No Simple Decisions

I saw my second surgeon on Friday.  Second surgeon because someone as special as I must have not one, but two surgeons.
I'm kidding.
Two surgeons because one is the oncology surgeon who performs the mastectomy and the other is the plastic surgeon who begins the reconstruction.  My visit with my oncology surgeon last week had rekindled a lot of confidence in me as chronicled in my post "Picture Everyone Bald".  I was hoping to keep that momentum going but it didn't happen that way at this visit.  While I was at the office for almost an hour a good portion of that was pre-operative necessities such as filling out paperwork, photos and q&a time with the office nurse.  I spent about a quarter of that time with the doctor to discuss what conclusions I'd come to and any concerns that still lingered.
I've come to learn that a mastectomy isn't simply "a mastectomy", there are many different ways to approach the procedure.  I've also learned that reconstruction isn't simply "reconstruction" but there are many decisions to be made regarding the type of reconstruction with a number of possible outcomes.  If a patient chooses reconstruction that process is usually (not always) begun at the time of the mastectomy.  That is why I have met with two surgeons in the span of one week and two days.
For a woman faced with need for a mastectomy there are a number of decisions to be made:
First, will it be a single mastectomy or bilateral?  The answer to this will typically depend upon the risk involved in keeping the other breast in tact.  If there are genetic factors that heighten the risks, as is my case, then a bilateral mastectomy is typically recommended or chosen.
Secondly, will it be a nipple sparing or skin sparing (just what they sound like) mastectomy? This typically depends upon the patient's pre-operative size and shape.  Sometimes the type of cancer/tumor is a factor in this decision for doctor and patient. 
Third, with or without reconstruction?  This, as I've already explained, is a complex question.  It's been a very difficult decision for me to make, and even though I've made a decision, I feel like I haven't really made a decision.  For me, at my age and activity level, reconstruction is a given.  There are many women who have chosen the mastectomy without reconstruction who utilize prosthetic bras and are content with their decision.  That was something I could not fathom for myself.
So, reconstruction it is.
At my last visit with my plastic surgeon I was dealt a devastating blow.  I touched on this in my "I Have to Tell it Like a Story" post.  When I was told, way back in March, that a mastectomy was my best option to deal with my cancer and given the risk factors involved, I spent much time talking myself into the idea.  I read and re-read about the different types of surgeries, including reconstruction.  I asked questions, and read some more.  I looked at pictures and read and prayed for peace.  I finally settled on bilateral mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction.  To put it very plainly, the reconstruction would be to take excess fat tissue from my abdomen and relocate it to build the breast mound on my chest.  This was a comfortable decision for me because I liked the idea of the reconstructed breast being from another part of my own body (no implant, prosthetics, etc).  It seemed the more natural choice.  The surgery, as it was explained to me, was not an easy one as not only fat tissue but also veins would need to be transplanted.  All in all the surgery would take about 10 hours.  I spent much time preparing myself for this and mentally/emotionally reached a place where I was peaceful with the choice.  At the end of June at my last appointment with the plastic surgeon, all of that changed.  Due to being unable to eat during chemotherapy I had lost all of that fat that was going to be transplanted and was no longer an eligible candidate for the DIEP flap reconstruction.  I couldn't discuss any other options at that time.  I was in tears and could not make myself stop crying.
It's been a month now.  It really only took about a weeks time for me to collect myself once again and consider my options, now limited, for reconstruction.  It came down to implants.  There are two types of implants, silicone or saline.  Not only that but the size, timing and placement of the implants are other factors to consider.  Some women are candidates for direct implant, meaning, at the time of the mastectomy implants are placed and there are no further surgeries required.  Other women have to take into consideration the effects of future radiation treatments on their skin, such as a tightening or toughening of the skin which can impact the size or type of implant they would receive.  In such cases reconstruction is often postponed but tissue expanders may be placed to stretch the skin as far as it can be stretched at time of surgery with the plan to expand more once radiation treatment has been completed.
Since I will not be having radiation I was hoping for a direct implant at time of mastectomy.  I am not a fan of surgery and have had many in my day.  If I could avoid one more, that's what I would do.  However, at my appointment friday when I brought up my wish for a direct implant I was told that would not be the best option for me.  Expanders that would be placed at the time of mastectomy then filled slowly over the course of the next few weeks after surgery, were the recommended course of action.  After the expanders are filled another surgery to place the implants would be performed.  The second surgery in the reconstruction process is just another step, two or more out-patient surgeries are required for detail work.  All in all this process spans over the course of about one year.  My thought/feeling of "I just want to have the surgery and be done with it" does not work in this scenario.
I've heard other women talk about their surgical decisions and they seem so confident in their decisions.  I don't feel confident at all as I've tried different decisions on for size.  I haven't found a decision that feels right just yet.  I know what I should do, or even must do, but something is nagging.  
Despite the nagging I am so thankful for kind and patient surgeons who take the time to answer my questions, allow me to get to know them a bit so that I feel more comfortable, and who are skilled at what they do.  I know I'm in good hands and in a good place in this process but I've come to realize a difficult truth: there are just no simple decisions here.  
So I will do what I've done all along and continue to seek the peace.  I'm near it, I know, but complicated decisions just take time. 

