 Pay attention, Gina. There are things happening you do not want to miss. That’s what I have been telling myself these past few weeks. I’ve always tried to live that way, but seasons like the one I'm living in right now make you look a little closer for those don’t-miss moments. And for me, those moments often turn into songs. I had one of those moments this morning in the car while driving to my doctor's appointment. I almost missed putting the pieces together, but when I did, it made me smile and tear up at the same time. I’m now sitting here going through my first chemo treatment. Good times. My friend Joel, a cancer survivor himself, reminded me the other day that chemo is a good thing and it’s a step in the right direction. I needed to hear that. Back to this morning’s moment. Actually, I need to go back a little further. Several years ago, my friend Todd, was walking his wife through a fierce and lengthy battle with cancer. Karen was an amazing warrior and bright light who eventually found her healing in heaven. I didn’t know her well, but Todd and I had connected over music and ministry over the years so I followed their journey through Todd’s online updates. On one particularly hard day, Todd wrote about his determination to keep a right perspective during a very dark moment when his circumstances were about to get the best of him. If I remember correctly, he had to walk out of Karen’s hospital room at one point, feeling overwhelmed by his emotions. Anger. Fear. Pain. Sadness. Standing outside her room, he made the courageous decision to tell his emotions who’s boss. I read in awe as he wrote how he would not let his cries of desperation be louder than his praise. It blew me away. A few weeks later I was in a writing room with my friend, Lee. I’ve probably written more songs with Lee than any other co-writer. Our writing sessions are always fun and productive. But the best part of every session is the hang. Those minutes (more like hours) when we catch up on our family's lives, rant about whatever has us on edge that day, and just talk about life. One of the coolest parts about our writing relationship, is how it led me to a cherished friendship with his wife, Melissa. We're pretty sure we are twins, separated at birth. It's a dark-humor, four-kid-mom, music-connection, similar-tastes, love-Jesus, kind of friendship. So grateful for her. Okay, back to songwriting. On this particular day, I approached him with writing the idea sparked by Todd’s blog. It wasn’t a particularly easy idea to write, because at that point, I’m not sure either of us could fathom being in Todd’s shoes, let alone being able to live out his brave faith. But we tried, and by the end of the day, we had a song. Fast forward to this morning. I hopped on Facebook on the way to my appointment and saw a notification from another friend, Kevin. I don’t know Kevin well, but our kids became friends at college and I used to frequent his amazing restaurant in town, which he owned with his wife. Several months ago, I asked Kevin to contribute to a book I was writing about raising creative kids. He graciously agreed and I am so grateful to have part of his story in my book. Kevin has traveled a cancer journey as well, with his wife, Karen. Sadly, he recently had to walk her home as well. I have marveled at how he has processed not only Karen’s passing and his grief, but all the highs and lows he has experienced as a creative and entrepreneur. I, for one, have benefited greatly from his writings. Lately, Kevin has been asking friends to send him a song, via Facebook. A different friend and a new song every day. And today, of all days, he asked me. He posted, “Gina, from one creative to another, can you send me a song that moves you despite your circumstances?” I knew immediately which song I wanted to share. (I don’t know that he was expecting one of my own songs, but that’s what he’s getting!) I have no idea if Kevin knew what today had in store for me, but God knew. And there, my friends, is the moment. One of the things I have noticed in these past four weeks, is how God has so graciously woven relationships through my life over the 53 years I have walked this earth. As news of my diagnosis spread, people I’ve hardly spoken with in years have reached out, offering encouragement and sharing their own cancer journeys. I have realized how incredibly blessed I am to have connected with so many amazing people who are kind, generous, funny, strong, and willing to help in any way they can. I am grateful beyond words. So this morning, as I sit here during chemo, I am sharing a song with you. A song I wrote with my friend, Lee. A song I need to hear today. A song, written after being inspired by my friend Todd, because he was brave enough to share his cancer journey with me. And I share this song, on this day, because my friend Kevin, who is bravely working through his own grief asked me to share it with him. Yes, this tapestry of friendship is a beautiful thing. LOUDER THAN MY PRAISE
