How Cancer Saved My Life By Ruining It.

Cancer is a term used for diseases in which abnormal cells divide without control and are able to invade other tissues.

It will invade the body.
It will invade the human spirit.
It will invade your home.
It will invade your world and tear it apart from the inside out.

Cancer can not be contained or controlled.

Cancer ruined my life and because of that, my life was saved.

My dad has cancer.
He has the disease, but his family carries it too.

Cancer affects everyone and everything.

I see my father in physical pain.
I see my mother in emotional turmoil.
I see my grandfather care for him because the rest of us just can't.

My father who used to throw me up in the air so high my tiny fingertips would dance across the ceiling now gets out of breath walking to the mailbox.
My mother now has to worry about bills, plane tickets to see my father & sleeps alone at night.
My sister watches her new son grow up without being held by his grandfather as often as he should.
I feel consistently and constantly helpless to the point of incontrollable sobbing at night.

Sounds awful doesn't it?
How could I be so ridiculous to say that this hideous disease that has so many in pain, saved my life?

I was selfish.
So selfish.
I cared about the latest shoes, the cutest dress, having a lot of friends & always having it all together.

I cared that my hair didn't lay right.
I cared that the rain soaked my socks.
I cared that my piece of crap car kept breaking down.
I cared what people thought of what I did and what they said about me behind closed doors.
I cared about how many people liked my Facebook status.
I cared about the weather.
I cared about being late because of all the traffic jams. 
I cared about my nose being stuffed up, preventing me from sleeping all 8 glorious hours.

I cared about a lot of things.
A lot of complete crap.

I don't care about any of that.
My dad can barely sleep some times because of physical pain.
My dad doesn't have hair to comb.
My dad doesn't have the ability to even drive a car right now because of weakness.
My dad is on his way to doctor visits and scans and needle poking sessions, not the mall.

I wasted a huge part of my life over thinking such little things.
Things that I now no longer even remember.

My dear friend just lost her father to the same disease that plagues mine.
While you were obsessing over getting a coach purse, an Xbox or whatever expensive gift that you'll forget about by next year, she was holding onto her father's hand for the last time.

My father was sitting on a hospital bed with my mother in a cancer center this Christmas, not by a tree surrounded by lights and laughter like he should have been.

Cancer changed my life.
I notice things like sunshine; 
things like a child's fingerprints.

I don't even see the people on the street the same, holding their "homeless and hungry signs."
I used to be that person, you know, the one who doesn't hand out that extra change in my cup holder because they'll "...probably just spend it on drugs." 

Who cares?
That is not my place.

I am here for a very short time, part of that time already dissipated into a pile of worthless rubble.
I now give the change I have.
I hold a child who cries out for attention.
I don't care if it rains.
I don't care about Christmas gift lists or birthday wishes.

I care about life.
I care about people.
I care about hugging my kid's neck and telling them I care.
I care about rubbing my husband's shoulders just because I might not be able to tomorrow.
I care about laughing at dumb jokes.
I care about giving my time to anyone who asks of it.
I care about investing in a life that nobody else cares to notice.
I care about working hard.
I care about apologizing first, forgiving always.
I care about Grace and Mercy, not being right.
I care about slow dancing in my living room.
I care about getting on the floor and playing with Cannon when he asks for someone to play with.

Cancer made me see so much suffering that it eventually allowed me to see hope, kindness and what my tiny life is all about.

Without darkness, nobody would notice the light.

Cancer ruined my life;
but I'm so glad it did.

Stitches and Butterflies

When I was a child, running in my garage (when my mother specifically told me not to) with my best friend I was a huge mess waiting to happen.

You know when grown ups always used the "you'll bust your head open" gig to get you to stop doing something really stupid?
This time, the gig was for real.
I ran full speed straight into my friends forehead.