The "Power" in Empowerment

As I look ahead to surgery in the coming month or two there are two surgeons on my team.  Dr. Knaus, the Oncology surgeon who would perform the lumpectomy/mastectomy; and Dr. Pavone, the plastic surgeon who would perform reconstructive surgery.  Both men were referrals from The Block Center and both have proven to be wonderful.

Let me just say that when you're sitting in the exam room with a pink paper shirt on (a mini gown that opens in front and doesn't even cover your belly button) the last thing you want is for your doctor to come into the room and make you feel even more awkward.  And that is why I am so thankful for Dr. John Knaus.  The first time Pete and I met him, about 4 months ago, he was so very kind and thoughtful.  Pete and I sat and talked with him about my situation, of course, but then talked about our joys, families, activities and so on.  He shared about himself as well, his family and personal love of fishing.  At the end of our visit (it didn't feel like a "doctor appointment") he sent me off with his personal cell phone number and a kiss on the cheek.  Wednesday was no different.  Greeted with a firm handshake and a kiss on the cheek my heart swelled from the moment we said hello.  I had been nervous about this appointment but with that greeting all anxiety melted away.  

We caught up on life over the last 4 months, including the course of my chemotherapy treatments, his weight loss that I had remarked on, how my children were doing as well as to discuss specifics for my upcoming surgery.

As per my recollection, I had been directed by every oncology surgeon I'd spoken with, toward a bilateral mastectomy.  The reconstruction part was always up to me, however the mastectomy part seemed like a given as far as any health care practitioner I'd talked to was concerned.  Believing that I had no options in this matter left me feeling depressed and forced into something with which I wasn't completely comfortable.  

"What have you decided?" he asked me.

I confess I couldn't speak for a moment, I was so taken aback by the question.

As he waited for me to reply, I explained to him that I had been under the impression that I didn't have a choice or decision to make.  That I HAD to have a mastectomy.  He kindly and calmly explained that I do have options and he laid them out for me: 

1. Lumpectomy with close monitoring due to the risk of recurrence.

2. Unilateral mastectomy with or without reconstruction with close monitoring.

or 3. Bilateral mastectomy with or without reconstruction and moderate monitoring as this procedure would provide a 98% chance of "cure".  (Cure is in quotations because there is no defined cure for cancer.  A person who has survived a cancer diagnosis by 5 years is considered "cured", however, all treatment for cancer is experimental.  I feel it's very important to clarify this.)

Dr. Knaus assured me whatever I decide to do he will work with me.  If I choose to act conservatively  with #s 1 or 2, he explained I would be watched carefully.  He further explained that if I wish to distance myself from the medical community and to carry on with life, then the most aggressive approach, a bilateral mastectomy, would be best.

For the remainder of the appointment he took time to answer my questions as I sought more specific details regarding incisions and scarring, length of surgery and recovery and anything else I could think to ask him about.  He provided the facts and was honest in giving his opinion when it was solicited.  It was an open and honest conversation.  He made eye contact with me, called me by name and waited patiently for me to answer his questions.

Leaving the exam room I noticed how light I felt.  I definitely felt better leaving his office than I had coming in.  I made it a point to tell the office staff how much I appreciated their kindness, as well as that of their boss.  It makes all the difference in the world to have kind people to work with when in the midst of a health crisis.

I went into my doctor's appointment on Wednesday railing against the idea of having to have at least a unilateral mastectomy and knowing most would advise bilateral given my genetic risk factors.  I left the doctor's office almost certain that I will be choosing a bilateral mastectomy given my genetic risk factors and feeling confident and good about the decision.  Dr. Knaus had given me my power back.  He handed me the reigns and told me to decide.  He gave me clear options and answered all my questions so that I would have all of the information I would need in order to make a decision.  In doing so, I was led right back to the recommended course of action.

