeous and with the most amazing heart. Ever since I’ve known her, she always lent a hand to anyone who needed it. She was very giving – and she had the passion to cheer.”
Sometimes Angela worried a little about the example she felt expected to set, recalled her grandfather, Paul Shinn. “Once she looked at me and said: ‘I’m kind of a role model, aren’t I? I don’t know if I can handle that, Grandpa.’ ” He stopped to regain his composure. “I’m known around here as Angela’s grandpa – if that is the only thing I’m ever known for in my whole life, that’s OK.”
Angela was raised by her grandparents after the death of her mother. Angela’s father, William Carland, lives in Nevada.
Shinn remembered his last conversation with Angela, the night before she collapsed. She was giddy with delight, telling him that she had a date for homecoming with “the hottest guy in school! He’s hotter than Brad Pitt!”
Homecoming will happen without Angela Carland this year. But the big Percheron horses she loved will be there, her grandfather promised, pulling a wagon filled with her photographs.
Thursday afternoon, as the Shinns spoke about their adored granddaughter, Angela’s organs were being harvested. That gave them some comfort in a bleak time.
“They’ll use her heart,” said Paul Shinn. “I hope I can meet the recipient, who I will tell about this girl, what she meant to us, how she loved life. This is so important to us. Angela’s life has to count for something.”
Angela, I’m sure your life did and has counted for something. You’ve affected me when I first received this email and again, today. Now to follow your example, Dad’s rare advice, and the songs heaven’s put in me that I have to share.
Somehow this means even more to me than the blossoms that will come. If you feel like you are in an ugly, middle-phase of growth, don’t lose heart. Your efforts are. breathtakingly. beautiful.
I’m doing some post catch-ups since I got behind sharing my social media posts here. This one is from 3.14…Pie Day!
The pie shelves were pretty bare tonight, but that’s ok! I found something much better at the grocery store – FRIENDS!! I ran into not one, but TWO people I haven’t seen in a while and it was soooo great to catch up! After a hard past several days, it felt like the sun was shining again, no matter what the pie shelves looked like. One was even wearing a shirt that said “Good Vibes” and that’s exactly what they shared with me.
Life’s going to have its heavy moments but God never leaves us on our own. He can’t do that to us – He loves us too much! There are always people who love us more than we realize and who are rooting for us, loving us from afar. They’ll help us feel the sunshine again and realize that life really is sweet, pie or no pie.
Today there was definitely that mini miracle of a tender mercy…as well as enough pie to go around!
This is what my eyes “happened” to focus on (through all the clutter) as I turned my head away in overwhelming frustration.
A simple scripture on bold blue.
Between the light saber and fish frame that *still* needs a picture…an answer to my aching, breaking heart’s quiet yearning:
“Be strong and of a good courage; neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whither so ever thou goest.” (Joshua 1:9)
THIS is what I want to be remembering, living and sharing.
THIS TRUTH is what comforts me when nothing else can.
No matter my highs or lows, he’s with me wherever I go.
Nothing can change that.
And knowing that changes everything.
Remember, God loves you!
P.S. Can you see the scripture in this mess? LOL The Spirit CAN minister to us and direct us to what we need most. I hope you can find the hope that YOU need today! <3
Emotional healing journey after a mastectomy and hysterectomy at 34 when you are a homeschooling, dancing, running go-getter and (at times) a perfectionist with anxiety and depression:
1st anniversary year – Wow! We did it! A whole year. I’m still super sore and not back to feeling like myself yet, but I should start feeling better really soon. Doctors said three months should see me feeling mostly like myself again. Others said to give it a year. So I’m a little behind, but the worst parts are over!
2nd anniversary year – Hmmm…still feeling SUPER tight and achy with occasional shooting pain. I wonder why it’s taking so long to feel like myself…I feel like I’m less than others and not healing as fast I should. I definitely am not like my old self, but I’m trying to trust and have faith anyway. Praying. A lot.