I looked down at my hand after holding the wound and it was covered in blood.
Of course at the age of 5 I thought I was about to surely die.
My parents rushed me to the hospital with a wet rag holding my head together.
I remember hearing my mom and the nurse murmur back and forth about options, one of them being a "butterfly."
For those of you not educated in gaping wounds a butterfly is a quick fix for wounds not so serious.
I started crying, "not stitches! Butterfly! Butterfly! Please!"

Guess what I had to get?
Stitches.
A butterfly would be a quick fix but would never close this gaping wound.
My parents knew I would suffer through a period of pain, but that the wound would be shut correctly.
There were three options for their baby girl:
1. Let me bleed to death.
2. Give me a quick fix and let the wound break open again eventually and let me bleed to death.
3. Watch me suffer for a short time but eventually find true healing.

As a child I was angry with my parents for putting me through pain when there was this other option that would get me out of this mess just the same, but my parents knew such was not the case.

They knew the only way to see their sweet child be back to where she was meant to be, she had to suffer some.


Sometimes the only option to get you out of the muck is still painful.

Sometimes Jesus sees His kid's gaping wound and knows the only way to healing is a painful way.

You may have to suffer through thorns for some time to get out, but your suffering will lead you from your own destruction.

Sometimes suffering is really salvation in a cloak.

Sometimes we are thrown into a den of lions and sold as a slave to lead us to our destiny, one which we would have never went to without the catalyst of suffering to push us there.

Sometimes we are swallowed by a fish to puke us to the place God called us to but we ran from for so long.

Sometimes we must weather a storm on a battered ship so that God can get us alone enough to finally walk on the water with Him.

Sometimes plagues come before the parting of the seas.

Sometimes when we think we have been destroyed, it is really a detour to safety from devastation.

Sometimes God throws us into the waves because we have been clinging to everything but Him and it's time for that to change.

Sometimes suffering is a gift of Grace in disguise.

You will not come out shiny, polished and new.
You will come out with scars from fighting through bigger than life thorns.


I will always carry a scar above my eye from those stitches, but better a healed scar from suffering than on a death bed from a butterfly kiss.

Learning to Float

I still remember the way the water held me in its arms.
I let my body sway and drift with such lightness.
A smile flickered across my young face, blonde curls dancing in the chlorine like tiny ballerinas gracing the dance floor for the very first time.
My eyes half opened.
Above me was my father; full beard and big grin.

"I'm floating daddy!"
"Pretty easy huh kid?"

My fathers guiding hands lingered shortly, making sure my 40 lb body was ready to weather the leap alone.

I floated with such ease.
After flapping, flopping and carrying on in the populated pool my father had me close my eyes and relax onto his arms.
"Just relax. I've got you."

Floating seemed so much better than swimming to me.
As all the other children were diving, dunking and chunking one another into the blue water I was floating.
I was at complete confidence and rest.

As I have grown older I have forgotten how to float.
I have forgotten how to lean back in rest onto the arms of my Father.
His hand is guiding me.
He won't drop me.
He keeps trying to get me to relax.
To float.

Being an adult makes it difficult to re-learn to float again.
What about the bills?
What about the kids' practices, homework, etc?
What about my broken relationships?
What about my loneliness?
What about my pain that I can't seem to fix?
What about all these plans I have already made for myself?

Just float.

Easier said than done, I know. But Jesus is many things, among these things is rest.
Rest in His guiding hand.
Rest in His voice whispering over your limp body, "I've got you. Relax."

I would rather float, eyes closed and unaware of where I may end up than swim tirelessly in a lap pool back and forth.
How exhausting to see where I am going, only to see I am going really nowhere.

Sometimes God asks us to close our eyes, relax, float and trust He is guiding us to more open waters.

That day in the pool I trusted my daddy because he was bigger than I was.
He knew much more about the water than me.
He knew how to float when I did not.

Believe it or not Jesus knows more about the waters you are in more than you do.
He knows a lot about how to hold your floating body.

Stop gasping for breath in a lap pool.
Stop waving your arms about, splashing every which way.

