The End of the World

There is a lot of talk lately about the End of the World.  This, of course, is because the Mayan calendar runs out on December 21, 2012.   The Mayans were evidently world-class calender keepers, so some people are a little worried that the Mayans might be right, and the end is near.  This is kind of silly, it seems to me, because I don't remember ever before hearing about anything the Mayans said or believed.   So, why should anyone believe their supposed prediction about the End of the World?  Besides, they didn't specifically predict the End;  their calendar just stops later this month.

I think part of the reason that many are interested in the end of the Mayan calendar is that people are fascinated about possibility of an Apocalypse.  In recent years we've heard a lot about Near Earth Objects, which are things flying around in the cosmos close enough to the Earth that there is a possibility that they could slam into our little blue sphere,  thereby ruining our plans to experience the Fleetwood Mac  reunion tour, or go to visit Breckenridge next summer, or whatever.  Oh, and it would kill us all, or at least most of us.

There is much in popular movies, books, and TV shows that explores what the world would be like after some catastrophe, or plague, or hordes of  Zombies had killed most of the Earth's population.  This stuff sells because people are interested considering possible futures, however unlikely they may be.  We all wonder about what may lay ahead, both for each of us individually  and the world as a whole.  What's going to happen in 2013?  How old will I be when I die?  What kinds of lives will my grandkids live?   And the biggest question of all:  What happens after I die?  Whatever you believe about life after death, no one really knows what's on the other side.  Shakespeare's Hamlet called the afterlife "the undiscovered country...from which no traveler returns...." He was right, of course; tickets for trips to the Other Side are usually one way.

So, we don't know what the future holds, and for that reason it is fascinating to consider ideas about the future, even horrifying ones.  I have always tended to ponder the future, especially this time of year, when another Christmas is at hand, a new year is upon us, and I'll celebrate another birthday next month. (Where do the years go?)  The recent past has provided plenty of reasons to be concerned (worried?) about the coming days.  While we may not face the End of the World soon, some kind of lower-case "end of the world" seems at least possible.  People on both sides of the political aisle were certain that if their guy didn't win the 2012 Presidential election, we were all doomed. Whatever your political bent, it is clear that our government is pathetically broken, and now we face the Fiscal Cliff, which, while not the Killer Flu of Doom, certainly wouldn't be a good thing.   Lots of people are wondering if next year will include their continued employment.

A couple of months back, the fact of the unpredictability of the future was brought home forcefully to  my wife Dana and me, and to lots of people we know.  A horrific automobile accident occurred at the busy intersection outside the surgery center where Dana works.  As it happens, Dana was in the parking lot helping a patient into his car, when she noticed a cement mixer making a right turn from the east, to go north past the west side of the parking lot she was in.  As she turned away to tend to the patient, she heard a horrific sound, which she described a huge crunch.  When she turned back to see what had happened, she saw the source of the crunch: The cement mixer had somehow tipped over as it was making the turn, and it was resting on its driver's side, on top of a small passenger car.  The driver's side of the car was flattened.  She shouted for another nurse, and they ran down to see if they could help anyone.  It was immediately clear that there was nothing they, or anyone, could do for the lady in the car.  She had been killed instantly.

Within a matter of minutes, word about the wreck was all over town, although the details were sketchy.  The local TV web site showed a shocking picture of the wreck and reported that one woman had been killed.  Dana called me to tell me about it and to let me know that she had witnessed the wreck, but was not the victim, which I appreciated, since she works at that location.  A few minutes after that, a friend at work came to my cubicle and asked me if I had seen the picture on the internet.   I told her I had and that Dana had been a witness.  My friend then told me that the victim was someone we both knew.  She had worked at the same place we do, and so do her husband and her mother.

