Holding Space

With Shelly Vaughn

Tag Archives: faith


by 1 Comment

Camp Koru

IMG_0900

I’m writing this on the plane, flying home from an amazing experience at Camp Koru in Maui. I should be sleeping because when we land today it’ll be tomorrow at home.  But I’m still riding the wave of excitement so I wanted to share it.

I flew alone to get to camp- to meet 15 strangers who have or had cancer, along with 5 counselors (3 of whom also had cancer.)  It was out of my comfort zone to do something so big, but be so alone. Turns out this camp was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.

We spent 5 days in Maui.  4 of them were filled with surfing and paddleboarding lessons.  There’s something about the ocean that spurs so many metaphors- changing tides, ocean waves that have traveled so far to meet you in a moment, persevering through rough waters near shore to get to calmer waters beyond it, waiting patiently out in the water for the perfect wave to come- knowing it’s worth the wait.  See- SO many metaphors. They were swirling in my head all week.

The challenge of learning to surf meant that my body got beat up quite a bit.  The rocks scratched our legs so much that when we would get out of the water the “camp doc” had us line up for the “peroxide shower”… where she squirted peroxide on everyone’s legs.  Paddling out in the ocean made our arms so sore that it felt nearly impossible at times (especially for this body that doesn’t have lat muscles anymore). My knee was so banged up and bruised that it swelled up for most of the time there. And it was worth Every. Single. Ache.  Because in the end, I was standing on a surfboard in Maui, riding waves with some of the most meaningful new friends in my life.

Surfing

What was most beautiful about camp was the natural comradery of being surrounded by other survivors.  The ease at which “cancer talk” happened so organically in conversation was surprising to me.  A group conversation would easily flow from learning each other’s favorite hobbies to discussion about how we each handled bathroom accidents during chemo.  And instead of the typical response of “awe- I can’t believe you had to deal with that”, it was laughter at everyone being able to relate; and seeing who had the most creative solution to that particular issue.  We would talk about the beautiful ocean water and then seamlessly transition to which remedies work best for long-term side effects. It felt so natural and easy to talk to these people who knew me for such a short time, but already understood me so much.

Prayer conversation:

On Tuesday night, I had an amazing conversation with a girl, “Huck,” who would soon become one my most important friends.  She is younger than me, married without children, living with chronic thyroid cancer. I had noticed the first day at camp that her medicine took up a large portion of her packed items.  At that evening’s campfire talk, she mentioned that her faith helps her get through hard times. So I knew I wanted to ask her some deeper questions about faith when we were alone. I’m so glad that I did.

Why I have not heard these words before is beyond me.  Maybe I haven’t been asking my questions clearly enough. Maybe people have told me this and I just haven’t “heard” it until now.  Or maybe no one has given me such a clear answer before. I’ll try to explain…

I had watched the movie “Breakthrough” on the plane ride to Maui. It was a heartwarming movie, but I got hung up on the fact that if we credit God for answering prayers when they are answered the way we want, how do we explain and (maybe more importantly) find peace when prayers are not answered the way we hope.

In previous conversations and readings, when I’ve asked why prayers aren’t answered, it inevitably leads to a response that “prayers are answered, just not always the way we expect.” Then THAT always leads to the same dead end in my mind of why we bother asking for anything if it’s all going to work out according to God’s will anyway. I have struggled with understanding the “why bother” side of praying for specific things. (Side note: I do see the value of prayer drawing us in closer relationship with Him, but that’s not where my hang up has been.) Remember, I’ve lost two very close people to cancer, so it’s hard for me to accept the “unanswered prayer” response. I’ve also, obviously, been healed from the disease which complicates my brain’s attempt to process all of this.

That’s when Huck’s wisdom hit so hard that I was speechless.  This is a woman who has chronic cancer, 8 years since diagnosis, unable to have children of her own.  She shared that she prayed to be cured for several years. And for a while assumed it would happen- in God’s time.  Then she realized what would bring her peace… and has brought me peace as well. She prays for God to guide her heart to have desires that align with His will.  God is more concerned with our spiritual healing than our physical healing. That spiritual healing comes when we are at peace. And that peace comes when we are desiring what He is planning anyway.  Mic drop.

Ok, I’m being dramatic. But it really did hit me that hard because it made so much sense. I feel like I finally understand how to navigate the confusing maze of “why even pray” and “God’s will is always going to happen anyway”.  I went to bed Tuesday night with such a sense of peace and understanding. Pray for our desires to align with His will. Then we have peace because whatever happens is what our hearts are ready for.

