Taking back your life is hard. Friends help.

Surviving is one thing. Thriving afterwards is a whole different ball game and requires a particular brand of love and support. This post is for my friends who are helping me learn how to thrive again. 

I have needed you and you have been there.

Thanks, friends.

Dear Coach K,

Whether you’re helping me prepare for a presentation (covering EVERY scenario), yelling at me to “anguish in the corner!” as I dance, or encouraging me to “really put your soul into it!!” when I sing, you’ve really been there for me this past year. Coaching me along as I figure out how to take back my life. Amidst the hilarity you have been an example of patient care-giving and generous self-esteem building. I love your sincerity, your compliments, our arguments, your surprise gifts, your questions, your insights, and your love of hard things. Particularly I love our many soul-baring conversations about anything and everything and the gospel the most.

Thank you for reintroducing me to the goofy version of myself while also managing to convince me that I am totally legit all at the same time.Who couldn't do hard things with a Karina in their corner?  Your deliberate friendship and service have been instrumental in helping me to move forward and catch back up (almost there) to real life. "I'm no expert" but it's clear that...

Strong beats the heart of Karina,

Sam

Dear McChelsea,

Your invitation a year and a half ago to become roommates was the tender mercy I never dreamt of expecting as I pondered the difficult transitions coming in my life. I can't imagine a better friend to help me through this particular leg of my journey. As I’ve slowly emerged from my room you’ve inspired me to wear red lipstick and big hair, live abundantly, and matched my insatiable desire for good conversations idea for idea. Having someone to share my excitement and projects and passions has helped me to come alive again.  I will never tire of our conversations, your popcorn and smoothies, and seeing my cool factor rise several points in the eyes of those who learn I am your roommate.

Thank you for being such a safe place for me to think out loud, try new things, be vulnerable, repeat myself and my mistakes (again and again), talk about ideas, learn, grow, fail, and try again. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and your steady example of keeping it real. Your encouragement, understanding, and compassion have put me back on my feet and back on track more times than I can count.

 Thank you for your eyes that see, ears that hear, and heart that feels.

Sam

Hi-De-Ho Neighbor

Dear Fred,

We go way back. Further back than I can recall. You are technically my oldest friend (in every sense). One of my most vivid childhood memories is of you flexing your muscles. You had to have been well into your sixties at the time but I recall being quite impressed. You always seemed larger than life. So tall I had to step back and strain to look up at you. But almost silent. You never talked as much as Mary Ann and despite your smiling, Jake and I were always a little more subdued when you were around. Still, you were the best of neighbors and indistinguishable from a Grandpa. 

When I left on my mission you looked so pale and thin, I was terrified you wouldn't be here when I got back. But you were and we have had years of your celebrating my visits only to bemoan my still single state. When I got sick everyone told me that you were worried about me and that I needed to call you. But I kept putting it off and putting it off. Finally one day a mutual neighbor of ours gave me a talking to and I rang you up. You answered and said, "Oh, Samantha! Is that you?!" quickly followed by, "Oh garsh, I think I'm going to cry." And just like that we were both bawling. You assured me you had worn out your knees praying for me and I felt so sharply humbled by the thought of your creaky joints and farmer's faith. Of all the prayers offered on my behalf in those years, I think yours were the ones I felt most keenly. 

Thank you for letting me pester you as a girl. And for pestering me when I became an adult. Thank you for always being overjoyed to see me, your heartfelt prayers, and simple advice, big hugs, and gruff tenderness. Thank you for being my Grandpa. 

I love you,

Sam

Big Brother (The Good Kind)

Dear Jeremy,

One of my clearest, early memories of you was the morning after I dislocated my elbow 'surfing' in the wagon. I was five (six?) and my arm was in a sling and I was coming down the stairs to turn on Saturday morning cartoons. You were downstairs already and you saw me coming and you jumped up and fluffed all the pillows on the couch and helped me get up and get comfortable. I remember being rather shocked, and feeling special, and realizing for the first time in my life that brothers are unspeakably awesome. 