Given all that I have learned about cancer, wellness and my body over the last several months I remain torn with this decision on some level.  Torn because I know there are no guarantees that I won't get cancer again whether I act aggressively or not.  Torn because I know that genetics are not a road map to the future and there is so much happening in the medical world toward treatment and prevention that it is incredible.  

At the end of the day, however, I will make a decision based on the treatment of the day and the information provided me; I will make a decision for my husband and my children, the choice that is likely to afford me the most time possible with them.

As I look ahead toward surgery in the next couple of months I'm so thankful for my team.  I am thankful for the doctors, nurse,  therapists, family and friends.  I am so very grateful to God for the way I have been led and cared for on this healing journey.  

Picture Everyone Bald

My hair is growing back.  It's salt and pepper in color and growing just around the rim of my head.  The top is still bald.  Perhaps the hair there is blond because it's very soft to the touch.  I'm believing for a full head of hair one day soon!

I'm feeling stronger the more I am able to eat.  Each day I have more energy to be active. Sometimes I overdo it and push myself beyond the limit, something I used to do before I was diagnosed (again) with cancer.  I wonder if pushing myself "beyond" and experiencing that stress and overwhelm is part of what provided an environment for cancer to return to my body in the first place.  

In my private practice I preach to my clients about setting boundaries, maintaining appropriate limits within relationships and with themselves.  These boundaries can mean learning to say no, or taking time for oneself, setting limits and putting a cap on time or emotion spent on someone else.  Life without limits can lead to overwhelm, exhaustion and bitterness. 

As my hair grows back and I have more energy I feel like I'm rediscovering myself.  While I feel renewed in some sense, I see much of the old ways coming back into play.  Pete is having to remind me once again to "stop doing things and just rest."  I've never been good at setting boundaries with myself in that way.  So now that I am returning to strength I am nervous; nervous that I won't remember the lessons learned and will just charge ahead with life at full speed.

I'm also unsettled about the way others will treat me.  It is simply amazing the amount of compassion and empathy that is poured out on a person who is ill.  As for me, the amount of support, love and prayers that have been lavished upon me is so meaningful and healing.  I appreciate it, I receive it with gratitude. 

Even people I don't know are so very kind to me when they see my bald head.  Because 9 times out of 10 we all know a person with a bald head is probably undergoing chemotherapy and/or radiation treatment for cancer.  Seeing a bald head is typically as signal that someone is sick and really going through a difficult time.  When I am a recipient of such directed kindness it causes me to wonder what will happen when my hair grows back.  What will happen when strangers can't see the difficult healing journey I am on because my head doesn't provide evidence of it?  Will I be an annoyance or simply just another stranger?

Because that's what strangers are to me sometimes.  I hate to admit it, but it's true.  I fail to remember that everyone has a story.  We are all on a journey of healing, healing from one thing or another.  The least we can do is remember that and to have patience with one another.

I was discussing these things and confessing my shortcoming to my mom the other day.  She suggested, somewhat jokingly, "Maybe we should picture everyone bald."

While we chuckled about it we also realized there was something to that.  The empathy that I tend to receive because of the obvious illustration of my journey should be the same empathy extended to all regardless of their appearance.  I would love to be that person full of grace and compassion.  I can be that person at times, but when I am in a hurry and the line is long, I lose all sense of empathy.

This is abundantly clear to me: I do not want to return to the harried, hurried and harsh person that I can become when I am lacking boundaries; failing to protect myself from overworking and overachieving.  Learning to set clear boundaries with myself may be one of the major lessons I will learn during this time.  To preserve the level of self-care that I have implemented since my most recent cancer diagnosis is paramount.  That will involve reserving time for myself and my family; to limit the expectations I put upon myself to "do".  I can see clearly that when I am moving at a measured pace, fully present in the moment, I am a better wife, mother, friend and a more empathic stranger.  

So as I continue the process of learning to set healthy boundaries for my own wellbeing, I will also picture everyone bald.  Because we all have a story and I truly desire to treat others the way I have been treated throughout this cancer story.  

