Life in Paradox

I've started noticing the pink bumper stickers around town.  The ones that are in bold print, sometimes sport a pair of boxing gloves and proudly instruct, "FIGHT LIKE A GIRL".  When this symbol and phrase first caught my attention I was totally into it.  I thought, "that's right!"  Cancer is tough business no matter how you choose to address it.  While I didn't have catch phrases and logos the first time I was diagnosed with cancer, and never even knew the color of ribbon for osteogenic sarcoma until a few years ago (it's gold), I spent so much time at the hospital and with others of like age and diagnosis that I had a strong sense of community.

I've not been a ribbon wearing member of any group but I do understand the comfort and strength drawn from identifying with a community.  However, the more I think about the "fight" part of it, the more uneasy I have become.  In regards to the way I have chosen to approach this diagnosis and treatment, "fight" seems too combative. I would rather float.

Imagine this: it's a warm summer's day.  Looking out in front of you you see the sun's rays reflecting off the surface of a beautiful, crisp, clear, flowing river; shining like diamonds on the water.  You lift your face toward the sky, eyes closed gently and feel the warmth of the sun upon you.  The gentle breeze that blows keeps your temperature even and comfortable.  It's the perfect day.  The birds are singing their songs of praise.  The gentle lapping of the water matches the rhythm of your heart beat.  The scent of flowers in full bloom fills your mind with magnificent colors and images.  You breath deeply and as you do, you find yourself floating.  You are floating on the surface of the water and yet you do not get wet.  It is some miracle that carries you, effortlessly, freely, softly onward.  You float on your gentle way while in complete relaxation, complete peace, rest.

That is the place my mind takes me when I think too hard on fighting.  It's almost like, I can't.  Not that I give up, I don't give up.  I keep going but not in a forceful way, in a gentle way.  It must be gentle or I can't.  I know some people get pumped up with the call to fight and I even have my moments when I feel a sense of pride at the color pink or when thinking about how tough a person has to be to deal with an illness or disability and to thrive within it.

Often and lately people have been telling me how strong I am, how tough.  All I can say is I don't feel like it at all.  I feel weak, vulnerable and sad.  In the same respect I feel hopeful and resilient; I am filled with gratitude for all of the blessings in my life.    It's a wonderful life.  A husband the like of whom I never would have thought to ask for for myself.  Four beautiful boys who are healthy, happy, smart and loving.  Healthy and present parents, a friend who would do anything for us at anytime, a sweet little house, a dependable vehicle, a career I enjoy, food in the refrigerator and so much more...

I'm learning it's okay to live in a constant state of paradox.  Weak, vulnerable, sad + hopeful, resilient, grateful, blessed.  I'm a warrior princess but in the most calm and gentle sense of it.  I keep going and don't stop.  I'll do whatever it takes, but I can't think of it as fighting, I must think of it as floating.  

I've been so emotional of late, easily overwhelmed.  I've taken to reading very short devotionals, bite size pieces of encouragement.  Sometimes I have to read the same one a few days in a row because my mind and heart can't hold the full truth of it the first go-round.  So it was with the entry I will share here.  I read it after being home for a couple days after this last treatment.  Feeling totally depleted physically, emotionally and spiritually these words from the book Everyday Prayers & Praises lifted me:

Hope and Healing
My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; He is mine forever.  Psalm 73:26 NLT
Your body is amazingly resilient, yet terminally fragile.  Fashioned by God's lovingly creative hand, it was not designed to last.  But you were.  That's because you are so much more than your body and your soul.  Even if your health fails, He will not.  He is near.  He hears every prayer, even those you hesitate to pray.  Call on Him.  His hope and healing reach beyond this life into the next.

Amazingly resilient and terminally fragile.  Sad and hopeful.  Life in paradox.  I'll continue gently on and won't stop.  I won't stop.  I'll fight like a girl and float.