And when I got cancer 20 years later you did the same thing on a much grander, adult scale. You invited me to your home and fixed up a room for me. You lifted me in and out of bed and got up with me in the middle of the night when I needed help. You stayed up late (so late!) talking through and analyzing things with me and making sure I knew you were there for me no matter what. You watched out for the people I couldn't watch out for anymore. You bought me a phone and paid the bill. You never lost sight of the fact that while I was somewhat crippled (literally and figuratively) by everything that I was still me and still capable. You understood when I struggled and challenged me (so carefully) to overcome and not just give in. (Often by shamelessly using your adorable daughter to get me to do things for my own good.) You coaxed me outside into the fresh air and coaxed me into being a better me. And you were always willing to talk and to listen. And, as you ever have, you just understood. This post doesn't begin to scratch the surface of what you gave me during that time so maybe I'll just say...

Thank you for getting me,
Sam

Mine grew back...

Dear Jared,

As kids you never did like me messing with your stuff so when I got sick and you offered me full access to all your movies and video games so I could distract myself from feeling terrible, well, it just got me right in the feels, you know? Then I went to eat lunch one day and a bunch of my hair drifted onto my pasta and I demanded my head get shaved right then and there; and you were totally there for me, razor in hand. I started out a little scared but by the time I was bald you had me laughing. And I don't think there is another person in the world who could have given me that. Being bald was difficult at times but I was surprisingly okay with it and I think that started with this moment, and with you. Also, I've decided to be flattered about being mistaken for you so often when I was bald (I'm looking at you, Dad.)

Thank you, brother, for your generosity, your care and consideration, for marrying Katie, and for making this memory sweet instead of bitter. Thank you for giving me your sweatshirt that zipped so I didn't have to pull mine over my head after my surgery. And a special thank you for your exemplary baldness over the years...

With bodies like ours, who needs hair?
Sam

When you're down and troubled...

My beloved brothers and sisters, I testify of angels, both the heavenly and the mortal kind. In doing so I am testifying that God never leaves us alone, never leaves us unaided in the challenges that we face. “[N]or will he, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man [or woman or child] upon the face thereof to be saved.”

~Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Dear Friend,

You came to my first CAT scan and sat waiting in the bad news room with me. A week later you took me to the emergency room and called my parents. You fielded phone calls and cancelled my plans for me. You came to the hospital and then you came to Idaho. When I found myself suddenly cut off from my life you called me every day to keep me in the loop and remind me that at least one part of my life was still waiting for me. You came to visit me. You were scared for me and you were strong for me. You fielded all the questions and kept everyone updated so that I didn't have to. You knew all the nothingness was driving me crazy so you sent me a textbook-Which was unspeakably awesome. When I realized that I had to get back to my life or go crazy it was you that made that possible. You played hooky from work in order to welcome me home. You cooked for me and cleaned for me and drove me around and scraped my car windows for me. You opened countless doors for me. You joked with me and got indignant for me. You walked with me. You shaved my head and encouraged me in my journey from hats to scarves to rocking the bald. Then taught me how to style my short hair. You dealt with my headaches and weakness and pain and maybe the most difficult thing you did (in your opinion) was hand me scissors that one time I was bandaging my wound. You made me laugh and held me while I cried and then made me laugh again. You suffered all of my set-backs with me and you just kept going. And then I got better and we celebrated all of my milestones together.

And then my cancer came back. And you did it all again, only more so. More emergency rooms and surgeries and listening and meals. You were more aware, and available, and encouraging, and long-suffering, and compassionate, and validating, and patient, and funny, and kind, and loving.You were there for it all. And maybe all of this makes it sound like you were perfect in your service and I was perfect in my trial but we both know that we definitely were not. And I think that is what makes it all so meaningful, and valuable, and miraculous. Because it was so incredibly hard, and you did it anyway.

I will never forget,
Sam

Thank You Notes Part I

In no particular order, I now present the first in what I imagine will be a very long series of thank you notes.