Stop choosing to swim nowhere with your eyes open over floating to open waters with your eyes closed.

Just float.

"See kid. It's easy."

Matthew 11:28-30 -

"Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. "Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. "For My yoke is easy, and My load is light."

Offensive Grace

I have been wrestling with this blog for quite some time.
Some nights it has kept me awake for hours.
I just couldn't be released from it until I let it be.

I was afraid of how many may take it, but my writing is different because it doesn't hide.
It lets others know they aren't alone.
It lets you see straight into the human heart, even the ugly parts.

I have worn a scarlet letter on my chest since April 3rd of this year.
Some of you wear it too.
Some of you wear more than one.
You've tried everything to get it off of you.
Pulled, prodded, cut, clawed at it.
Nothing works.
When you wake up you see it.
When you see old friends they stare at it.
People can't help but talk about it.
The church squints at it.
That big, red, damn letter "D."

Divorced.

Every letter has a secret, a story to it.
You wear that secret everywhere you go.
You can wear it forever it you like, but personally red isn't my color.

I've never been one to wear whatever label someone handed me.
When I'm handed a "hello my name is ______" sticker I always put some smart name instead like "Your Mom."

So, likewise when I was slapped with this big ugly D I wasn't having it, and Jesus wasn't either.

He didn't think it suited my destiny, so He ripped it off, threw it in the trash and sewed a huge G where that shameful D once lived.

The G is for grace.

When I was a child, me and my mother were on our way to church one evening.
She had dressed me up in a beautiful little dress, strapped in the car seat in the back.
Pulling into the parking lot of the church I felt disaster coming from deep down in my stomach.
Yup, it happened; I puked Mac and cheese all over that gorgeous dress.

Just when I was expecting to be scolded, shamed, grace stepped up instead.

My mother did not yell or raise her voice.
My mother did not roll her eyes or stare at me like, " are you kidding me?!"

My mother turned the car around, took my vomit dress off, ran me a warm bath and sang me to sleep that night.
She probably does not remember that night; but I do.

Grace.

I don't know about you, but I've puked all over myself more than a few times as a follower of Jesus.

This year was one of those times that God looked at me with Grace and cleaned up my vomit.

This may offend some people.
That's what grace does to folks who haven't hit the bottom before.

Grace offended a lot of people when Jesus drew a line in the dirt and stones dropped one by one at the feet of a prostitute.

Grace offended a lot of people when He ate with the tax collectors and healed the leapers.

Grace offended a lot of people when He made ex-murderers disciples.

Incredible grace, like the kind that took me, a big mess of straight up puke, and turned me into a testimony of mercy tends to offend those who think following Jesus is just about being good.

Grace took my mess and turned it into a message of hope.

Your letter may be different than mine was.
It may be a D for druggie.
It may be a P for prostitute.
It may be a T for thief.
It may be an A for affair.
It may be an F for failure.

No matter your letter, it's time to change out of that letter that you were not created to wear.

Try on Grace for a change.
Trust me, it suits you.

Dirty Kisses and Forgiveness.

I had just written 3/4 of a completely different blog and my power became unplugged.
I lost it all.
I was avoiding writing about what God told me to write about.
See what I put up with?

So, here God.
Have it Your way.

As many of you know,  I work with toddlers at a childcare center.
I think the main response I get when telling people my occupation is: " Oh my...I could not do your job."
Many people just see the screaming, snot and diaper changing when they see my job.

They probably walk in on me with half my hair missing, chasing some two year old around the room with a broom in one hand and butt wipes in the other.
I do clean a lot of snotty noses.
I change dirty diapers.
I wipe tears from dirt-stained faces.
I get frustrated.
I get angry, even.

But if that's what you see, you have missed it.
Big time.

You have missed the hugs, the kisses, the "I missed you Bwitney!" i get in the mornings.
You have missed the dancing, the laughing, the story-telling.
Most of all, you have missed the incredible, confusing, offensive display of love I am slapped in the face with every day.