Lee Black / Gina Boe Sometimes the pain is like the roaring of a train And the sound is drowning out the voice of hope Disappointment screams and the noise is deafening When anger rages like a fire against the truth I’ve known I’ve cried out questioning when fear confronts what I believe But through it all I choose to sing this song that’s rising up in me No power can separate me No suffering devastate me ’Cause my God is greater still Than any sorrow I might feel And if it brings me to my knees I’m gonna worship in my weakness And no cry of desperation Will be louder than my praise It’s hard to understand the mystery of the Father’s plan Harder still to say Lord, let your will be done But that’s how it is with faith, you just follow anyway And pray He’ll give you strength to trust no matter what ’Cause He remains unshakeable, His goodness unmistakable So when life tries to steal my song, I’m gonna sing it even stronger No power can separate me No suffering devastate me ’Cause my God is greater still Than any sorrow I might feel And if it brings me to my knees I’m gonna worship in my weakness And no cry of desperation Will be louder than my praise He gives, He takes away Blessed be the name, blessed be the name He gives, He takes away Blessed be the name, blessed be the name He gives, He takes away Blessed be the name, blessed be the name He gives, He takes away Blessed be the name, blessed be the name No power can separate me No suffering devastate me ’Cause my God is greater still Than any sorrow I might feel And if it brings me to my knees I’m gonna worship in my weakness And no cry of desperation Will be louder than my praise
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Some days I find great humor and joy in this journey. Today is not one of those days.
I am currently sitting at the airport in Phoenix. Perry, Houston, and I flew here yesterday to make a college visit to Grand Canyon University on Monday. Houston has narrowed down his college choices to two schools and this trip to GCU was going to be a big step in making his final decision. My brother lives here with his wife and daughter so after we arrived, we drove to their house and settled into a lovely evening with them, catching up and enjoying Debra’s amazing cooking. I had been keeping a close eye on the weather forecast, knowing a storm was brewing back home. I knew if things started looking bad, I would be forced to reschedule my flight home to come back tonight instead of Monday night following our college visit. I am scheduled to get my port for chemo on Tuesday morning and missing that appointment just isn’t an option. I went to bed last night praying I would wake up to a scenario that would allow me to stay here a little longer. That didn’t happen. This morning the forecast was worse, predicting the biggest snowfall of the season and treacherous travel conditions. So, I got online, changed my flight, then got in the shower and had a good cry. Perry and Houston will be making the visit to GCU on Monday without me. Anyone who knows me, knows how passionately I feel about being present for my kids’ activities and the special moments in their lives. There are a lot of things I haven’t been able to offer my kids, but I was always determined to do my very best to just be there. And as my friends would also tell you, the times I get most emotional about this cancer journey are when someone does something nice for me and when I think about the potential impact this will have on my kids. Houston is in his senior year of high school, which, let’s be honest, has been a sucky year in many ways. The thought of missing out on any of his last semester’s activities because I’m not feeling well, just about puts me over the edge. So today has been hard. We did drive over to the GCU campus today so I could look around, and then I found great solace in a double/double burger and fries (animal style) from In and Out. Of course I made myself feel better about that meal choice because I also ordered a Diet Coke. My definition of a balanced diet. When I am sad, I get angry. It’s my default emotion. So right now, I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed at the helpful baggage check-in lady. I’m annoyed with the happy airport security woman. I’m annoyed at the thought of being C58 in Southwest boarding because I rebooked my flight and thus, was the last person to check in for my flight. Hello middle seat in the very back row. And I’m downright pissed off at the person sitting next to me looking over my shoulder reading this blog as I write it. Good grief, woman, keep to yourself! I’m sure to everyone around me, I look like a perfectly healthy, middle class, middle-aged woman who is overly grumpy. In reality, I’m a heartbroken mom who is flying home alone and missing a moment with her son because she has to go home and get ready for chemo. But nobody knows that. They just think I’m one of those people who scowls at the entire world and makes it very obvious I do not want to be bothered. By the way, I am not making excuses for my behavior tonight; I’m just working through this mess by letting you in on my lowest points, hoping the process of putting these thoughts to the keyboard might help me right my own perspective. I think it’s helping. You’ve probably