Is it enough?

I think this is what I sat down to write last week but couldn’t so I’ll try again. Sometimes things go in a different direction.  I now know why.  

Last May, I met a lady named Amy who I referred to as my mirror (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/kimberlyjessop/journal/index/2/0/desc - windows, walls, and mirrors).  She inspired me to run.  Over the weekend my mirror ran too - straight into the  arms of Jesus, cancer free.  We only met twice - that one weird awkward meeting in the “bad news room” and then at the Miles for Melanoma race.  I might have showed up at the race or walked it or I might have just gone to a football game, but I trained for 6 months because she sat in that room and told me that she did it last year and made it about 400 feet.  I was so ashamed that it took that big of a kick in the pants to motivate me.  She was at the race in October, watched me cross the finish line, I hugged I gave her a an obnoxious Got Sunscreen shirt - she wore it because she told me.  I had a medal, but she was the real winner.  Her being there was way more effort than it took for me to run those 3 miles.  I knew it and it hurt.  Our stories were so similar - she had 3 kids, I had 2, her dad died of cancer a month before she was diagnosed and my mom a year before I was, she was stubborn and some people say that about me, same sense of humor - some people say I have one, she hated scans and I do too, same doctor, same desire to do nothing but be a mother, same kind of loving devoted husband, same frustration with medical crap, stupid things people say, cancer getting in the way of life, and same comfort from the God who made us.  She was running out of options and starting on the same drug that worked for me.  She said, “It has to work.  I have 3 kids.”

In her last blog post 3 weeks ago, entitled “the brilliant new road” she was clearly at peace.  I read it and went numb. 

I started reading the latest book Glitter and Glue from an author who’s work I love - Kelly Corrigan - last weekend.  I read her first book, The Middle Place, on my way back from Chicago in October of 2010.  I don’t read much because I devour books like dark chocolate covered cashews and the laundry doesn’t get done.  But, for some reason I have a bad habit of picking ones about people with cancer, who’ve had it, or known somebody with it that inspired them to write.  (Is this where I fit?)  It’s like I’ve got some sort of radar to pick those books - I swear I don’t know what they’re about before I read them - or maybe it’s that cancer is becoming more like the latest trend - like alternating your 2 colors of scrunchie socks.  Except, very not cool.  This book was about her diagnosis of breast cancer as a mother with 2 young girls to care for.  It was straight to the the gut, hilarious, and real.  After a few ugly cries I made it through the book but so many times I was torn between tossing it in the trash it and wanting desperately to finish. I got my own cancer a couple of months later.  I was thrilled when I skimmed the synopsis of this latest book and learned was not about her life with cancer, but was not another family somewhere across the world.  And, I love glitter! Awesome.  Breaking the streak.  It turned out to be about her connection and appreciation for her mother through an experience she had as a nanny of children who had just lost their mother.  To cancer, no less.  Told ya I know how to pick ‘em.  I blubbered my way through that one too.  Again, way to close to home but so real, and I really dig real. 

Add all of this together and you’ve got a basketcase who’s facing 3 month scans in a few days, misses her mama, aches for children who’ve lost their mama, and desperately clings to each day on earth honored with the privilege of the greatest and most coveted title God grants to women - Mother.  What a hot freakin’ mess. 

The book obviously brought back painful yet sacred memories of some of the last moments with my mom.  There was a point when I realized that somewhere at the end of her illness, I had started to mother her - to protect her from the scary, to keep her from worrying - she wasn’t worrying about herself, only us.  Truth be known, she hated it and loved it too.  Loved it because it was me and she knew I’d be there and hated it because this is where we were.  She trained me persevere, to take care of who needed taking care of, to finish what I start.  She knew I wouldn’t back out.  I think she was proud and miserable at the same time. 
I remember desperately wanting to play the “not fair” card but yet desperately wanting to curl up next to her.  I put on my best poker face for small talk, followed ridiculous orders to get Chik-fil-a ice cream for us - and make sure I get money from her purse, and when she no longer responded, still read the paper or notes from friends to her or the parts I could get through, because for heaven's sakes people, tell people how you feel about them when they can appreciate it.  There was an afternoon a couple of days before she died, that I was sitting beside her at my post as usual and I looked over to see her awake, eyes wide open and looking at me, for a long time.  I scooted closer and held her hand, not quite sure what to say or do.  I think she was asking permission, if she’d taught me enough.  Enough to make decisions, to raise my kids, to do the important stuff.  I squeezed her hand in assurance that she had.  That was the last time I saw her awake.  
It was enough.  At 31 years old, I’d barely scratched the surface of life with college, career, marriage, birth to two babies, but I didn’t know that.  I’m starting to get a better idea.  I didn’t know how I’d survive the next fever my kid gets without calling her to see what to do.  I didn’t know how I’d cook a real dinner without calling her to figure out what goes where, how long, and what temperature.  But I had it.  I had God on my side, the prayer where I beg for a little more strength memorized, instincts, enough to wing it, and enough stubbornness to keep a roach alive in a puddle of Raid.  I’ve had people say how upset they were when I was diagnosed with cancer because I didn’t have my mother.  Truth is, I’ve never once been angry that she wasn’t here for this.  It was better that way.  As much as I would have loved to have her here, it would have killed her and I’ve taken down plenty of people in my path.   