Me, Being Real (take 2)

I'm so upset right now I can't stand it.  I'm so angry I could punch a wall and so disappointed that I'm crying my eyes out.  I just spent a couple hours on a post that spoke my heart, was encouraging for me to process through and I was excited about sharing and I. LOST. IT.
These are the bits and pieces I can remember at 1 o'clock in the morning, mad as hell...or just sad.  I share them with you now just feeling at a loss:



Full disclosure: I'm jealous of healthy people.  And even more than that, I find myself imagining what it might be like to BE them.  If I see a beautiful, strong woman I think about what it must be like to be her: to have legs that can run, hair down my back and whole, healthy breasts.  I daydream about feeling confident, secure and sexy.
But I know that woman I am looking at doesn't have it "all" the way it appears.  In any given moment I too can be all of those things I wish to be and others may look at me with envy.  

My children laugh or call my name.  This is my beautiful reality.  I want to be here with them each moment.  When I look at them, touch them, speak to them I think about their father.  Our union brought them into being.  Our life together created these 4 beautiful creatures and I can't imagine anything else.  

Nine years of marriage to Pete has seemed longer and shorter.  These years have been filled with joy and laughter.  We are really going through it here and even in the times we are both difficult to be around I wouldn't want anything or anyone else.  At the end of the day there are kisses, hugs and prayers.  We hold each other tight and trust God for sleep and another sunrise.

But life is inconstant, isn't it?  That's what makes each moment so precious.

On my Facebook page I often share quotes from Henri Nouwen.  I often find his words to be wise, inspiring and even life changing.  I like this one because it highlights the importance of our vulnerabilities:  "If I am able to remember loneliness during joy, I might be able in the future to remember joy during loneliness and so be stronger to face it and help others face it." -Henri Nouwen
That is why I write.  To bring encouragement to myself through full exploration of the pleasure and the pain of life.  And to help others face their vulnerabilities and to celebrate with them in their victories.

In our vulnerability we become open to receive the gifts that others have to give that we may otherwise have denied because we believed we didn't "need" them.  As my mother used to tell me, you're robbing them of a blessing when you refuse the gifts they have to give.

I'd rather be out on a limb with Pete, Bobby, Teddy, Sam and Will than to be firmly planted on the ground without them.

I don't want to be anyone or anywhere else.  Truly.  Even in the midst of mental, emotional, physical and financial depletion I want to experience my whole life with all of my senses, with all of my being. 



As I finish patching together what I can remember of what I wrote the last couple of hours all I can do is shake my head.  It makes me so sad.  I don't know why I can't let it go.  I just want to convey my thoughts, feelings and experience in an eloquent and encouraging manner (and I DID before I LOST IT!)  You guys, I'm a mess inside. 

I know I'll be alright.  I know that God is my refuge and my strength so I won't be defeated.  I know I have love, support and prayers of family and friends all over this world...but I. am. a. mess.  That's just how it is.  No way around it, only through.

I feel like I'm an icicle on black top, high noon in mid July=cannot keep it together.  And that's me, being real.

I Have to Tell it Like a Story

I have to tell this like a story, it's easier for me to relate the details without getting overly emotional...