I hate when me and a child are arguing.
I hate disciplining.
It is the least favorite part of my job.
I hate putting them in time out and seeing their tears just roll and roll.
It is annoying, but it's always hard to see the same face that lit up when walked in the room turn to disgust or distain.

Yet, they get over it.
It does not matter what I did to that kid that day or how at odds we were with each other that day, when the day comes to an end they are sitting on my lap, playing with my hair and stroking my face.

This week at work me and a small girl in my class were at it all day.
She just would not listen.
She made the corner her home that day.
I was so frustrated.
I pulled her into the time out chair over and over again and kept having to raise my voice at her for her to even pay any attention to instruction.

She glared at me with her folded arms and swollen eyes.
In that moment you would have thought I was the most disgusting woman she had ever met.
I took away her toys, I embarrassed her in front of her friends, I separated her from everyone else.

May seem like nothing to us, but to a two year old that's pretty much the worse day of their life.

You want to know what that disgruntled, disgusted two year old said to me at the end of my work day?

"I love you Bwitney. I'll see you tomorrow!"
She climbed in my lap, hugged my neck and gave me a dirt/frosting kiss on the cheek.

God likes to teach me lessons in strange ways.
Most of our conversations are on car rides, runs, or while I'm knodding off to sleep.
Most of the deepest snippets of wisdom He allows me to snatch up are not in a sanctuary blaring from a pulpit, but from the mouth of babes.

Guilt immediately swept all over me when this child reacted with love, grace and forgiveness without a second thought.

I heard I was supposed to have this thing called "child like faith" from the get go.
But what in the heck did that mean to me?
Blind faith?
No thanks.

I'm a natural skeptic.

This is where God does a face palm and says, "Britney, no. I want you to love like a child. I want you to forgive like a child. I want you to be like that child was to you today when all you did was scold them and they loved you still."

Duh.
Biggest fail.
Today we are taught to "forgive but to never forget."
That is not what Jesus taught.

When He cast our sins as far as the east is from the west He meant He did exactly like that.
He didn't hang on the cross and say, "Well, I'll forgive you but I'll remember this when handing out crowns of gold later."

No.
No.
No.

I missed the mark on this one, guys.
In the wake of recent life events, many people have slapped me in the face.
Instead of turning the other cheek, instead of forgiving and casting the pain they caused as far as I could from me, I dwelt.
I held contempt.
I couldn't let go of the fact that they "took away my toys."

I do not forgive with ease, and even when I do I keep a nugget of resentment with me just in case.

Something sparked when I received that frosting kiss on my face.
It isn't forgiveness if you don't trash everything with it.
Trash the bitterness.
Trash the resentment.
Trash the mistrust.
Trash the anger.

The wrong done to you may never be made right by the other person.
Thats a hard fact to swallow.
Pride doesn't want to accept that.

Let pride die along with it too.

When you follow Jesus, you give up your rights.
All of them.
The right to be right.
The right to hold on to your pride.
The right to forgive but not forget.

Be a child again.

It doesn't make you naive, it makes you obedient.

The Heart Transplant

The rain beat on my windshield as my wipers tried to dance in between the blows.
I was crying, trying to drive through the tears and rain drops, unsure of which was which anymore.

This wasn't your typical cry.
I was sobbing like a child who just lost sight of his mother in the supermarket for the first time.

It was a cry of release.
A release of so much.
Too much to tell you in one blog.
Too much for those of you who have just met me to get.
Years of just...turmoil.

When I held my newly born nephew in my arms, my sister tiredly smiling up at me I felt the innocence, the freshness of this life.
Untainted.
He had never experienced heartbreak.
He knew no pain or chaos.
He would love easily and freely to anyone who held him.
He was the definition of simplicity.

I was holding a fresh start in my very arms.
I brushed his face with my fingers and held back the tears from all the things my sisters little gift brought to me.