IMG_3424

Healing day:

Wednesday, in the middle of our week, turned out to be one of the most special days of my life.  Our counselors surprised us with a trip to do outrigger canoeing with native Hawaiians. The two natives who led our group were elders who are held in high regard in Maui.  They showed us how to paddle the outrigger canoe as a team, while singing chants in Hawaiian along the way. I was enjoying the songs and felt very connected to my team- out on the shores of Maui singing songs and gliding through the water because we were a team of warriors.  Suddenly the elder changed the words of the song we were singing to the English version. You know what it was?… “This is the Day that the Lord Has Made.” A favorite hymn. I couldn’t believe I was chanting a worship song on the ocean and didn’t even know it until then. A while later we were doing a different chant in Hawaiian, and he again eventually switched to the English translation- it was “Let the Sun Shine In.”  I’ve been listening to Frente’s version of that song at least once a week for the last 3 months on the drive into work in the mornings.

Maui Elder

So we finally navigated around a small rock wall near the shoreline to a cove.  The elder explained that the purpose of the rock wall was to help catch fish and food for the island.  Our purpose there was help build up the wall- collectively pick up some of the rocks that naturally got knocked over or worn away and pile them back onto the wall.  This would help the natives for catching food for their families. I felt honored to be invited to help build something that has been so important to these people for centuries.

DSCF7019

After we worked on the wall for a bit, they asked us to circle up in the shallow water.  The elders stood in the middle, filled a coconut with water, and sang unfamiliar words that wove themselves into my soul, settling deep in a comfortable spot inside my heart.  I closed my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks as their words moved me. They walked around to each of us, blessing each one individually as he looked into our eyes, dipped a lei into the water and blessed me with it on my head, shoulders, and legs.  It is impossible to put into words what happened and how it made me feel. But I truly felt like I was healed- physically and spiritually. I had my answer about prayer life from Huck the night before. And now had this incredible feeling of being blessed and healed in the waters of Maui, through words of a different language that meant the world to me.

Side note: As I talked to Huck afterward about how moving that ceremony was, she said that she recognized “Jesus Christ” being said several times in the elders’ chants and songs.  So in the middle of this crazy emotional meaningful jumble of beautiful words, they were actually praying to Jesus.

So I walk away from this week feeling healed- spiritually and physically.  I sure hope the physical healing lasts for another 40 years. But I know that regardless, the spiritual healing is what is more important.  That comes from the peace of understanding I can pray for my desires in life to align with His will. If I desire what is already part of His plan, I really can’t go wrong… am I right?

Final thoughts:

Since my diagnosis in 2017, I have thanked God for the medicine to kill cancer and for surgeons to “fix” me. I have been in awe at my body’s ability to heal.  But I have not thanked Him for this body that betrayed me. Honestly, I’ve been bitter toward it for two and half years. This morning- my last morning waking up on a bed outside on a Maui beach to a beautiful sunrise- I closed my eyes and, without hesitation, prayed thanks for this body.  The moment I did, I was brought to tears realizing that I wasn’t bitter anymore. Which meant that for the first time since 2017, I felt truly healed- inside and out; spiritually and physically; my heart and my soul…. Mahalo, Maui.

DSCF7267


by Leave a comment

Never Be Alone

This date last year was my first chemo treatment. I’m so grateful to be on this side of it and be able to say that it’s over. But, man, that was the beginning of something so much harder than I anticipated.

As usual, this morning started out busy getting the girls off to school. I had a meeting and then had a chance to work with a boy who makes me smile and laugh for a full hour. Then as I had my first moment of reflective downtime, I noticed the sweetest text on my phone from my friend- which totally reminded me of how lucky I am to have such great friends; to have a God who has carried me through this; and to be here today to be able to reminisce. The timing of the text was perfect. Just like the timing of a phone call from my sister while I was having a little meltdown in the middle of the gym earlier this week. (I’m ok now, but those moments of feeling upset and not like “myself” still happen.)

This afternoon I was able to volunteer in Olivia’s classroom for her Valentine’s party. Again- it left me feeling so grateful to be able to be there and participate this year. And as I sit here reflecting on how this week went, I realize that’s pretty much the emotional roller coaster that is my life now. Mostly grateful, very sentimental, sometimes sad- and constantly reminded that I have never, and will never, be alone in this life- even when no one is around.


by 1 Comment

I wonder if they’ll know…

I wonder if they’ll know…

That they are the reason people call me brave. Without them, I would not have gotten out of bed sometimes. Getting them ready for school meant getting up and moving when I’d rather stay in bed. Taking care of them while at my lowest, meant living.

That finding people to help with them has brought me closer to certain friends and has given me the gift of watching others love on my kids. Hearing people offer to help take them places has meant seeing light shine brightly from others.

That everytime someone has sent them a gift or a card it has made my heart fuller than gifts for myself. The first cards that came in the mail for them, from other siblings whose mom had been through cancer, remain two of the most cherished pieces of paper in our home.

That watching them sleep brings a sense of peace that is indescribable- it has been that way since they were babies.