heard the saying, “Be kind because everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” I suppose I am seeing first hand how true and important that really is. Helpful baggage check-in lady might be working a second job to help pay for her father’s assisted living. Happy TSA woman might be a single mom putting herself through school, trying to make a better life for her and her kids. Nosy woman-looking-over-my-shoulder might be a songwriter desperate for new song ideas so she’s invading the space of anyone she can find in hopes of finding that big idea. I really should feel sorry for that woman. I’m not afraid of bad days. I’m more afraid those bad days won’t turn me into a better person. I hope they will. I believe they will if I allow God to use them in that way. I pray my anger will soften and give way to compassion. That the number of minutes I spend thinking about my own stuff will decrease and the minutes I focus on others will increase. I pray my disappointments, like missing out on a moment, will become moments to trust I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Even if that means sitting in the middle seat of the back row on flight 4945, going home alone.  My last two years of college, I lived with two of my dear friends, Lisa and Gloria. Fun fact: I actually met Glo for the first time the day I moved in to our apartment. Lisa, who I’d only recently become friends with, assured me I would like her and we would all be friends. She was right. As I sit here now, I look back on those years with some very fond memories, including late night study sessions at Village Inn, long conversations about Jesus, and a certain night in an emergency room after Glo tore her ACL during a basketball game we were all playing in together. While we waited for her to see a doctor, Lisa and I tried to console Glo by putting latex gloves over our heads and blowing them up with our nostrils. Good times.
One of the times that wasn’t so good, was the day I came home after getting a haircut. A bad haircut. It was too short, flat against my head, and simply awful. I walked in to see Lisa and Glo sitting in the living room. Without saying a word, I marched straight to the bedroom I shared with Lisa. I don’t recall them saying anything to me, but I did see the looks on their faces, their mouths gaping and eyes wide. I don’t recall how much time went by before we actually discussed the obvious tragedy that was now my hair, but one of us eventually commented that I looked like a doorknob. It was true. The whole fiaso brings a smile now, but all these years later, I still remember how I felt that day. I was embarrassed and angry, but I also remember I was eventually comforted by a whole lot of laughter as my friends reminded me of two very important things: It’s just hair and it will grow back. I’m getting my hair cut short today. It’s one more thing I can choose to do. A few weeks from now, I won’t be able to choose what’s happening, but today I can. When that unwelcome day comes, I will likely be embarrassed and angry, and will need to laugh with my friends as they remind me it’s just hair and it will grow back. I am confident when given the opportunity to provide some comic relief, my people are gonna shine. My hairdresser, Karstin, is an angel and one of the strongest women I know. Just last year, she lost her sister to brain cancer. Her loss is immeasurable and her grief still raw, so I texted her and told her if she’d rather not be the person to walk with me through this particular part of my journey, I would understand. Being the kind, brave, and compassionate soul she is, she agreed to cut my hair. She’s the perfect person for the job. When I was talking about all this hair business with my younger two kids, who, at 18 and 19 are hardly kids, I was telling them when my hair comes back in, it will be gray. ‘Cause, ya know, while not even a global pandemic can keep me from coloring my hair, there will be no hiding this. I also told them how sometimes, hair comes back in a different texture and I could actually have gray, curly hair when it grows back. My husband, in true “Perry” form, said, “Darn. I was hoping for a blonde.” Nice, honey. The boys thought it was hysterical. “Classic Perry,” they said. Mhmm. Truth be told, I laughed too. So, one more step, one more new experience, one more potential emotional breakdown, and one more opportunity to choose joy on this road to healing. I’m so thankful for friends and family who love me through these moments. Maybe one of them will console me by putting a latex glove over their head and blowing it up with their nostrils. That would make my day. On December 22, 2020, I had a routine mammogram. A short, five weeks later, on January 28, 2021, I will begin chemo treatments. Apparently I’m a bit of an overachiever when it comes to having cancer so we’re gonna get right down to business and knock this thing out. The next few months won’t be fun, but whatever it takes to get past this is good with me. It feels good to have a plan. And it feels good to be able to make some choices in a season where it feels like so much is being decided for you.