The rain washed off my windshield and the sunshine began to reflect off the remaining drops onto my face.

With that passing rain went every scream I wanted to let out for the past 4 years of my tiny life.

That cry was not one of sadness.
Or mourning.
That cry was a cry of being overwhelmed with absolute joy; one I've never know before.
I hadn't ever cried of...happiness before.
Of complete release.
I had been holding my heart so tightly to my own chest, my own husband who has fought more than anyone on the Earth to open my rigid grasp hasn't even seen its full capacity to love.
The absolute innocence of baby Benjamin broke me.

I wanted his softness.
His naive outlook on the new world around him.
His ease to love.
His ease to trust his heart with whoever claimed to keep it safe.

I broke because I had become so rough to the touch.
My heart cold and incapable to love how it once had when I was freshly 16.
It had been broken.
Not your typical broken.
Absolutely shattered.
While my husband daily attempts to find every piece he can to make me completely whole again I knew only the gentle touch of Mercy could do the job.

Mercy reached down and broke my heart again when I touched Benjamin's tiny fingers.
He broke it how a heart is meant to be broken.
He broke it so everything good and lovely could now be let in.
He broke it in such a way that Light could kiss every dark corner I had tucked away in shame.

I rolled down the windows, letting the freshly damp air mist on my face.
Heart break never felt so right or good.

Hope returned that day.
My rough edges were smoothed out.
With the birth of a baby boy came the birth of a new, unscarred, untainted, trusting heart.
My heart.

I had been putting patches where God wanted to do a full transplant.


I had to let Love win.
Over the past.
Over heart ache.
Over the longing to expose truth.
Over mistrust.
Over fear.
Over bitterness.
Over anger.
Over hopelessness.
Over seemingly lost prayers.
Over everything that keeps the Light out.

I'm not the girl I was 6 months ago.
That girl was small, weak, broken, pitiful, indifferent to each day she woke up.

I don't even recognize that girl.
She can stay where I left her, along with the heart I donated to the garbage.

I stuck my hand out the window and let it just dangle for awhile.
Swaying back and forth to some old Beatles song.

To the Scorned Woman:

To the Scorned Woman: 

I've learned many lessons in my short life. 

I have faced battles that many grown women have yet to taste before the age of 20. 

I say this not out of pride, but to express in the rawest way possible that I know more than you think about life, love & religion. 

I've hated God.

I've convinced myself He doesn't exist at all. 

I've fallen in love with Him over and over again. 

I've tasted the distain of bitterness, the sweetness of romance and the rotten aftertaste of heartache. 

I have failed. 

At many things. 

I have bottled up pain so great it would bring even the strongest women to brokenness. 

Listen to me closely you broken woman. 

You scorned woman. 

You talked about, beaten, trampled over woman. 

You who think you should just shut up and lay down like the door mat people see you as. 

You who think a good woman is one who grins and bears it. 

You who beat yourself up every day for being a girl that just wants her fairytale. 

You listen to me. 

You are a strong woman. 

You are full of courage and fire. 

You are nobody's door mat. 

You are precious. 

God sees you.

God is not looking down at you with a face of shame. 

Let people gasp. 

Let them talk.

Let them flap their busybody lips until they fall right off their face.

By remaining silent you are already above them. 

There is a time to stay silent and a time to stand up. 

I will stand up for you and with you. 

You are not a china doll; fragile and designed to sit on a shelf and collect the dust of comfort. 

You are a woman. 

A beautiful, fierce woman. 

Fear of the unknown. 

Fear of yourself. 

Fear of others. 

Drop it. 

Kick it. 

 Don't pick it up again. 

Do not lay in the dirt and let anyone throw their stones at you like a victim.

You pick up those stones and build a fortress out of them. 

I've learned many lessons in my short life; 

One of them being that I am worthy of love.

You are not the victim.

You're the heroine. 

Signed, 

A Once Scorned Woman

Shedding Your Dead Skin

I know, my title is pretty gross this time.