So, I do what every blubbering mother with cancer from a mother with cancer would do.  I love the heck out of my kids and my husband.  I’ve learned from my mistakes and God bless her, some of hers.  I’ve learned to delegate and make myself understand that people are capable.  She wasn’t good at that and wouldn’t mind me saying but I figured out how important letting other people do the dirty work can be if you want to enjoy the good stuff.  And, how much they want to do it so you can enjoy the good stuff.  I say things like, “I didn’t fall off the pumpkin truck on the way here” to my kids because she would.  I cook cornbread like nobody’s business and don’t use recipes because she didn’t either.  She had the good ones memorized and so do I.  I feel the blow in the gut when a mother with cancer loses the battle on earth or another mother gets diagnosed and I know what she’s about to feel and face.  I try to remember to say thank you, to tell people they matter, to keep the glass half full.  I send emails to authors of books I read to thank them for being real and writing about real.  I pray for strangers with cancer.  I’ve stockpiled a stash of big girl panties to choose from because I need a lot.  I keep my boots on hand and my lipstick ready.  I try to make each day enough.  

check out page 6
MRFMattersDecember2013.pdf

am I Buodfil

I was sorting through my stacks of duplicated school papers, mail, and general junk tonight - what to keep, what to throw away, what sign up date I missed, and what I actually did sign up for, what a tens place actually is, and which papers I need to sign and return, what stays home - and kind of felt the exhaustion of the last couple of weeks and the overwhelming responsibility of motherhood in general.  There's nothing like a stack of papers to make you realize what your made of - how much work there is to do, what you've already done, and a little summary of your inadequacies as a mother - however small they may be. And to think, I actually get paid to empower other mothers, with children much more delicate than my own, what a hoot.
I came across last week's homework for Kate which explained why she didn't have clue how to spell "where" or "when" because her 103 fever and what appeared to be pneumonia took precedent over practicing those 3 spelling words.  I also found the list highlighted where I was supposed to bring spoons instead of plates to the party, explaining why the room mom commented on how someone forgot the spoons.  I signed up for plates and bought the plates, but didn't realize that was a subjective list.  I thought I was doing so well for having been able to figure out how to work a full week with a sick kid, have them both decorate Valentine boxes, write names on their store-bought character Valentines, cards for the teachers for teacher appreciation week (because of course, it should be the same week), send in the party supplies before the parties, manage to show up to the Valentine parties, work, and figure out what to do with 2 kids who get out of school at 11:30 (butpleasesignthemoutafterthepartyat10:30'causewedon'twantthemanymore) with a full work day. This, my friends, did not come with the instruction manual.  I don't remember getting one, now that I think of it.  Oh, and Monday's a school holiday.  Oh, and Kate's kindergarten class will be doing individual research projects with an activity to teach the class next week.  It's to prepare them (their moms) for the higher grades.  Research?  Seriously?  For fun? I asked Kate what she'd like to research.  She said, "hearts." I feel certain not the beating kind.
I gave up on being the kind of mom who makes printed cute sayings from Pinterest stapled on ziplocs of fruity heart shaped trail mix, although very jealous of them, and resorted to "get it done."  In my mind, I know I could be her, but in reality, I can't make it happen.  I don't even try.  I also gave up on searching for fun things to entertain my children on school holidays.  I don't think I ever tried.  I know they are perfectly happy in their PJs, with me, a few legos, scrambled eggs, and play-doh.  They tell me so and why mess with perfection.
I came across several things in that stack of papers that make me laugh, stop, and think.  Amid the pharmacy bills, house note, insurance cards, tax documents, cancer clinic bills, and random loan offers were these beauties:

A picture of Kate and me.  I'm not sure where, but the sky is blue, our hair looks good, and we are happy.  And, she loves me.  That's all that matters to her, and me too. 