As this fact became generally known,  the almost universal reaction among the people I work with was disbelieving shock.  How could this happen?  We saw this lady everyday.  We knew her family members.  She was in her forties, and had found happiness in a new marriage.  How could she be dead?  She was just driving around town, doing the things on her schedule for that day, and now she was dead, killed in unimaginably horrible way. The resulting conclusion for us who worked with her, and for Dana, and for many people in town who watched the news and saw the pictures of the accident site, was inescapable.  If this could happen to the her, it could happen to anyone.  It could happen to someone I love. It could happen to me.

Of course, this fact was not and is not news to anyone.  We all know that the days of our lives are finite, that we will all die.  We all know know that, whatever we have planned for tomorrow, or next week, or next summer, we have no real idea what is going to befall us.  This is not news, but so often we react in shock and horror when these facts are forced upon us by some event like this accident. Perhaps it is necessary for people to put aside that knowledge to a degree to avoid being overwhelmed by it.

Recently I have been reading Bill O'Reilly's book Killing Lincoln.  In it, O'Reilly reveals that Lincoln had dreams and premonitions that his death was near.   In fact, he was certain that he would not live long past the end of the Civil War.  He was right.  However, he refused to be mastered by that knowledge.  O'Reilly writes that Lincoln said, "If I am killed I can die but once, but to live in constant dread is to die over and over again."

I consider that great advice from a great man about how to face whatever lies ahead.

Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

Food, Glorious Food

If you are old enough to remember the 1970s sit-com "Mork and Mindy,"  you may recall that in the course of the series, the character of Mork evolved into someone who was more or less like us humans.  He and Mindy even got married in one of the later season.  But in the first season, Mork was even more bizarre and alien than Robin Williams is in real life.  One of the things that made him strange is that he had no concept of food or eating.  In fact, he referred to eating as "consuming matter."  While eating is technically exactly that, all real humans know that eating is much more than just ingesting solid substances.  Food and all it means to us is important to us in countless ways.

For instance, I realized again this morning that one of the many things I appreciate about my wife Dana is that she can fry an egg exactly like I like them, over-medium.  Over-medium means that the white is done and the yolk is runny.   I have always regarded this as "the right way" to fry an egg, and not just any cook can do it the right way.  In fact, I am usually hesitant to order them this way in a restaurant, because the results are so often disappointing.  Either the yolk is too done, or the white is under done.  Unacceptable.  So, I usually just order them scrambled, which I like fine, but not as much as eggs done "the right way."

The reason I like my eggs this way is simple.  My mother cooked them that way for me when I was very young child.   She did this,  I believe, in an attempt to get my sister and me to eat eggs, because we pretty much refused to eat them cooked any other way.   I remember my mother spending a lot of time worrying about our nutrition back then.  I guess we were kind of picky.  Anyway, I developed a taste for over-medium eggs, and so now they are the standard to which I hold all fried eggs.


Food is intertwined with so many of our memories our lives. When I eat eggs fried  "the right way," when I eat German Chocolate cake, I think of my Mom and the great meals she cooked for us. When I eat pancakes, I think of my Dad, who made us awesome pancakes, which he called "hotcakes," almost every weekend of our childhood.  When I eat pizza, especially the Chef Boyardee kind from a box that we ate most often back then, I think of my sister Robin. Whenever we had pizza at home, Robin and I would race through eating it, each afraid that the other one would get a bigger share.  Whenever I have chocolate pie, I think of my Grandma Fouse, whose recipe produced a wonderfully delicious dessert.  Lasagna, which is another of Dana's specialties, always reminds me of the first meal she ever cooked for me, back when we were dating.



Food is always a part of happy times, of celebrations and holidays.  We have birthday cakes,  Thanksgiving turkeys, and Christmas dinners, to name a few.   There are cakes at baby showers and snacks and drinks galore at wedding receptions.  Few celebrations occur without something to eat being involved.

Food can also make ordinary days seem special, too.  I have noticed that in Cubicle City, where I work, the fastest way to get a conversation going is to bring up food.  "Have you eaten at that new restaurant?  They have the most awesome dessert!"  "Did you see that dish Becky brought for the potluck today?  I'll be chowing down on that!"  And speaking of potlucks,  have you ever noticed how much more relaxed and sociable people become when they are sharing food with other folks?  It's true.