At each one of my appointments, I’ve left with an armful of information and occasionally an item or two as an expression of kindness. I have absolutely no doubt that those items were given to me with the best intent and genuine caring. So what I’m about to say doesn’t come from a place of ingratitude. This is just ME talking. Another patient might feel completely differently. So hear me when I say I get it - the kind gestures. But I didn’t want stuff. A pink rose. A blanket. Another rose. A jar of encouraging quotes. Every time I walked out of those appointments through waiting rooms and lobbies and parking lots carrying one of those items, I felt like I was carrying a billboard that said “I JUST FOUND OUT I HAVE CANCER.” If people were going to find out my business, I wanted to be the one to tell them. Again, in a time when you have little control over what is happening to you, actually taking control of something is important. When the diagnosis was confirmed, I communicated with most of the people I wanted to tell directly. Not everyone, because it became exhausting. But I did the best I could, then decided I would be the person to make it public; how, when, and where I wanted to. As a writer, the choice to write through this season is an easy one, whether that be in the form of blogs or songs or books. Words are my comfort and my weapon; my drug of choice and my finest offering. There will likely be days when you get to read through my hurt, joy, anger, frustration, wonder, embarrassment, and amusement. Just know that whatever I share will be real, honest, and because I feel a weight of responsibility to use my words wisely, will be written with a desire to serve, bless, and point you to Truth. Making this journey without believing there is great purpose in every step would feel incredibly empty. Instead, I am trusting this is not a journey I make alone and certainly not for my benefit only. Yes, this is my story, but it also isn’t my story. I hope you will see that as these weeks and months go by. The next few days will be filled with more scans, getting my port, and gearing up for what will undoubtedly be a challenging time. As much as I loathe the potential for some less-than-stellar days, part of me is genuinely excited about what God is doing. When you believe in the sovereignty of God, as I do, it is easier to get to a place of peace, rather than a place a fear, because you trust the hand of God at every turn, in every valley, under every dark sky. That doesn’t mean I’m going to respond perfectly to every opportunity I have to trust Him, but I’m sure gonna try. Lastly, your comments, emails, texts, calls, and cards have been an overwhelming encouragement to me and my family. We feel your prayers and we certainly need them in the days ahead. My kids have lived their whole lives hearing me tell them, “Be a blessing!”every time they leave the house. In these recent days, we have been the recipients of so many blessings, and for that, the only words I have are to tell you we are deeply grateful.  During my daughter’s senior year of high school, my husband lost his job. The next 20 months were frustrating, stretching, and sometimes fearful, but that season also provided glimpses of really beautiful things. The impact those months had on our future was huge from an emotional, financial, and spiritual standpoint.
When it came time to plan Hannah’s graduation party, I knew resources were slim, but was still hoping to pull off a celebration that would bless my girl. In preparation, I wanted to freshen up my living room a bit. I decided to enlist the help of my friends, Ginger and Carol, who I knew to be gifted at creating beauty in people’s homes through repurposing decor and adding items they’d found over the years as they shopped through clearance aisles, thrift stores and garage sales. I gave them freedom to utilize anything I already had, showed them a few items I’d collected over the years and stashed in my storage room, and told them I had $100 to spend. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. I thought it could be enough for a couple second hand items, maybe some pillows, candles, a picture frame, that sort of thing. We talked through some ideas, then they were off to dig through their collection of decor and shop. I was so blessed and humbled by the excitement they showed at being able to do their thing. A week later, they returned. I was not prepared for what happened next. First, a delivery truck showed up with new living room furniture. A few minutes later, my friends were unloading their cars, bringing in brand new curtains and curtain rods, pillows, pictures, rugs, bedding, and more. In a matter of minutes, my living room, dining area, bedroom, AND bathroom had been transformed. I was completely blown away. After my friends had put the finishing touches on every room, I stood in awe at the way they had lavished love on our family. I know we aren’t the only ones who have been blessed by these two amazing women over the years as they so beautifully stewarded the ministry God gave them. They would probably both choose to remain anonymous and would hate that I’m singing their praises, but I can’t help it. It's time I shared the story. Before they left, Ginger and Carol prayed a blessing over our home. They