A note from Bailey after I let him have it for his intolerable laziness when he half does what he is supposed to sending me into a complete tirade and then him yelling back because he has to have the last word and me sending him to his room.  Two wonderful things that could only be decoded by me: 1) He realized I was mad enough to write the note to his daddy to give to me to apologize instead of telling me himself and 2) He knows exactly what he needs to be sorry about - we've rehearsed this many times and since it doesn't change with really any new or different situation, it applied beautifully.  I do realize the need to review the spelling of "rude" but I'll tackle that another day. I also like the face with the straight line mouth.  Nice touch. I love him and I'm assured that somewhere under there he gets it.

Love this one.  "I dot wat to."    I've said this so many times.  More in my head than out loud, although the out loud became much more frequent beginning about 3 years ago.  I want a big poster board with this on it to hold up or a t-shirt - maybe in glitter letters.  I found this on the last page of a stapled booklet of activities to complete.  She said she was tired of it. I think Kate sums it up perfectly for many things in life.  How great would it be to draw a big old "X" with a permanent marker and then scream, "I DON'T WANT TO!"  I can make a list - cancer clinic, the alarm clock, figuring out what to eat for dinner, wearing a bra, CT scan, MRI, clean out the dishwasher, super glue the toy, super glue the bleeding lip that really needs stitches but it's just so freakin' late and he's a boy anyway, etc. I know it's toxic, but he was breastfed, right?  What if, at the end of the day, when you're just tired, it would work to hold up the poster or put on the t-shirt?  The problem is that the "need to" in spite of the "don't want" never ends, but I love that it works for her right now.  There's plenty of time to learn the "you have no choice."
Now, over the past three years, my mothering mode has ramped up to hyperdrive.  When you are told that your job as a mom might be cut short - which I came to realize all too early that a mother's job is never finished, no matter how old they are - you get with it.   By that, I mean that if there is a first time for anything, you make sure you're there - with a camera.  When you try to explain that you may have to work at Valentine party time and a tear appears, you say, "just kidding," rearrange your schedule to get it all done and realize that you will take the day off next time.  When your son has a bad day because he might have actually started to come out of his shell and talked too much in class, you pick him up put him in your lap and talk him through it, explaining that "G" is for good, and he's really good - nobody's really "E" for excellent in life.  You make sure they "get" the lesson out of the mistakes they made, or you made. You let your kids decide whether to wear PJs all day on a school holiday instead of trying to plan some memorable experience because that one will be just as memorable and have no guilt about wearing yours too. And at the end of the week, when you really want to hold up the sign and REALLY wanted a hotel for the weekend with no washing machine or kitchen, you'll completely settle for a Starbucks and 20 minutes in the Anthropologie sale rack.
I've realized that I'll always be one-upped.  There will always be the mother who sells 300 boxes of cookies to your 38, the one who took her kids Disney World over the school holiday, the one with the cute printed paper Pinterest sayings - we got some, so thank you.  The kid who got that "Terrific Kid" award but you have no idea how or you would darn sure make sure your kid is terrific enough to quit hearing about it again.
But, in the eyes of my own kids, they won't remember my inadequacies, or the pieces of paper I overlooked.  Well, except for that one time with the picture with the baby kangaroo.  But, heck, how was I supposed to know that if you didn't pay $7 you couldn't even see then dang things.  The form was not that specific.  And, I won't really remember in the morning how exhausting it was to discuss why "hurricames" occur around water and why we just can't get a fire-bellied toad because I draw the line at live bugs in my home and they eat crickets.
Truthfully, it's pretty much all erased every time those freshly shampooed heads snuggle up against me or I get the very first glimpse of those sleeping faces before they greet the day every morning.   The magnitude is exhausting but I certainly would trade it.  I wouldn't trade the bruises on my feet from the Lego bricks, changing a vacuum cleaner bag full of rainbow loom bands, the bowl of crayons sitting on my coffee table for decoration or artistic expression, the watermelon toothpaste on my bathroom counter, or the fingerprints on every light-switch in my house for anything in the world. This is definitely what I signed up for.  I want to.  THIS is ALL the instruction manual says.  The manual was wrapped in a blanket - one blue, and then one pink, and handed to me, to write myself.
Here's the best one - hidden among the ABCs and some other random jargon, as the real stuff so often is:

Yes, you are.  Inside and out.  

like no one's watching...

