Part Twenty-Six: It's the Little Things

            Walking through Walmart alongside Dana as I handed out rice puffs to one-year-old Josiah and snack crackers to three-year-old Joelle was my blissful workout Friday morning.  Later that day, I cleaned up my much-neglected kitchen and did laundry.  Still later, as I changed sheets and made my bed, I felt like myself again for a moment.

            One of the most distressing parts of chemotherapy and one of the hardest things to explain is how you stop feeling like yourself.  I tried to explain it to Dana the other day.  I had stopped by her church’s Monday night prayer service but had to leave almost immediately.  You see, their storefront church shares building space with a graphic T-shirt design store.  The chemical odor from the making of those T-shirts is overpowering at times.  My sudden departure was from the strong smell that night.

            However, it turned out that no one else noticed the odor on Monday.  To me, it was a frontal assault the second I opened the door.  That sharp chemical smell somehow embodies how I feel.  My mouth often has a bitter sting.  Nothing sits well on my stomach.  My body feels permeated with heavy metals.  My brain does not work as well as it once did.  Everything is different.  All the time.

            Except when God gives me little reprieves like this morning.  I went to the Saturday farmer’s market and found everything I came for:  zucchini, low acid tomatoes, peaches, and watermelon.  During my short time there, one of the vendors came out from her craft booth to give me an angel charm and tell me about her jewelry making class at Hopestone, the local nonprofit organization for cancer patients, survivors, and caregivers.

            From the farmer’s market, I decided to wend my way to a local gas station and stop at a few garage sales—something I have not had the energy to do for most of the summer.  The sales I ran across were rather pitiful and I bought nothing, but there was this:  getting out of my car in a lovely, wooded neighborhood, I drank in the sight of lush green trees and partly cloudy skies.  I felt the summer breeze brush against me and basked in the mid-70s temperature. 

            It is the simple things that bring me joy:  being with my family, having a moment of feeling like myself again, receiving the kindness of others, experiencing the touch of a perfect breeze.  I never want the bitter sensation of chemotherapy side effects to enter my spirit.  What I desire and what I experience in life’s simple joys are the “streams of living water” promised by Jesus and delivered through the Holy Spirit (Matthew 7: 38).