Dana and I make fairly frequent trips to Oklahoma City to shop and visit.  We seldom go without incorporating a visit to one of our favorite restaurants into the plans for the day.  In fact, sometimes the real reason for the trip is go eat, although we don't usually admit that out loud.   There are good places to eat closer to home, too, but there is something really special about a trip to great place that requires extra effort to get to.  Anyway, we have had lots of special days hanging out, enjoying being together, and enjoying food in Oklahoma City.  I often joke that when we head up I-44 to OKC, I am always drooling by the time we get to the second toll booth.  

The glory of food also has it down-side also, as all of us who fight in the Battle of the Bulge can readily attest.  There are some foods that reduce my will power to zero.  Examples include chocolate cake, brownies, home-made chocolate-chip cookies, and apple pie.  When those are around, more often than not, I become a guy who just cain't say no, and I indulge to excess.  Usually, I do best by avoiding those treats completely.  However, sometimes there is nothing better than losing the fight with my sweet tooth.

We have a saying in the Fouse family: Food is love. It's true. I love you, so I feed you. Sharing food with others strengthens the bonds between us and builds new memories for the future. Food nourishes not only our bodies; it nourishes our souls. 

  

It's a Shame

Something I have noticed about most people is that on some level they are at least a little disappointed with themselves, a little ashamed of who they are. By this, I mean that they carry around an exaggerated, unwarranted belief that who they are is not quite acceptable, not quite up to par. When people allow me to peek behind their defenses, behind the walls most of us protect ourselves with, it is not unusual to get a glimpse of their belittling self-assessments. I wrote a blog about this once before, about the need to accept ourselves as "OK," and I have been thinking about it again lately. Is it inevitable that people should grapple with feelings of unworthiness?

Ted Bundy 

I am not talking about a person being ashamed for something they have actually done. If a person is a serial killer, or molests children, or tortures kittens, shame for those acts is a good thing. However, people who do those things are often incapable of shame or guilt, ironically, and so the people with the most to be ashamed about sometimes aren't.

Recently,  I have noticed how often people blame themselves, or some imagined or real shortcoming of theirs, for events over which they have little or no control.  If a person faces difficult circumstances of any kind, very often they react out the belief that some failing in them lead to their difficulty. For example, someone with a potentially fatal disease may wonder what they did to cause God to punish them in that way. What could they have done differently, or how could they have been different, that would have caused God to treat them more kindly? Such a reaction says, "This is happening to me because I'm not worthy."

I also firmly believe that living life listening to an internal monologue that emphasizes a person's shortcomings can lead to behaviors that only add to a person's negative self-image. People who feel unworthy often try to comfort themselves through addictive behaviors, such as compulsive eating or substance abuse. Addictive behaviors lead to more shame, which leads to a resolution to do better in the future, which often leads to failure, which leads to more shame, and more reason to believe the little voice inside that says, "You suck."

In that previous blog I linked to above, I explored the possible reasons people are so often unkind to themselves and so often hold themselves in low esteem.  I guess there are as many answers to that question as there are people.  It is a pervasive problem that affects most people to one degree or another.

Because it often difficult to see that we are doing this to ourselves, it also often hard to help ourselves out of negative self-talk and the feelings of unworthiness that go with it.  So, from the Free Advice Department, I offer the following:

• You don't need to be ashamed of the essence of who you are.  You are only one of you that God made. You have reason to be proud of you.
• Everyone has made mistakes, and everyone has areas in which they fall short.   Improve in areas where you can, and make reparations when it's possible.  Try to let the rest go.
• Allow yourself to forgive yourself for your failures.  Trust yourself to learn from them and to use them to do better in the future.  
• If something bad happens in your life, it is not because God is angry with you.  I promise, He loves you.  He does not want to torture you.
• Sometimes bad things just happen.  They do not happen to you because you deserve them.  

"Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world."  -Lucille Ball

Feeling Strongly Both Ways

If you know me from Facebook, you know that I like to collect quotations.  I also like to share them on Facebook as status updates.  Often, they evoke interesting responses with folks who are also interested in them. 

Recently, I posted this one from Thomas Bailey Aldrich: "To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent - that is to triumph over old age."   

My friend Kathy responded to that post with this comment:  "So many people I encounter become cynical and just downright mean and stubborn as they age, not being able to keep up with life moving forward.  I hope to keep a positive, healthy, encouraging outlook as I age."  I commented back that that is a worthy goal, and that I hope to do the same.  

But Kathy's comment reminded of another status I posted recently, one that is original with me, and is based on my own experience:  "By the time you reach middle-age, if you are not at least a little cynical, then you just haven't been paying attention."

So, then I was experiencing a little cognitive dissonance, because, while I really do believe the sentiment expressed in the Alrich quote, I also believe what I said about being cynical once you reach middle- age.  Based on my experience, I don't see how a person my age could avoid being "at least a litttle cynical."  Holding both of these seemingly oppossing opinions reminds me of something my uncle Doug Fouse said one time when he was asked him opinion about whatever topic was being argued a the time:  "I feel strongly both ways."

I'm pretty sure that Uncle Doug was being facetious, and was just opting out of the discussion.   In my case, though, Kathy's comment on the Aldrich quote I posted made me realize that, while I have been striving to maintain a positive outlook as  I age, it is also true that I am much more cynical than I was in the my younger days.  I just think I don't let that cynicism overrun my life. 

If you're like me, you know some aging people who become like the ones Kathy referred to in her comment:  "downright mean and stubborn."   To me, those people have gone beyond the trait of being "a little cynical" that I recognize in myself, to having lost the battle "to triumph over old age." Or maybe they never even tried to fight that battle.   

To me, when someone loses that battle, anyone who has been paying attention could probably understand at least some of the reasons for that.   My dad used to say that getting old is the worst sin you can commit.   By this he meant that getting older is hard work.  There are so many results of growing older (results we never expect when we are younger) that are just plain hard to accept.  Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey said it this way:  "Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death. "

So, as the years go by, what do we lose to life? We may face health issues as we get older. Usually we have less energy than we were young. Many of us aren't as incredibly handsome as we were in our younger days. Sometimes we lose people dear to us, either through death or estrangement. Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way we planned or expected, causing us to lose hope or enthusiasm for living. And, if we aren't careful, we may loose the ability to look at life in positive and hopeful ways. We may fail "to keep the heart unwrinkled" and become less than we once were, not just physically, but spiritually as well. 

 

On the other hand, the events of our lives teach us things, and sometimes what we learn is not very positive or encouraging. This is what I mean when I say that someone my age is bound to be at least a little cynical. An example for me include the fact that I have encountered some people in my life who seemed to be friends, but actually were not. They proved that they were not really friends by their actions. I am not bitter about those experiences, but I would be foolish to ignore the lessons they taught me. As a result, I am now slightly cynical about people and the motivations that may drive them. I don't trust people I don't know well as much as I might have when I was younger.

Another example is my current attitude about organized religion.  Having survived lots of church drama and the psychological abuse some churches inflict on their members, I no longer choose to attend any congregation, at least for the present.  Again, I don't brood about the events that brought me to this place in my life.  But I cannot deny that I am more cynical about churches and some of the people that attend them than I was in the past.  


Another area in which life has taught me some not-so-lovely lessons is my job.  I have survived down-sizings,  company mergers and sales, and so many Dilbert moments that my attitude about work is vastly different from what it was when I started my career.   How could it not be?  If I were still the idealistic, ambitious, driven guy I was 30 years ago, I would have to agree with anyone who accused me of just not paying attention.  So, I'm a little cynical about the corporate world.  Not angry or bitter.  Just enlightened.