July 10, 2015
"It's getting tougher," I told Pete through my tears and from the crook of his neck where I had hidden my face.
We stood in the middle of the exam room where the surgeon had just left us.  Today was the day I had hoped to be scheduling my surgery and to have a clear plan to end this cancer treatment.  But that was not to be.  These two days in Skokie, which I had anticipated would be light and easy were by no means either.
Thursday was IV Vitamin C at The Block Center.  I was supposed to be receiving Herceptin (a Her2 blocker) by IV and was to receive it once every three weeks for the next year.  However because of a lowered ejection fraction and some symptoms involving my heart (as explained in my post "The Other Side of Struggle") it is being withheld.  The doctors want to see if my heart recovers after taking a break from the drug.  I had a repeat echocardiogram on Monday and we will wait for the results of that test before resuming the treatment.
In the meantime I received a vitamin cocktail by IV.  While at The Center I also met with Dr. Block and Dr. Kahn, my oncologist.  Before my last chemo treatment Dr. Kahn had reduced the dose of my chemo by 50% and said that if this reduction did not reduce or resolve my side effects that this could be my last/final treatment.  After experiencing all of the same side effects along with the recurrence of another issue I had thought had resolved.  I assumed I was done with chemo in this case.  Yesterday when I met with Dr. Block and Dr. Kahn they both implored me to have the 6th treatment as prescribed.  They asked me to at least consider it.  I agreed that I would.  Through tears and with a cracking voice I expressed my concerns about all the side effects as well as my uneasiness regarding the toxicity of adding yet another chemo treatment to an already weakened heart and body.
Dr. Block laid out fair and substantiated arguments for the 6th treatment based on the information he has available to him.  He addressed my concerns and stated that ultimately the decision was mine and he would continue to help me either way.  He is intelligent and kind, and I am thankful to have him on my team.
I struggled to relax as we left The Center that night.  Pete reminded that a decision does not need to be made immediately.  I should take the time to relax, pray and seek peace, he encouraged.  Every day this man reminds me of his unconditional love and support.  Pete is amazing and so patient with me.  I'm so blessed by this man.
I woke up this morning after a typically restless night.  I successfully slept four hours at the outset of the night, woke up and had trouble getting back to sleep, finally to enjoy two full hours of sleep just before having to get up.  I awoke with a smile, climbed out of bed and thought out loud, "This is going to be a great day!"  The weather matched my mood: sunny, bright, warm and pleasantly breezy.
We made it to the doctor's office early and were seen on time.  It was perfect.
Once the doctor examined me the visit went down hill.  Here's the long and short of it: the type of reconstruction surgery I had wanted to have is no longer a viable option for me because of my weight loss due to chemo.  This news was devastating.  Since my first appointment with the surgeon three months ago I had been talking myself into a surgery that I felt was the lesser of the evils.  At this moment I was being forced to rethink everything I had been considering and planning for.

At this point I haven't come to any conclusions.  These decisions are weighing heavily on me.  I feel very responsible.  Responsible to do what is best not only for myself but for my husband and children.   I'm trying to rest and not rush, to seek peace in my decision-making.  While I feel overwhelmed and wish I had a lighted path before me, I am clear on two things.  One, there are no guarantees whatever I choose.  And two, regardless of any decision I might make I am not the one ultimately in control here.  We might like to think that we have control but truly the only thing we have control over is our response to whatever and whomever comes to us in life.  
As we drove home from Skokie a song came into my head and I began to sing words that brought comfort in the midst of the emotional storm.  "I lift my eyes up unto the mountains-where does my help come from?  My help comes from You, Maker of heaven, Creator of the earth." (Psalm 121:1-2)
I accept this comfort and I continue to seek peace.