I'm constantly learning.  The category varies upon the experience.  Sometimes it's about myself.  Sometimes about other people - what makes them tick, what makes them happy, what they need to succeed, etc.  In this season of my life, the majority of my learning comes from my kids.  Now, I know them.  Better than anyone.  I can read my son like a book.  He's so sensitive to what people say, yet can get so angry.  He's caused me to take many deep breaths and walk away so many times, but I always return with the lesson, when he can listen and really hear me.  Because he'll remember.  And, he's so affectionate.  He never forgets to hug, even after he's mad.  We don't nearly have the same nature, except for the introverted part and thinking part, yet I get him, because he's so much like his daddy.  I only pray that he meets a girl one day that gets him too.
But, it's this little girl that keeps me guessing.  Miss Martha Kate.  From the day she was born, I was caught off guard.  She was tiny but fiery - no change there.  She stood up in her bed at 5 months, climbed the six foot fence at 12 months, and could turn on the water in the bathroom sink before she could really walk.  She has been in a fairly world since birth - one filled with rainbows and magic creatures.  The dolls in her room have souls and brains.  She has no organization whatsoever - she mixes the polly pockets with the lalaloopsies and it doesn't bother anyone but me.  She sings and dances.  Constantly.  To whatever music - even none at all.  She thinks she knows how to tap dance and do ballet but refuses lessons because she "already knows how."
So, a few weeks ago she decided she wanted to try out for the school play.  There were these songs on the website she had to learn so I played them a few times and taught her the shortest one.  They were kind of weird musical type songs that little kids really don't sing so truthfully, I didn't put forth much effort.  I signed her up for an audition workshop.  It's an after school session where in the course of about an hour and a half, you're supposed to learn all the songs and the dance to audition.  I had no choice in the matter, because I certainly couldn't teach her the dance.  I chose to sit through it myself.  I was a little nervous that she might bail and kind of wanted to be there if she did and also very curious as to how this went down in case I were to devote myself to a season of play practice.  They shuttled these children into a room to learn the songs - I didn't attend this part but they returned to the cafeteria for the dance part.  She was the tiniest by far.  And way in the back.  The kids on stage teaching this dance started with the first part, "sashay, ball chain," or whatever.  I was in extreme panic mode.  I wanted to bolt and nobody was asking me to dance.  I mean, I was, sweaty-palm-get met out-crawl-in-a-hole, horrified.  And, Kate, well, she was dancing.  It was no where near the same timing or direction as the others, but she hadn't a care.  She very much enjoyed the scissor kick part and went leaping across the floor.  Her left was her right and her bow was at least 5 seconds behind.  Perfectly content.  She was not concerned that the timing was off or that hers didn't look like the girl in front of her.  I was sitting there still on the flight side of the fight or flight, both proud and jealous.  There were moms on top of the cafeteria tables videoing the dance.  I'm assuming it was so they could practice at home but I figured it would be an exercise in futility for me considering that in order to teach it, I would also have to learn it and both were out of the question, so I kept my seat.
Now, I also know that judges aren't looking at what proud mamas see as and an expression of individuality so I took the offer of a sweet young friend to help my Kate with the dance number, and we are certainly grateful.  I'm not going to turn down good help.
So, audition day arrives.  It's only 2 days later - I'm also all about not dragging something out.  For the first time ever, I saw my little girl get a little shaken.  She actually cried about being too little and not good at the dance.  I reassured her that it really didn't matter, she just had to do her best.  I was certain nobody could learn how to scissor kick and sashay in 2 days.  She said she didn't want to try out.
Now, here's where I wavered and here's also where I learned.  In that moment, I wanted so badly to say "okay, then we'll stay home."  Lord knows I wanted another cup of coffee. But, I realized one thing.  She's not me.  She's already come farther in this fiasco than I ever would, especially at 5 years old.  I barely spoke to adults at her age and clearly remember hiding in my mom's full length pleated teacher skirts when someone spoke to me.  My daddy paid me a quarter to say my kindergarten speech.  I must have really wanted that quarter badly and I'm certain it was a last ditch effort on his part.  I made her go.  We finish what we start here.  That lesson I just can't waiver on.
She gave me the sulky look the whole time before she was called.  The one where she purses her lips and pushes her eyebrows together. She refused to warm up and practice, she pulled on the number that was pinned on her, sat solemnly and glared at me.  But, when it was time to get in line, she did it. She was at least a foot shorter, maybe two, than everybody in her group and when one little girl commented, "oh, she's so tiny!" I was sure she was about to sock her judging by the look on her face.
When it was all said and done, Kate came back and asked if she could go to Target.  I asked if she sang her song, and she said, "Yes, but I didn't do a cartwheel.  She said you didn't have to - you could do whatever you wanted as long as you didn't leave the room." Alrighty then.  Who knows what happened.  I'd love to have been a fly on the wall.
And, I took her to Target.  I bought her Sofia's castle too.  She didn't ask for it, but I was so proud of her for being brave enough to follow through with something she didn't want to and I wanted her to learn that regardless of the outcome, she finished what she started.  Plus, I had a gift card and needed to keep her busy so I could recuperate from the 5 boy sleepover the night before.
And, I learned.  A lot.  She may look like me, but she isn't me.  She's Martha Kate.  And, a whole lot of Martha, apparently.  I learned that regardless of how much I may hate the activity, she may love it, and I may have to learn to love it - and seek professional assistance.  I learned that she has the courage to stand in front of people and do things that I wouldn't dream of doing - like dancing and singing.  I learned that by even making her go through with it, she was 10 steps ahead of where I was at 5 or 25.  I learned that's sometimes it's okay to push, just a little, for the good of the experience.  I learned that  her saying she didn't want to try out was more about her really wanting to stay home and play with her dolls than actually trying out.  And, I learned to be okay with the outcome, before the outcome is decided.
Miss Martha Kate didn't get a part in the school play this year.  I can't say that I'm upset.  As much as I wanted her to succeed, I also knew that when it came to practicing, she's not ready for the long hours that it requires.  In my eyes, she was very successful.  And as for her, she doesn't care either way.  She simply said, "well, I didn't get a call back" and went on with her day.  We never even told her she didn't get a part.  The funny thing is that she also walked away knowing 8 new broadway songs and a dance that she now practices daily on her fake dance floor.  Hilarious.  I know our days are coming when she really wants something and doesn't get it, has to deal with disappointment and peer pressure.  I know it will break my heart.  I only hope she will keep a little of the "life goes on" attitude with her, but I also know reality.
For now, I will enjoy the school play with my little girl on my lap and not on stage, watching her experience the wonder of it all and continue to dream.  I will be grateful that she is just as happy watching as she is dancing on the stage.  I will push her, just a little, because she can handle it.