How their giggles strike a chord deep inside of me- more beautiful than all the music I could ever listen to. Hearing them laugh with each other brings its own special peace in my soul- as I know they’re growing a special bond as sisters that no one else in the world will be able to relate to. And they’ll have each other long after Rob and I aren’t here.

That my biggest fear has not been for me leaving them. It’s that they would have to go through the grief of losing their mom.

That I worry more about how they are getting through this than how I am.

That I’m beyond proud of their resilience and sweet souls as we navigate these waters without guidance. What to say? How much to share? How to calm their worries. What is normal now? Should I tell them I’m scared? Should I let them see my scars? What does this mean for their futures? What if? What if not? My worries for them go far beyond anything for myself.

That caring for them, raising them, has been such a beautiful gift- given to us and wholly appreciated- now more than ever. We’ve been graciously given the task of raising these two beautiful, sweet, hilarious, emotional, loving souls. But they are not ours… they are His. Our Creator who made us, who knows them, who holds them through me. I am so thankful that they were created in my womb. The most miraculous feelings this body has ever known was growing those two inside of it. Though my body feels like it’s failing me now, it certainly didn’t then. The breasts that have recently caused such sorrow did their job to feed those two. These hormones that “fed” cancer also did their part to create life a decade ago. And I can be nothing but grateful for that.  

You know, chemo didn’t just make me feel bad- it made me feel like a different person. My best identity change was when I became a mother to my girls. It was planned, welcomed, expected. This year my identity changed- unplanned, unwelcomed, unexpected- so much that I couldn’t recognize myself. I was no longer strong, healthy, happy, easy going. Physical changes forced me to be ok with a body I couldn’t control. Emotional changes forced me to feel differently than ever before. That was an intentional “ly”. My emotional responses and interactions with others were so unlike anything I was used to. And one of the most noticeable struggles was how hard it was to laugh. It’s just so hard to do when your body is not well. But you know the two people who could make me laugh no matter what- those two beauties I have the privilege of calling my daughters. They are precious souls who show love just as often as they fight with each other. Thank you to everyone holding space with me who have loved on them. And to those of you who haven’t met them yet- you’re missing out. I think they’re a couple of the best humans I know. Watch for them to change your world…. just like they’ve changed mine.

22195383_10214410604883755_7981716317693623233_n


by Leave a comment

Suffering

I suppose it would be natural for anyone going through a really difficult trial to wonder why it’s happening and to think about others who have gone through similar situations. These thoughts bring me to part 2 of my post from last week- to try and put into words some ideas about faith and suffering. I just need to preface this by saying that it is very rudimentary, but it’s therapeutic for me to write it. Besides, questioning/wondering is healthy in developing your own sense of purpose… right.
So why. Why does cancer even exist? Why is this so hard? Why do humans go through tragedy and suffering. These are big questions with bigger answers that I’m not going to be able to answer. But I’ve had a glimpse into this in a way lately that I haven’t had before. In simplest form- after time spent in suffering (on any level), you gain a better appreciation for the good things in life. Your perspective shifts. What used to seem mundane or unremarkable now brings deep joy and appreciation. These aren’t new, huge events around you. They are things around that might have been there all along, but in our fast-paced, technology-filled day-to-day it’s so easy to overlook them. That’s how it’s been with my experience through cancer, and I’m guessing with many other hardships that people go through. I don’t know if it’s the reason we go through them, but it is a benefit of going through them. I’ve never been so appreciative of sunshine, and short walks outside, of sitting with my eyes closed listening to birds, the delicious smells of food (that I couldn’t eat), warm hoodies, energy to get up the steps, flowers, the sound of rainstorms, warm baths, fluffy clouds viewed through a skylight, sitting by loved ones without saying a word, children giggling, wind on my scalp, hugs… lots of great hugs. I am so appreciative of these things lately. And I pray that I don’t lose this perspective of the simple beauty around me even as I come out of (and hopefully far from) this difficult experience.

Here’s the best analogy I can think of: Your bathroom light. it’s an average light that functions fine when you flip the switch on. For the most part, you probably don’t think twice about it. But it’s a different story in the middle of the night. You wake in the middle of the night and need to use the bathroom. After extended time in the dark, you fumble down the hall and reach to turn that switch on (just like you did earlier that day). But now the sensory experience of the light can be overwhelming. It’s the same light and wattage that your eyes perceived during the day. But when you’ve been in the dark for so long, that same light seems so much brighter. We suddenly have a shift in perspective that makes the light seem brighter… the light doesn’t change, but we do. Our suffering is the time in the dark. And after experiencing it, even a small amount of light seems so bright to us. So I encourage everyone this week to “look for the overlooked”- find those things that have potential to be bright lights. They may seem dim now because you’re not in the dark… but hopefully you can appreciate them anyway.