3rd anniversary year – What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with the doctors I had? Why did we have to change insurance companies and lose consistency of care? Why didn’t I bravely do more research on this process instead of just going forward without more education? I know I should just be grateful I’m alive, but I miss the life I had and would have had without this huge change…but maybe I wouldn’t have had it. I don’t know. I’ll just keep doing what I can to be grateful and take care of everyone. I wish I could afford to check-in and see a Dr to follow-up. Still trusting God the best I can. Finding moments of gratitude when I’m less sore and getting stronger. Savoring the little victories through the struggles. Grateful when I can lift something without help because I remember the trauma of not being able to…enjoying those little victories! Then feeling torn between wishing there wasn’t any trauma at all and feeling blessed that I can appreciate basic mobility in my arms and chest. Two confusing sides to this coin. I wish I had more faith. I wish I had more self-love and didn’t see so many setbacks. I wish we hadn’t lost those years…but maybe we would have missed more if I hadn’t done the surgeries.
4th anniversary year – Accepting a new normal, or at least starting to as I still deal with minor pain. Wishing I’d made this choice for the right reason – to be empowered, not because I felt like I had to sacrifice myself for my family. Praying lots more and trying to forgive others and myself. Losing some resentment as I learn to know and love a new, different me. Seeing the positive more as I recognize how grateful I am to be here, the love I have surrounding me, teaching me to love myself fully again, and thankful that I never had to hear the words, “You have breast (or ovarian) cancer.” Also, feeling guilty that I won’t. Trying to tell myself I’m not weak for being preventative. Still frustrated at times to have foreign silicon in me. Still, sometimes, missing kids I’ll never have and meet in this life. Choosing to be grateful for the beautiful lights of kids I do have and the ways I get to teach other children in my community. Wondering if I’ll ever teach fitness classes to adults again or run without the “zingers” of pain in my nerve-damaged muscles. Sometimes I run anyway. Sometimes I dance anyway. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I pout. Overall though, I keep moving forward through the occasional downpour of tears as I accept reality. Having faith in the middle.
5th anniversary year – Peace inside regardless of the line I can feel under each breast of scar tissue, simultaneously both numb and painful, like pins and needles that will never stop feeling that way. It’s ok though. Really. I’m ok. I’m not bothered by my hormone meds or the routine of having implants. Not too much. It is what it is. No life is free from pain. Has it really been 5 years? Isn’t that funny? I was already planning on having a fresh start on some health goals, and this anniversary in a way feels like my body giving its blessing for those efforts. Years of prayers and processing have given way to new confidence. Love for God. Hope for my future. Some mourning and regret for times I was bitter, but pride in my sense of grit. Recognition that all the emotions – up and down -were part of this healing process. Will I lose the silicone? Maybe. Will I keep trying to exercise through the tight muscles and nerve damage. Definitely. Would I wish this on anyone? Never. Would I do it again? Yes. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I would. Because I trust Eva from 5 years ago. And as hard as it all was, there have always been shining moments where I could feel the correctness of this choice, even if I didn’t understand it or necessarily choose it for the right reasons. But I did act out of love, and that is heroic. I see that now.
Today I walk with my head held higher, less by fear and more by faith – faith in the healing journey, the forgiveness journey, the growing journey, the resilience journey, all part of God’s journey for me. I love me and who I’ve grown to be through this process, though I do wish I’d had more grace through it all. I give myself grace now for those dark moments. I was too busy keeping it together for my family to get to this place of healing sooner, but little by little, I’ve taken time for myself over the years to meet and get to know this new me, to love her anyway, scars and all.
Above anything else, I love where I get to be in these journeys thanks in part to crazy-supportive friends and fiercely loving family. I will never be able to adequately thank everyone for the part they’ve played in my healing process. You are all pieces of me and the sum of your unconditional love, selfless service, and endless kindness is so much more than anything any doctor took out of me. Thank you for filling my life with incredible beauty in the moments where all I could see was loss. You are all why I am still complete. <3
It’s been 5 years since that last doctor’s visit, and I’m ready to let it go. As I move forward feeling more whole than ever, I know that today is just the beginning of everything else this life is really about… It’s time to close that chapter and embrace this life I have today, the one I’m still lucky enough to be living. <3 Here’s to what’s coming next!
If you feel like you are in an ugly, middle-phase of growth, don’t lose heart. Your efforts are. breathtakingly. beautiful.
They’ll help us feel the sunshine again and realize that life really is sweet, pie or no pie.