I will hold onto to little as long as I can.

Nine great years...

Dear Bailey,
I can't believe you're 9!  I'm so proud of who you are and even more proud of who you will become.  I remember looking at you right after you were born and knowing that you were the most beautiful little person I had ever seen, then asking your daddy, "what do we do now?"  Love you.  That's what.  And, Bailey, you are easy to love!
I love when you climb in my lap even though you fill it up a lot more now, and when we discuss life when I tuck you in at night.  You have taught me to love nature, animals, and bugs much more than I ever would.  I even catch them for you when I see a cool one.  It once would have grossed me out but I never want you to miss out on something cool that you may only see once.
You are a deep thinker.  I always wonder what is going on in that head of your especially when we go to new places or see new things.  But, there is no doubt that you take it all in and notice every detail - many times things that I never noticed.  You remember everything - details that I would certainly have forgotten.  I enjoy your questions when we are in the car, especially when it's just you and me.  You have asked questions since you were a year old and I've answered them, sometimes I had to look up the answer, but I spent hours talking, teaching, and answering.  Now, you teach me.
I love the way you learn everything about what you are interested in.  When you were 18 months, it was trains - you knew every Thomas character by looking at the picture - had the entire catalog memorized.  You could name every kid in your daycare class by first and last name at 2.  At 3, you could pronounce the scientific names of every reptile in the book and knew more Star Wars trivia than people who were born in the 70's did.  Lately it's cars.  You can name every make and model of every car that goes by.  You told me the other day that it was too bad that cars drive so fast when they go by because there are some really cool ones out there and you don't get to look at them long enough.  Just like life - it goes by so fast that sometimes we don't look at it long enough.  You've taught me to slow down, sometimes stop, and appreciate what's in front of me.
You build things - with legos, with paper, with sheets and clothespins and furniture, for bugs, in your mind.  You always amaze me with your creativity.  I know you will build many more great things.
You love sports, playing it, watching it, and mostly because your daddy likes it so much.  I know nothing about this subject so your daddy gets to answer these questions and I'm amazed at the names of players and teams that you know.  I love to watch you swing a bat and throw a football and I'm thankful that you are strong and healthy so that you can.
You are a big helper and a great big brother.  You always remember my grocery list so I love taking you to the store.  I always know your sister is protected by you, even when you look a little grossed out.  She loves you so much.
You worry a lot, and so do I.  You've had to grow up more than I wanted you to because of things that happened in our lives but I'm so proud of the way you have handled them.  You have taught me to be strong and helped me to be brave.  You are wiser than you should be at 9 and as a mother, I wanted to protect you from anything bad, scary, or sad, but you have taught me to face my fears and handle things as they come because sometimes we have no choice and because at the end of the day, I get to hold you and your sister.
You are sometimes the voice of reason, the stater of the obvious, the jokester, the prankster, sensitive, sweet, caring, and loving.  Happy Birthday, Stephen Bailey Jessop!  I love you very much.
Mommy