Having confessed to all this cynicism, I also want to explain some of the attitudes I now embrace that I think help keep my "heart unwrinkled," and that I hope will allow me to "triumph over old age."   Although I confess to being a bit distrustful of people, I am also more open to people than I once was, more willing to accept them as they are without passing judgment.  People, including me, have quirks and annoying traits.  I am happy to mostly overlook those things and focus on the good I find in them.  There is always good in everyone, if we just bother to look.

Also, although I have become a recluse from church, I have discovered the freedom to explore my faith in ways that I never dared to before.  I allow myself to ask questions, and to decide answers for myself.  God doesn't mind if we ask questions.  He is the one who gave us brains, after all.   And I find that Jesus and his love are more real to me than ever before, and I feel freer to extend that love to those around me.

Although I sometimes feel like a prisoner in Cubicle World,  I have a new appreciation for my job.  I know that I am fortunate to be employed, and to have held a good job for over 30 years.  I am fortunate to have a job that allows me to make use of the skills I have.   Corporations are about making money, and the one that employs me has to do what it takes to stay in business and, therefore, to continue to employ me.  I have begun to see beyond some of the frustrations that have plagued me for so many years, and I am now better able to take each day, and its challenges, as they come, realizing that whatever crisis today brings will be forgotten soon.

There may be future circumstances in my life, such as illness or some other hardship I can't even foresee,  that will make it difficult for me to maintain a positive outlook (mixed with a bit of cynicism).   But like my friend Kathy, my goal is to "keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent" and so "to triumph over old age."  It probably won't be easy.

The F-Bomb

One of the benefits of having lived into middle-age is that I have been around long enough to be able to observe relatively long-term changes in our society based on first-hand experience.  I remember quite a bit from my very early childhood, so I have fifty-plus years of life on which to base those observations.

A change in societal norms that I never would have expected in my childhood, or even my early adulthood, is today's casual use of what I used to consider the granddaddy of all swear words, a mostly unspeakable term that was generally used only by the coarsest of people, or rarely, in extreme cases, by more civilized people:  the F-bomb.

I know that my negative attitude about this word was probably stronger than other people's.  When we were children, my mother was determined that my siblings and I would avoid the use of strong language, despite conflicting influences from our father, who occasionally peppered his speech with what we considered  Soldier Talk.  Our mother strictly prohibited such talk among us children.   In fact,  along with Dad's Soldier-Talk words, Mom included among the words we were not allowed to utter  the N-word (which was acceptable by some people in those days),"shut-up," "stupid," and "idiot."   I internalized her admonitions about "bad words" to such an extent that I remember once being shocked at the description of a lizard I read in a book I had selected from my second-grade teacher's shelf of books for us to read:  stupid.  For me, that word made it a "nasty book."  I shut the book immediately and returned it to the bookshelf where I had found it, wondering if the teacher knew about the scandalous language it contained.

I am not criticizing my mother's efforts to teach us about appropriate language.  Such motherly efforts were the norm in the 50s and 60s.   She wanted our language to be acceptable in any situation, and she wanted us to speak kindly to everyone, never hurtfully. If my childish perspective did not yet allow me to perceive the difference in degree between "stupid lizard" and "f*** you," that wasn't her fault.

Despite my  not quite grasping some of the subtleties of bad words in those days, I knew that the F-bomb was in a league by itself. Kids I knew would occasionally say "damn" or make a reference to to bodily excrement, but the F-word was rarely heard. Sometimes a rebel child might write it surreptitiously on the sidewalk with a chalk-rock. A more daring kid might slip it into a rendition of the Name Game song, especially if he knew someone named Chuck. But even when Dad was using his Soldier Talk, I never heard him say that word.