I couldn't think of a more perfect analogy to convey my heart. 

As a marathon runner, my feet take a huge beating. 

Blisters, callouses, the works. 

After an endurance event I always go and get my feet worked on. 

This is going to come as a shock, but I never cry over the stripping away of my dead skin. 

Fresh. Soft. New. 

Finally. 

Granted, those callouses served their purpose in my training at some point along the way. 

If I had scrubbed them off myself before running 26 miles, you would see me hobbling at mile 15 with feet covered in blisters. 

Alike, a cocoon serves its purpose, but you do not see a beautiful butterfly lingering around its old cocoon mourning over the loss. 

 

When I was a young girl, I would take my mothers mason jars and take them to the backyard; I was on a mission. 

In the south, kids found it fun to pick locust shells off the trees and save them. 

Now, looking back I see I was just a strange kid.

Funny thing, I never saw a locust weeping by its old shell wanting to go back into its dead skin. 

Yet, so many of us weep over dead skin, callouses. 

Some sort of life choice kick starts the process of shedding the old and gaining the new. 

You will shed people or places, maybe both. 

Mourning has its place, but this is a time of celebration and rebirthing. 

Change is your ped -egg, shaving off every dead particle you no longer need to flourish. 

The butterfly, the locust, they don't just slowly walk away from their old, empty shells; they fly. 

They free themselves with extreme haste and celebration! 

The callouses have served their purpose, but it's time to show off that new skin. 

Enough with the analogy merry go round. 

Some people are in your life to teach you who you do not want to be or who you are not. 

Some people are in your life for a season simply to strengthen you. 

Do not consider their disappearance from your life desertion; it is shedding of a callous. 

Harsh? 

Maybe. 

Not all people are designed to be the encourager or loyal companion you want every human that walks into your life to be. 

Some are in your story to help you find yourself the hard way. 

Celebrate, because mourning over dead useless skin would be bananas. 

To My Father.

To my father: 

I love you. 

I think God understands your anger. 

I think God understands mom's heartache. 

I think God understands me and my sisters fear. 

I think God understands human suffering, but knows we never will. 

I think disease is like a tragic car accident for most people that they casually drive by on the freeway. 

They look in their rear view mirror at the mangled mess and say, "man looks bad," but never think of that scene again a mile down the road. 

You don't know disease until what you love is tainted by it. 

It is unlike any other tragedy because nobody can see it. 

It's not something a human can wrap their hands around. 

We only feel the aftershock of its blows. 

I can't really say I know what you feel. 

To want to be the stone foundation of your family, the strong fortress for those you love, yet you feel like you can no longer shield us. 

You have been my hero even before you knew I liked you. 

I remember the exact moment I really saw you. 

I was a little thing; tight curls glued to my head and eyes bigger than my face. 

You came home in your business suit with your black suitcase that I tried breaking into any chance I got. 

You sat down in a pink chair the size of your hand & drank invisible tea with that little girl who felt so small. 

You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered as you ate fake cookies I sat before you. 

From that evening on, I've seen you and loved you more than anyone could love their father. 

When you feel small, know I still see you as the man with his briefcase, sitting down to my tea party; the greatest, most precious father a girl could know. 

When you feel weak, know I still see you as the man who threw me on his shoulders after that baseball game on a summer night. 

You saw the storm brewing and tossed me up like a bag of feathers. You ran from the stadium all the way to the car with my chin bouncing up and down on your scalp. 

I was scared of storms, but not that night; my dad was strong and instead of feeling fear I felt safety. 

You are still that dad that would set me on his back and do push ups in our living room as I giggled all the way. 

You are still the man that took me and my sister kite flying every chance you got. 

When you feel helpless, know you helped me. 

As a person, I don't have any of the answers. 

As a girl who loves Jesus, I know I never will and I'm trying to be okay with that. 

As your daughter, the only thing I know is that I love you; that somehow I know we're gonna be alright.