'til it overflows...

Another year.  For some it’s just that.  For me it’s still a miracle.  I must say that for everything 2012 wasn’t, 2013 most definitely was.  Now that it’s officially over, it’s worth giving it a proper goodbye.  Last year, I flipped that calendar over to January like December was on fire, but this one has been very different.  I don’t believe in looking back, but I do believe that the experiences of your past certainly shape your future.  I also believe that everything that happened in my life over the last several years has been a catalyst for my determination to make the most of the life that God has given me.  So, I’m listing some of what I’ve accomplished - to drive me forward, to remind me on days that I forget why this is the hand I’ve been dealt, and maybe to do it better in 2014.  So, here’s 25 of them:   

1. I escaped last year virtually pain free, hospital free, bone marrow biopsy free, and more importantly, cancer free.  This is not my accomplishment - I take no credit for it.  It’s God’s grace and mercy, countless prayers that were said, and years of scientific research in the making. 
2. Friendships and relationships have strengthened and deepened - some because of the bond that cancer builds, some because they are already in too deep to get out now, and some because they have invested so much time and energy in prayer and hope that they are determined to see it through.  
3. I was inspired to run for the sole purpose of giving back to the research that saved my life. The training fueled my determination and so did the people that need the miracle that I’ve gotten.  I finished the race with a first place medal but more importantly with a crowd of open-armed pink-shirt wearing people who helped us give back. 
4. We celebrated cancer remission with an impromptu party, an overly full house, and through the generosity of others, gave back to a local charity to brighten the day of other people with cancer.  
5. I walked my baby girl into the doors of kindergarten for the first day of school, kissed her goodbye, and walked out with the assurance that she was okay and so was I.  We had arrived at a place that I never thought I’d be.
6. Just as importantly, I watched my baby boy walk himself confidently to his 3rd grade classroom.  No fear, no tears, and no worries that I wouldn’t be there when he walked out that day. 
7. I traveled. Some planned, some not.  New York, Chattanooga, Hawaii, Nashville, St. Louis, Atlanta, Chicago, Mississippi, the Gulf Coast, the lake.  
8. I experienced new things through the eyes of my children as we traveled together - the mountains, the ocean, the subway, the city, planes, taxi cabs, dinosaur bones, ocean creatures, football stadiums, doll stores, air force bases, water sports.  All of these experiences as equal to me as their faces of excitement of baby birds being born, Christmas morning, clean plate dinners at Waffle House, and their little bodies snuggled close to me on the couch for movie nights.  
9. For the first time in 2 years, I was not in the hospital or having surgery for Stephen’s birthday.  I was able to give him a report of clean scans rather than an MRI showing a tumor in my spine.  
10. My in-laws were able to actually visit us this year without my children worrying that we would leave and not return, even allowing Stephen and I to enjoy some time together in Hawaii, courtesy of his company and his hard work.  
11. I celebrated 36 years.  3 more than science promised.  
12. I get the joy of watching my husband learn songs and play guitar for 5-12 year olds every Sunday morning. I know it’s not exactly the band he had in mind, but I am proud of his commitment and the way he truly enjoys those little people.  
13. I get the pleasure of spending my Sunday mornings with 5 and 6 year old little girls as we muddle through lessons together like choosing joy even when things don’t go our way.  As I expected, I may get more out of it than they do but I’m reassured that something sinks in when one little girl pipes up after I say, “Always be joyful...”  to finish with, “because you belong to the Lord!”
14. I went ice-skating, water skiing, and ran three 5Ks.  
15. I’ve made it to every baseball game, choir performance, school party, parent-teacher conference, birthday party, and daisy scout event this year.  I have pictures and videos to prove it. 
16. I tweaked my career a little, which helped me gain perspective, insight, and take a step forward in accepting change as positive.   
17. I started a blog.  Reluctant.  Delayed.  Grateful.  Grateful for all the people that actually read it, for words to have, and for whatever that cancer did to make me write.  
18. I tell my story.  I’m actually starting to enjoy it.  Sometimes for the reaction that I get from people, sometimes because I need to hear it myself, and sometimes because I know that’s the way I find a common bond.  I take pride in comments like, “I would have never known,” or “you look so young,” “wow, you look really good,” or my favorite, “bless your heart.” I’m really okay with the days I looked bad, so thanks for the compliment.  My heart has been blessed.  
19. Apparently others are inspired and so I continue to be inspired.  I’ve come out of my private world of flying under the radar to accept hugs from people whom I’ve never met but know all about me and I’m really okay with it.  My long time friend, Jessica Ferguson ran the Chicago Marathon this year in my honor.  We went to high school together, haven’t seen each other in years, and she ran over 26 miles and raised a lot of money for the American Cancer Society with my name pinned to the back of her shirt.  I am humbled.
20. I’ve come to realize that friends even when distance comes between you and friends, it just means you might need a more economical car and give you more chances for road trips.  Miss Martha Kate is an excellent traveler and a perfect little road trippin’ buddy.  We experienced our first mother-daughter trip this year.  I look forward to many more.
21. I’m learning to say no.  No to what won’t matter in 5 years, no to what makes me tired, or makes me tired to think about, no to fluff, no to things that aren’t worth investing time or energy, no to people sometimes.  And, I’m learning to let go of things that I can’t change or couldn’t get done.  After all, I can still play the cancer card, right?
22. I say yes a lot more.  Yes to peanut butter on top of oreos, yes to playing with play doh, yes to jumping from the top of the slide to get on the swing, yes to playing in the rain, yes to hermit crabs, yes to pajamas for half the day, or the whole day, yes to coffee, yes to whatever reason somebody comes up with to celebrate.  Yes to whatever makes memories.
23. I coined the term Cancerversary and blew out 3 candles.  A day I never would have thought I would actually celebrate, but again, why not?
24. My children are healthy and growing, not to mention perfect and brilliant.  My husband is healthy and still sticking by me regardless of my crazy.  Our cars are running, most of the time.  Our appliances are running, most of the time.    
25. I know that I am loved and needed - by my family, by my husband, by our family and friends.  And, I am certain that as I look back on the road map of chaos that I call my life, I am assured that God had a plan and He still does.  