The BBMFIC

In fact, I have vivid memory from when I was about 10 years old of learning that some of Dad's soldiers routinely referred to him as "the BBMFIC." Upon hearing this term applied to my dad, I asked him what it stood for.  (I was always an inquisitive child.)   I remember my mom giving him a look that I couldn't read, but evidently he could, because he told me it stood for "Big Bad Mean Fouse In Charge." It was several years before I realized what those letters really stood for, and that "Mean Fouse" was not even close.

Anyway, as I grew into adulthood, I emulated my father's Soldier-Talk type of language in some situations, and was less constrained by my mother's list of forbidden words.  But for me, the F-bomb was still taboo, still shocking, and certainly not for use in mixed company.  I still considered anyone who used it to be an ill-mannered cretin, and probably not someone I wanted to associate with.  When my own children were young, I tried to keep them  hearing that kind of language by monitoring the movies and shows they saw, the songs they heard, and the people they were exposed to.

What did you say?

These days, such concerns about the use of the F-word would probably make many people wonder if I had been born not just in the last millennium, but rather in an earlier geological age.  It is heard in movies, in song lyrics, on Facebook, in the workplace, on the street, indeed in almost any setting you can think of.  It is used by young and old, by male and female, and by people of all education levels and economic levels and ethnic groups.

It is no longer shocking, not even to me.  These days being shocked by that word would be like being shocked to hear that the wind is blowing in Oklahoma.  It happens everyday.  In fact, instead of being the scorched-earth F-bomb that defied decency and social norms, today that word is more like the F-Cherry Bomb.  People might notice, it makes a bit of a point, but certainly overuse has taken some of the bang out of the F-word.  And many people today don't mind using it whenever it pops into their head, no matter what situation they are in.

Although it is no longer shocking to me, I am still a little chagrined by it, and a little embarrassed for whoever said it.  Or wrote it.  It is still coarse, and people who use it habitually often seem to be unable to omit from any communication. When somebody says something like, "Like, WTF?   My f***ing boyfriend lost my f***ing car keys, and now I have to f***ing walk to the f***ing 7-Eleven to buy some f***ing Marlboros. Sometimes he is so f***ing stupid. Cute, but f***ing stupid," I want to shout, "Hey, do you kiss your mama with that mouth? Is that the only word you know? Maybe you should download that Word Dynamo app and discover new ones."

I don't do it, though.  I am smart enough to know that people aren't going to change what they do, or what they say just because I don't approve.  Besides, if I did confront them, they would probably just tell me to F-off.

And mostly, I guess I figure they have a right to talk that way if they want to. Often, however, their use of that particular word at least somewhat overshadows whatever they are trying to convey, and diminishes them in they eyes of some people, including this old dinosaur. I think my mother was right to teach us to use appropriate speech, speech that does not insult, injure, or offend those who are listening. Usually, dropping the F-bomb oversteps at least one of those boundaries despite our society's change in attitude about its use.


   

Profiles in Courage

Before he became President, John F. Kennedy served in the United States Senate.  He also wrote and published a biographical book called Profiles in Courage,  in which he describes "acts of bravery and integrity by eight United States Senators throughout the Senate's history. The book profiles senators who crossed party lines and/or defied the opinion of their constituents to do what they felt was right and suffered severe criticism and losses in popularity because of their actions." In other words, he told stories about people who displayed political courage.  Kennedy won the Pulitzer Prize for his book in 1955.  I'm sure this probably contributed favorably to his reputation and enhanced his political career, which culminated in his being elected President in 1960.

Political courage is something this country could use a lot more of these day. But somehow, I find it less impressive than the kind of personal courage some everyday people exhibit in the ways they face the challenges in their lives.  Some profound examples of that courage are members of my own family.

My grandmother, Jessie Keller Fouse, bore seven children who survived to adulthood. There were four daughters and three sons, one of whom was my father. She and my grandfather and their children did not have an easy life. For many years, my grandfather earned a humble living working as a sharecropper in east Texas. Despite the hardships that they faced, my grandmother could always find something to laugh about.  Along with a strong Christian faith, her recipe for chocolate pie, and a tendency toward big feet and big noses, my grandmother passed down another legacy, unfortunately a deadly one. That legacy is cancer.