prayed it would be a place of refuge for many. They prayed it would be a place where we would welcome people in, meet their needs, and bring joy to their lives. I hope and pray our home has been that for someone over the years. Late in 2019, Carol was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She passed away in September of 2020. When I got the news that she was gone, I sat in my living room and wept. I looked around and thought about all the people who had sat on my living room furniture over the years but had no idea how it had come to be there. I thought of the hundreds of pairs of shoes that have been kicked off on the rug in my entryway as teenagers found their way to our house, not ever knowing who put the rug there. Everywhere I turned, there were reminders of how my friends not only blessed our family, but also invested in the lives of the people who have walked through our doors. Carol had left her mark on my home and more importantly, on my life. Yesterday, I returned home after spending the morning working at school. I was excited about the writing appointment I had planned for the afternoon, but in all honesty, I was a bit weary. This has been a week when I have felt more like Gina, the cancer patient, than Gina, the human. Doctor's appointments and blood tests and scans will do that to a person. I am receiving awesome, compassionate care, so that isn't the issue. It's just the nature of the beast. Anyway, as I was pulling in the driveway, I noticed something peeking out from behind my screen door. I parked in the garage, put my things on the kitchen counter and went to go see what it was. I bent down and picked up a brightly colored canvas and a handwritten note. The note was from Carol's daughter, Lindsay. She explained how she was dropping off a painting which her mom had gifted to another mutual friend, Marcia, when she was diagnosed with cancer many years ago. The verse on the canvas reads, "She does not fear bad news nor live in dread of what might happen. For she is settled in her mind that Jehovah will take care of her." Psalm 112:7 On the back are words of encouragement and signatures from some pretty incredible women, including Carol. Lindsay wrote how years later, Marcia gave the painting back to Carol to encourage her on her own cancer journey. Now, she and Marcia wanted me to have it, to remind me of truth and peace that sustains. She also said when I am healed I am to pass it along to the next person who needs it. Their thoughtfulness was exactly what Gina, the human, needed. As you can imagine, it wrecked me. Partly because of their gesture of kindness, but also because I was overwhelmed seeing how Carol was continuing to impact my life and grace my home with beauty. I don't know if Lindsay and Marcia had any idea that what they were sharing with me would add to a collection of items in my home that are symbols of joy and hospitality, friendship and hope. But for as long as I need it, the painting will be another sweet reminder of how we are comforted in our trials so we can be a comfort to someone else. When the day comes and I pass the painting along to the next person who needs it, Carol will leave her mark on their home too, as her legacy of beauty lives on. Apparently 2020 wanted to leave one more mark.
When our family left 2019 behind, we already knew this year would have it’s share of troubles. We had moved Perry’s mom into our home on December 31st, and after several weeks on hospice, she passed away on February 11th, 2020. Just a month later, the world turned upside down. Like everyone else, we learned to navigate the changes and grieve the losses the year would bring. In spite of the tough stuff, I also had more time to write, more time at home, and believe it or not, I found a way to actually enjoy a slower pace of life, which is a huge accomplishment since for most of my life, I’ve really only had one gear - full speed ahead. All in all, we made it through 2020, inconvenienced, but relatively unscathed compared to what so many others have endured. In an attempt to enter 2021 from the healthiest possible place, I scheduled as many appointments as I could squeeze into the last few weeks of the year: dentist, general physician, physical therapist, gynecologist, colonoscopy, and mammogram. It was the last one that got me. After several scans and a biopsy, I found out on New Year’s Eve I have breast cancer. I mean, seriously...could 2020 be a bigger jerk? I’ll know more when I see a surgeon and oncologist next week, but right now we are hopeful it was discovered early and will be very treatable. I would appreciate prayers for a full recovery and for my family as they wade in these waters with me. I trust in a God who I know to be faithful, and He has shown His kindness to me in countless ways including unexplainable peace. I expect Him to be unchanging in the days ahead - loving, gracious, and so, so good. Between my faith in an unshakeable God, my access to good medical care, and a mom who prays, (you do not mess with Lois) I am confident this is all going to be okay. So take that, 2020. And 2021, just so you know, I am not afraid of you. Isaiah 26:3 “The steadfast of mind He will keep in perfect peace, because he trusts in Thee.” |
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