I read a verse the other day - John 10:10.  “The thief comes only in order to steal and kill and destroy.  I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows).  My plan for 2014 is to enjoy life until it overflows.  Happy New Year!
Kimberly

Peace

This is the devotion that I wrote for our church's advent season.  It was sent out today.  As I sit here drinking my coffee and listening to Christmas music, surrounded by my family, my excited kids, footballs whizzing across the room, a sea of wrapping paper and boxes, doll clothes and little tiny doll furniture, uncle Si's voice coming from a tiny stuffed bearded man, and a bike that would only be allowed in the house on this day, I can only imagine how exciting the first Christmas must have been.  I have more than I deserve.  

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

PEACE____________________________________________________________________________

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."

John 16:33 (NIV)

We have a manger scene on a low table in our den.  It's the breakable kind, ceramic and all, but I bought it to be played with because there is something really awesome about playing with breakables when you're a kid.  I also think that if anything should be revered as fragile, yet tangible, it has to be the scene where Jesus came to us as a human.  It sounds like plates falling from the sky when I'm in the kitchen and hear the clinging sound of ceramic knocking together but then I realize it's just Kate rearranging her wise men and shepherds and it makes me smile.  Baby Jesus has only one arm now, but the one ceramic nub is a symbol of how loved that tiny baby is.  The characters are frequently placed in different positions - sometimes they are all crammed in the manger so they don't get wet if it rains, sometimes they are on top of a "mountain" so they can see better.  Yesterday morning when I woke up I noticed that the shepherds and wise men were in a perfectly straight line and Mary and Joseph were on each side of Jesus and the baby was in the middle kicking and waving his one arm.  I imagine that is what it had to be like.  Time stopped for a moment and everyone stared in awe of a tiny baby, innocent and holy, and a complete miracle.  After all, that's exactly what I did when the doctor handed each of my children to me.  But that Baby is extra special - He is a symbol of peace in the midst of darkness, human flesh that connects us to God, and where the wonder of the Christmas season all began.  No matter how many times I hear that story, it never gets old and it never loses its magic.