Descended from the Ashkenazi Jews of Europe, my grandmother carried a genetic mutation known as the BRCA mutation, which is common among that ethnic group.  Women with this mutation "have risk of breast cancer that is about five times the normal risk, and a risk of ovarian cancer that is about ten to thirty times normal."  This grim statistic proved all too accurate for my grandmother and her daughters.  She died of cancer when she was in her early sixties.  All of her four daughters developed breast cancer, and three of them did not survive the disease.

Unfortunately, the incidence of cancer in my family did not end with my grandmother and her daughters.  One of my first cousins recently lost her battle with cancer, and there are others in the extended family who have also suffered from the disease.

My sister Robin has fought a long battle with cancer.  In 1995, when she was 38, married, and the mother of two young daughters, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She underwent a year of agressive cheom-therapy at that time.   The doctors used particularly strong medicine because she had developed the disease at such a young age.  She lost every hair on her body, including her eyebrows and eyelashes.  She also underwent several surgeries.  The result was that the treatments were succesful, and she began a long period of remission.

Then in 2010, she was diagnosed with a large abdominal tumor, and the chemo began again.  A few months later, after she passed out at home, she was diagnosed with two tumors in her brain.  She underwent brain surgery to remove one of the tumors and radiation to shrink the other. The treatments for her brain tumors were successful, and the doctor treating her for those tumors released her from treatment a few months ago, saying that she no longer had any sign of tumors in her brain.

She continues taking chemo-therapy for the abdominal cancer, and there has been improvement.  She will complete the latest round in a few months.  She is looking forward to the birth of her third grandchild very soon.  The baby is her first granddaughter, Adelaide Joy, just who Robin and her daughter Meghan were hoping for. She is looking forward to finishing the chemo and getting back to her plans to raise chickens and plant a vegetable garden.  Recently she has been working her in her flowerbeds, planting the annuals she loves so much.

Throughout her ordeal, my sister has experienced all the emotions you would expect. At times, when the effects of the chemo have been harsh, she has been depressed.  At other times, when those effects have lessened, she has been hopeful.  More than once when I have visited her, she has expressed concern about me, saying that she didn't want me too worry too much about her.  She once told me once that she would be fine because,  "God isn't finished with me yet."     

Throughout my sister's ordeal, our mother has been at her side.  She has accompanied her when she received her chemo-therapy, she has stayed with her at home to help her with everyday tasks, she has encouraged her and prayed for her.  After Robin's brain surgery, Mom spent several nights in Robin's hospital room, sleeping in a chair.  When I expressed concern for ability to do that, given her age and her own health concerns, she said, "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

A few weeks ago I spoke to my sister on the phone.  She had recently learned that her chemo would continue for awhile, and she was disappointed and discouraged.  However, she had found renewed courage, and she told me that she would do what she had to do.  "With Jesus' help, I can do this."  For both Robin and our mother, that faith has sustained them throughout this ordeal.

Facing your own mortality, or that of someone you love, is an excruciating experience.  When we are young, we imagine ourselves to be somehow immortal, or we believe that a lifetime is longer than we later realize it is.   As I have seen my sister deal with her disease and the potential implications of it, as I have seen my mother forget her own less severe issues to be be beside Robin in her fight, I have been amazed by their courage and their faith.  No one who faces such hardships does so without sometimes losing heart, and they have had their share of dark days.  I believe those dark days are part of an honest reaction to the hardships of life.  Sometimes life and its hardships seem too much to bear.  Sometimes we are overwhelmed with pain, grief, and wondering  "Why?"  These are part of being human, and God does is not surprised by such reactions.

However, people of courage and faith, people like my sister and my mother, don't get stuck in the dark days.  Somehow, they find a way to continue the fight, to face what they fear, to affirm that God loves them and that he is with them, even when things seem darkest.  To me, their stories are the truest profiles in courage.