I Wish it Was Always Summer in Northern Michigan

July 4, 2015
We are wrapping up our family vacation here in beautiful Cheboygan, Michigan.  This is where I grew up and where my parents still reside.  Northern Michigan is paradise in summertime!
Five years ago all three of my siblings and I, along with our families, were together at my parent's home for the summer holiday.  We determined then that we would do our very best to make the 4th of July an annual event.  Having all four Fenlon kids together in the same place at the same time was such a significant event (it had been YEARS) that we all expressed the desire to make this a tradition.
Unfortunately, time, money, work schedules and distance make this difficult.  While my family and I have been able to manage to make it up 4 years out of the last 5 my other siblings have had a more difficult time making the trip back.
We truly enjoy spending time with my parents, Aunt Betty, Emillie and the Kwiatkowski gang, and any other family or friends we are able to connect with while we are there.  There's nothing like quality time with family and there's nothing like summer in Northern Michigan.
The weather here is warm but mild.  In Illinois where we live it seems it is either hot or cold, summer or winter.  We are either running the air conditioning or the heater.  Somehow the milder, transitional seasons of spring and fall have been cut out altogether.  Not in Northern Michigan.
The colors still show themselves, bold and rich, on the leaves of the trees for weeks at a time beginning late September and lasting sometimes into November.  The air turns crisp and cool, football weather, we call it.  An in my hometown of Cheboygan, Michigan, there's nothing bigger than football.
The winters are long, cold and precipitous.  There is always lot of white, lovely snow.  It doesn't turn brown or dingy the way snow in the city does.  It remains clear and pristine.  This could be due to the consistently fresh layer that falls almost daily.  The lakes freeze over fairly early providing even more space for winter sports and adventure.  Snowmobiling, ice fishing and cross country skiing are big in these parts.
After many months of this wonderland of ice and snow, the season gives way to spring.  Ah, Spring, wet and wonderful!  The snow slowly melts leaving puddles in driveways and yards.  Winter coats are exchanged for spring jackets.  Umbrellas are pulled out of the closet and put to good use.  The sun shows itself more and more throughout Springtime.  The ground begins to warm and brilliant green buds surface as a result.  It is a lovely time of year.
But my favorite time of year in Northern Michigan is Summertime.  The plentiful waterways come alive with boats, jet skis, rafts and swimmers.  People you haven't seen all winter either return to the area or are now venturing out of doors.  The mornings and evenings are cool inviting activity and exercise.  The days are warm, thanks to an amazing sun who shows itself more frequently and whose rays and warmth are actually felt.  There is usually a sweet lake effect breeze that sweeps through town.  Where my parents live 5 miles out the air is often still which makes the warmth of the sun even more substantial and effective.  I love it.
The green grass of the yard; the tall grass, wildflowers and weeds of the meadow behind the house, the trees of the forest that surrounding there home; the isolation I despised as a teenager now comforts me in adulthood.  I love it.
This July 4 was one such idyllic summer day.  As we sat in front of the church my parents pastor on Main Street I thought about how much I truly love this town and those who live here.  The 4th of July parade participants marched along in front of me.  My youngest child, William, sat on my lap.  And as the bagpipes from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada came along, tears were streaming down my cheeks.
I visited my mom's naturopath last week.  She did some talking with me and testing and found that my hormones are out of wack.  "You get upset over the littlest things, don't you?" she asked.  I confirmed this.
She also found that only about 2% of my sleep is deep, reparative REM sleep.  "You must be exhausted!" she empathized.  Again, I was able to confirm this and told her of my irregular sleep patterns.  All in all the visit served to confirm some things I already knew, prove to me I'm not just overly emotional or crazy, to highlight some issues I wasn't aware of and ways to address all of the above.  
So as I sat at the 4th of July parade with tears in my eyes I opened my heart to the bittersweet moment.  "If only I could save time, make a moment last longer than just 'a moment'," I thought.  And with that, the bagpipers had moved on and the race car displayed on the tow truck came along with radio blaring.  My idyllic moment had passed.
As the truck and race car with loud music approached William began to bounce on my lap in rhythm to the music.  I wiped away my tears as I began to laugh with joys the child in my lap showed his enjoyment and contentment in THIS moment.
I realize each moment holds something special for us; gifts wrapped in varied packages.  I don't want to throw away a gift before unwrapping it just because I don't care for the packaging!
Summer in Northern Michigan is fantastic and in some ways I truly wish it could always be summertime there.  But I wouldn't want to forfeit the beauty that comes with the fall, winter and spring in order to maintain summer.  I want all creation has to give and to experience each moment of life open to what it holds.

More Than Sufficient

Let nothing disturb thee

Let nothing dismay thee

All things pass

God never changes

Patience attains 

All it strives for

(S)he who has God

Lacks nothing

God alone suffices.

-St. Teresa of Avila

I love this prayer. I think it's beautiful. That last word, however, leaves me feeling unsatisfied every time. Because this God, my God, MORE than suffices. "Suffice" by definition means to meet or satisfy a need; to be competent or capable. This is a good thing, great even. I find the word "lavish", meaning to give in great amounts without limit. I find this word to be more fitting because in my life, no matter what, God has proven to be faithful, His provision and grace more than sufficient. He lavishes His love on me and has throughout my life (I John 3:1). All that has been required of me is to be open to growth and patient within the process of change. (NOT easy!)  While I work toward a positive attitude in this, it doesn't always come easy. There are plenty of times where I'm disappointed at my lack of patience. The process can be so challenging and those nearest and dearest to me are the ones who suffer. If I don't feel well or am discouraged, they know it. Despite my behavior they have been supportive and patient with me. This most recent cancer diagnosis and treatment has been a growing experience to be sure. But growing always comes with some amount of pain, doesn't it?

2 Corinthians 9:8 "And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work."

This passage is particularly beautiful to me. It reminds me that in the midst of the most trying times, of brokenness or pain, when I feel as if I have nothing to give, God's blessings to me are abundant and I will always have more than I need so I can share the goodness. I choose not to live my life with the mindset of poverty or as a victim but rather with a mindset of abundance and blessing. While I know my body's tendency toward anxiety and sensitivity toward stress, my spirit and my mind are set on the goodness of God. Not just today when I am starting to feel strong again, but every day. There is more to life than the moment, but I want to live each moment purposefully. I remain open to the lessons of growth and pain. I receive the blessings from a good God. I share goodness with those around me. After all: "She who has God lacks nothing. God alone [lavishes]".