I have to think of Mary when I think of the story of the birth of Jesus.  As a mother, she makes us all look bad.  How trusting and faithful she had to be.  Certainly there had to be times when she wasn't ok with it all.  She had to feel alone sometimes.  She had to wonder if she was ever going to get off that donkey and have that baby.  But, God knew exactly where she needed to be and when to make the birth of Jesus have such a human connection where the story would never grow old and still be a miracle.  And, I've learned the hard way that's how God works. I've felt alone, helpless, and completely out of control. My faith is not nearly as good as Mary's.  I have asked why and when and how so many times, and there have been countless moments when God has had to remind me that He is in control.  And, still He gives me peace.

Through, a tiny, helpless baby, He overcame the world.  During this Christmas season, let us be mindful of the sanctity and fragility of life and of the peace that Jesus brings us, sometimes in the midst of the darkest hours.  

Dear Lord,

Help us to remember how sacred and fragile the gift of life is this Christmas season.  Thank you for the peace that you have brought to us through the birth of your only Son.

                                                                                     Amen.

Kimberly Jessop

Emmanuel Class 

  

Angels we have heard...

On Sunday I watched our Martha Kate and a group of other sweet little small people sing give all they have in our church's carol festival.  Now, I love Christmas music.  I start playing it as soon as possible.  I can't wait for the local radio station to switch over at Thanksgiving and now that I've figured out how to use this portable blue tooth speaker thingy, I carry it from room to room spreading my holiday cheer.  Drives Stephen nuts.  I admit I can't really sing but it doesn't stop me from belting GLO-UH-UH-UH-UH-RIA as loud as I can.

I think what I love even more is little children singing Christmas music.  There is something so sweet and innocent about their voices.  They sing as only children do.  Many of the words were in Latin but Kate is convinced it's Spanish.  She has no idea what the words are - I had to look them up myself to find out their meaning.  What I realized is so different with kids and adults is that I spent time actually looking up the meaning of the words because I couldn't get past not knowing and all of those little kids just sang it as if it were Jingle Bells.  And, the truth is, they are much smarter than me.  I am convinced that they didn't need to know because they actually felt the meaning.
I watched their faces as the first horns of the orchestra blew.  Eyes widened and heads turned.  They watched the director wave his arms emphatically, the flute, the harp, the drums.  Clearly a new experience for some. Then they sang.  About the birth of the baby that would save the world.  In Latin.  Regardless of the words, the meaning was clear - the heavens and earth rejoiced over the birth of Jesus.
Now, I had a direct view of my little angel on the stage in her tuxedo shirt.  She was on the front and the end, of course.  We had some tears before the program in regards to a shirt and bow tie that looked like a boy and was choking her, and with the busy weekend, I was kind of unsure how this was going to go.  But, she sang almost every word - or her interpretation of the words. And in between singing, she stared at the harpist, and waved her arms to help the director conduct, straightened her bow tie, and mouthed "Sofia?" to me in regards to the princess doll I promised if she would wear the shirt.
And, then there was the moment that I looked up to see her surrounded by properly trained musicians in tuxes sticking out her tongue.  "NO! NO! NO!" I mouthed and did a little cut-throat motion.  I looked down beside me to see her older brother sticking his tongue out at her.  He got a good leg pinch and an ugly look too.  "What?  I was trying to make her happy and smile." That made for a good lesson on the way home on how much influence he has on his sister and further emphasized that she won't be outdone by him in anyway even in the midst of such a formal event.  Gotta love some pew parenting.
Regardless, it was fun to watch, and the tongue incident - well, it only lasted a couple of seconds.  I should have probably been mad instead of kind of finding it funny.  At least they connect with each other in some way, at least he was watching his sister, and maybe only a few people in the front saw it. Who cares.  She still did great.  I asked her later what she liked most and she said that tall heart thing that you play like this, waving her fingers in front of her.  "And, mommy, those drums were giving me a heartbeat."  Bailey liked the big violin.  I think we might need to culture our children a little more.
I can only imagine what it must have sounded like when Jesus was born - or every day in heaven for that matter
The voices of the angels were heard and understood regardless of the language.  The earth was peaceful.  People smiled at each other in adoration just as the violinist smiled at her neighbor after his amazing solo performance.  I'm sure no one stuck out their tongue.  But, if they did, I'm sure the forgiveness that Jesus brings would have covered that too.  And, as for the princess Sofia doll and her little forest animals, she earned it.  It only cost me $7.29, so I'd say that the experience was definitely worth it.