Dear Bex,

I did okay for the first few months but about the six month mark it became really apparent that I was lost. My life had marched along without me when I got knocked down and I couldn't crawl fast enough to get back in step. Supposedly there was a Sam-sized hole I was supposed to fit back into but I had changed sizes and there wasn't so much a hole as there was a photograph on the wall that didn't look like me anymore. I was disoriented and confused and more than a little traumatized that SO much had changed in just two and half months. And I was thinking too much and doing too little and alone too often. And I started beating myself up for all of my mistakes and weaknesses and did nots and should haves and why didn't I and if only I hads. And you came and you looked at me and you saw me. Not my hunched and balded form and my clingy, weepy heart. Not my cancer or all the negative character traits that at that point were on full display. You saw the best parts of me and you spoke to the best parts of me and little by little the best parts of me woke up and came back and I began to build a new life. So, to you, dear friend, I say thank you for your morning visits. You broke up the terrible monotony of my day and my thoughts and most especially-

Thank you for finding me when I was lost,

Sam

Dear Jane-Bug,

Such a life saver! I've never had a better boss. You were so clear about how I should do my post-surgery morning chores of opening the blinds. You made sure I got every blind no matter how long it took me and were always so happy with my work. You never let me forget to open them and you were just like the sunshine that came through the windows. Always happy to bring me kleenex or remind me to keep my lungs healthy by breathing on the lung-puffer thing and laughing out loud. Without you I am sure I would have developed pneumonia. We shared our love of chap-stick and children's books. Thank you for brightening many an hour with your curly hair, animal sounds and pretend cooking. I love you! 

BFFs,

Sam 

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Meditation XVII and Me

Oriana-Perth Mint

No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by and made fit

for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. 

Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it,

except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven by it.

~ John Donne

This quote, taken from John Donne's, "Meditation XVII", is one of those pieces that became a part of me the first time I read it. This idea that each trial, challenge, and tribulation in my life was a wedge of gold sank into me; my heart and mind shifting to welcome it like an old friend newly discovered. Gold is so heavy, and hard, and cold, and beautiful. As I see my reflection in gold I can see my life in my trials. The vision is distorted and lacking much of color and detail but it reveals a great deal, nonetheless. And the revelation speaks of choice and consequence, strength and weakness, past and potential, lack and abundance, angels and demons, and a Savior and friends. And I know my wedge of gold promises a great deal, if only I can endure the refining. 

Three years ago, at 26, I was diagnosed with cancer. It seemed to barge into my life and make itself so at home I hardly felt there was room left over for me. I received many blessings and was told that in the coming months and years I would, 'wade in the deep,' and 'be burned as with fire.' And I did. And I was. And through a lot of painful, sleepless nights I tried to mint my wedge of gold into something I could use by counting my blessings, and plumbing the depths of my faith, and testifying in the wee morning hours to dark and empty rooms about what I knew and feared and believed and wanted and loved. Years later I have a small pile of coins that does not seem to have scratched the surface of the gold I was given. But I hope I never stop working at it for I know some of my difficulties have not been fully experienced and some of my heart-ache has been blessedly postponed. For now, after three years, I would like to bring some of my midnight gratitude and solitary testimony meetings into the sunlight.

I would like to say thank you to the people who shared the coins cast in their own crucibles. I needed your wisdom and your strength and your compassion and certainly your forgiveness. I am grateful you did not leave your afflictions to "lie...as gold in a mine" but out of hot fires forged them into strengths and gifts of infinite value which were then offered freely to me. You helped to lift me out of the depths and closer to heaven. You seemed a reflection of Christ and His love. And when I felt the farthest away from heaven is when I became the most certain that He and His merciful, enabling atonement is real and within reach. He is the reason I (or any of us) have any coins to speak of. His refining fire revealed no dross and He suffered, not to draw Himself, but each of us, closer to heaven. I hope each of my fires will reveal less of the impure and unworthy and qualify me to be "made fit for God." Something more like my friends, and my family, and my Savior.

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