Like everyone who gets a devastating diagnosis, I experienced a myriad of racing thoughts on a roller coaster ride of emotions. Then there was silence. Everything stopped. Although I continued to move on the outside, on the inside I was stalled. It was as if someone hit the pause button on my brain. I couldnít comprehend why the rest of the world had not joined me in pause mode. How dare life continue to go on in the face of my devastation. Here I was, a 39-year-old relatively healthy mother of 3 with a husband of only 2 years. I was no stranger to adversity or struggle. I'd persevered and defied statistics in many areas of life. I was spiritually grounded not because I am a Chaplain or ordained minister, but because I have a tried, proven and intimate relationship with God. Surely God understood my agony, I thought. At least He would allow me to remain in pause mode as I dealt with cancer. I soon found out that I was wrong. Just as the DVD player remains on pause for a brief period before going into automatic play or stop, I was granted only a brief period in pause.

As I sat a spectator of my own life, I realized that since life didnít stop, neither could I. There were responsibilities to be met, so I had to keep working. There were prayers yet to be answered, so I had to keep believing. There were issues, flaws and character defects yet to be worked out, so I had to keep surrendering. There were people who needed to be healed and encouraged, so I had to keep loving. There were dreams yet to be fulfilled, so I had to keep hoping. There were problems yet to be solved and trials yet to come, so I had to keep enduring. There were areas of growth to attain along with things yet to be understood, so I had to keep learning. There were miracles yet to be unfolded, so I had to keep expecting. Finally, there were paths to trod, breezes to feel, flowers to pick, scents to savor, stories to tell and life to live, so I had to keep on by faith.

No, my journey through breast cancer was not easy. I was in weekly chemo for most of the treatment. I experienced numerous complications along with additional surgeries. When my body ached as I laughed, cried or sneezed, I pushed. It was so hard to continue to work, and I wished that I didnít have to do it. However, health insurance and a commitment to people of the 51 towns that I serve caused me to push. As a matter of fact, my whole family pushed. My husband and children traveled the region with me to make sure that The Salvation Army Service Units in small towns were able to have Christmas fund raisers and offer assistance. My mother and oldest daughter joined in when they sacrificed by coming to visit while allowing me the blessing of rest. My father gave me permission to take breaths of relief by sending timely cards and phone calls in the midst of his own health issues.

While it was indeed a family affair, there were the times in which I was surrounded yet alone. My womanhood was challenged each time I looked in the mirror. The physical transformation was almost unbearable to watch. I pushed emotionally by affirming the woman I was and was yet to become. As I watched the fear in my children's eyes and their longing for my presence at school events, I pushed physically. By faith, I mustered up strength (when I could barely walk) to make it to the football games and choir concerts. When despair tried to make it seem as though my dreams wouldnít come to pass, I pushed mentally. During chemo I would read, talk and make plans for my future. When my marriage was tried to the breaking point, we pushed spiritually in prayer.

Whether I had to push, breathe or rest, I learned to flow in grace. Whatever was required of me, grace was sufficient to see me through. My life was out of my control and the challenge was not to try to bring it back to my perceived control. Rather, the lesson was to surrender in every way and everything to Godís control. When I resigned to surrender in such a way, I tasted the richness of grace and joyous security of His love. I realized that Iíd finally learned this lesson when the wind blew my wig off in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I didnít panic or go home. Bald head exposed, I simply walked (I couldnít run) after my wig, stooped between two cars, put the wig on, stood up straight, smiled, proceeded into the store while calling my mom to laugh about the whole situation. I'd grown!

August 7, 2008 (exactly one year to the date of my diagnosis), I lost my husband in a tragic accident.  Words canít express the pain.  I couldn't push, breathe or rest. The healing process is not always easy. I am learning to take it day by day and sometimes minute by minute.  However, Iím finding that amazingly, the same grace that allowed me to pick up the wig is more than sufficient to take me through whatever I may have to face in life.  That in a nutshell is my story; one of a woman on a journey pressing, loving, learning and living by grace.

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