One other thought about suffering: I remember a quote from a show that said “someday this pain will be useful to you”. I believe that my pain has already been useful because of how it’s changed my perspective. But also in that it will allow me to help the next person- the next friend in need or person to get a cancer diagnosis. The next person who I may become close with because we can relate to each other through similar suffering. Some of my greatest comfort since January has been words of encouragement from other survivors. I hope I can be a source of comfort to others moving forward. Because maybe now, that is part of my purpose. Unexpected and undesired- but if I can bless someone in a fraction of the way I’ve been blessed through this, as a person more refined by this fire, then I’m all in. (see that… I even tied in a little Cleveland Cavaliers humor for you all.)


by Leave a comment

He is breathing on MY dry bones…

It’s difficult to know what to say to update everyone in this post and how many details to share. This was definitely the worst round of chemo, even knowing what to expect and armed with my arsenal of remedies for side effects. I was physically and emotionally at my lowest and had a hard time coming out of it. Like, it’s been 13 days and today was the first that I can say was not miserable. Coming out on the other side of it, I can share some beautiful things. My parents and brother were all out here to help out and love on me when I needed it. It was so depressing to see everyone’s fun spring break pics while I was barely getting out of bed, but now I see the gift of timing to be able to send my girls to PA for the worst parts of it so they didn’t have to see me so miserable and just have fun with their cousins. I have seen the value of friends who know how to love me and encourage me through the worst of the worst. I cannot say enough about Rob and his ability to help me through this. He knows me so well- when to let me rest, and when to push me to get out of bed; when to make me drink an Ensure and when to just bring home a slushie (I still think I could live on slushies and applesauce at this point); when to call on my friends to come encourage me even when I thought I didn’t want to see people; and when to stop in the middle of life and give me a hug. The hug was very much needed on Thursday, when I learned that a friend fighting a different kind of cancer lost her battle. This disease is awful. And way too prevalent. This treatment is barbaric and ugly. I don’t want to do it, but it’s my place right now. And I’m floundering my way through it.
The picture I posted below was actually taken when I wasn’t feeling too bad yesterday. It was warm outside and there’s something so healing about breathing fresh air and hearing birds chirping around you.
I don’t write all of this to make you feel bad for me. But more importantly, so you know what this experience looks like. And to know how I get through it. The misery I felt this round definitely tested my faith, and will surely happen again (the testing, not the misery). But as sad and lonely as I felt in the hours of being up all night or soaking in the tub for comfort, I’m not alone. I have a God strong enough to get me through this when I can’t. Thank goodness, because I don’t know how I would do it otherwise. I heard the song “Oh My Soul” (the link is below) right after round 3 and played it repeatedly these last 2 weeks. There’s something so powerful in the lyrics:

I won’t try to promise that someday it all works out
‘Cause this is the valley
And even now, He is breathing on your dry bones
And there will be dancing
There will be beauty where beauty was ash and stone
This much I know

Oh, my soul
You are not alone
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know
One more day, He will make a way
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down

I’m not strong enough, I can’t take anymore
(You can lay it down, you can lay it down)
And my shipwrecked faith will never get me to shore
(You can lay it down, you can lay it down)
Can He find me here
Can He keep me from going under

This is MY valley… He is breathing on MY dry bones… One more day He will make MY way…. MY shipwrecked faith…He can keep me from going under. I don’t expect to be shouting from mountaintops in a beautiful unscarred journey. But I will get through this my own messy, miserable, broken way… with Him.
(Side note: Just now as I went to find the link for the song, I learned that the artist wrote this about his own battle with cancer. No wonder it resonates so closely with my experience. Thank you, God, for knowing what I need to hear. And knowing it usually comes through music for me. And thank you, everyone who is reading this and part of this group, for holding space with me and reminding me of your presence even in my silence.)

Today, please say a prayer for the sister of my friend who is no longer here, and her family. Her sister has been a dear friend for many years and this is really hard for the entire family. God will know who you mean. The family could use some comfort tonight.

17761001_10212633975509131_7009921954781457110_o


by Leave a comment

It Is Well

You all know I have a strong faith that has helped me through difficult times in the past- especially losing a close cousin and also a dear friend to cancer. I know I will get through this, but it is still scary to be standing in shoes similar to theirs at the beginning of their experience. My friend, Allison Armstrong chose to have the song “It is Well” played at her funeral and it forever changed the way I heard and understood the power of those words. Now, in the middle of my own experience, I can’t help but feel an even deeper, soul-reaching sense of peace when I listen to the lyrics. For anyone who does not have a relationship with Christ, I hope you can see His presence in my experience. He didn’t cause this, but He will carry me through it. Enjoy this beautiful version… “This mountain that’s in front of me will be thrown into the midst of the sea.”