carbonated joy

I have a long history of Hallelujah. 

Hallelujah is a beautiful, vibrant, living word.

It’s a word that you can’t limit or pin down. 

It’s a seven layer dip of thankfulness. 

It can mean glory, or huzzah, or giddy up. 

It is an otherworldly word that musically communicates the thought…

“WOW! Look what God did!”

I have a history of Hallelujah.

From the beginning minutes of my life when Doctors didn’t expect me to live more than twenty four hours, but my Creator had other plans.

Hallelujah!

To the countless times, that I’ve been on the edge of destruction and I’ve been held in the strong grip of love. 

Hallelujah! 

To the crazy times, that a BIG God has used a little man, and caused some wild dreams to come true.

Hallelujah!

To…NOW,  when I find myself walking in the middle of my latest Hallelujah. 

It’s not easy, there are challenges that I’ve never faced. There is pain. There is uncertainty.

But, I carry my history of Hallelujah and I refer to it often. 

I know that my life has been highlighted by Hallelujah. 

My story screams Glory. 

This latest fight will be my Hallelujah.

After all, I am a walking, talking Hallelujah. 

I’m proof that…

God is good.

He has a wild imagination.

He isn’t finished. 

Hallelujah!

I look at my hands.

They are crinkly and dry.

They look like colorless stained glass…how sad is stained glass without color?

My palms closely resemble a detailed road map of southeastern Iowa. 

Right now, my hands aren’t pretty. 

Because of the medicine that I’m taking, weird stuff is happening to my skin, this week it is wrinkly and flaky. 

It looks thin. 

Actually, it looks dangerously thin, I can see blue veins. 

I can see through the thin. 

My skin is like crunchy tissue paper that looks like it could easily tear.

This is all new to me. 

I’ve never really been into skin care.

I’ve never exfoliated. 

I’ve never had a skincare regimen.

But, I really don’t like living with thin skin. 

Thin skin hurts!! 

It’s not the first time I’ve lived thin.

I’ve often lived with a thin skin. 

I’ve been easily offended by what people say (or what I think they said).

I’ve been overly sensitive to opinion and have easily given into criticism. 

I’ve changed vision and agenda because it has “bothered” others. 

I’ve believed imaginary insults and that has  clouded my perception of myself and others.

I’ve also offended others. I’ve said stupid stuff, I’ve been a jerk.

It has made my life thin in the past.

I’m ready to live thick. 

In our upside down world, offense has become a virtue.

We take one of two stands, both can cause a thin life.

First, we live afraid that we MIGHT offend. 

So we become cautious and politically correct. 

We dilute and distort so everyone likes us.

We are afraid to be ourselves because we might hurt someone’s feelings. 

We desperately try to say all the right things and make everybody happy.

That makes for a very thin existence. 

Or, second, we TRY to offend, and we applaud people who aren’t afraid to offend others with their truth. We cheer them on for “telling it like it is” when in reality, they are just being jerks. 

We turn our opinions into weapons. 

We stretch common decency until it breaks.

And we live thin. 

Thin living creates a life that can easily tear. 

Live thick!

But, how?

Treat offense like a hot potato! 

Drop it!!

Refuse to hold it or hurl it!

Offense can’t hurt you if you don’t hold it. 

Offense can’t hurt others if you don’t throw it in their face.

Offense can’t make your skin flaky and thin if you don’t come into contact with it.

Don’t live thin.

Realize that the truth about who you are is thick.

You are loved, you are enough, you matter.

Don’t believe the thin lies. 

Realize that kindness is thick. 

Build kindness muscles.

That only happens by exercising kindness.

Wrap yourself in kindness and throw it around like confetti.

Live THICK!!

and if you see me, don’t be frightened by my flaky, dry skin.

It’s temporary.

My skin will be thick again soon.

The week after chemo treatment can get a little crazy and crunchy. 

I don’t totally know what to expect.

It can be a combo platter of jittery and exhaustion. Weird stuff has happened to my skin and I walk like a toddler on Benadryl. 

My train of thought frequently gets derailed.

It’s all wild, but, nighttime is the wildest.

The chemo drugs seem to be nocturnal and they like to party all night long.

After a rough night before, I really…REALLY wanted a good night’s sleep last night.

I handed in my ticket and I was hoping for a nice, relaxing lazy river of dreams.

Instead, I got another night on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Do you remember the Tilt-A-Whirl at the Fair or amusement park? There was a rotating platform that raised and lowered itself and hurled spinning cars around. It was a herky jerky wrestling match between centrifugal force and gravitational pull.

It was calculated chaos!!

You are basically spinning in 13 different directions while trying to keep from throwing up your corndog. 

That’s bedtime for me right now!

I’ve heard a windstorm in my head and I’ve seen fireworks on the back of my eyelids every time I shut my eyes. I got to admit that the fireworks are kinda cool…I’ve seen flashes of purple and green and once last night I swear I saw a neon orange Elvis head. 

I know it’s only temporary, it should settle down the next few days as the poison does its job.

So I grab the guardrail and hang onto the Tilt-A-Whirl.

But, here’s the crazy thing about the Tilt-A-Whirl…

As a kid, it was always one of my favorites. 

I loved trading my ticket for a chance to spin. 

It made me want to throw up, but it also made me feel fully alive.

There was something about the wildness and unpredictability that awakened my senses.

My current Tilt-A-Whirl is doing the same thing…

I’m still here!

So are you!

Sometimes life makes you want to throw your hands in the air and laugh.

Sometimes life jerks you around.

Sometimes life makes you want to throw up.

Pleasure, pursuit, and pain are all proof of life. 

I don’t know what you are going through right now.

Maybe you’re on your own personal Tilt-A-Whirl.

But the fact that you are reading this means…

YOU ARE STILL HERE!!

There is still hope.

There is still a chance to make a difference or to make things right.

There is still a chance to feel and forgive, to laugh and to love. 

There is still a chance for a miracle. 

It might get a little crazy and crunchy in the meantime. 

Grab the guardrail and hold on! 

We encounter things that would snuff out our light,

Don’t go dark, stand up straight and bring joy to the fight.

‘Twas the night after chemo when all thro’ my brain

Not a cell was resting, not one single membrane;

My pillow was propped by my bald noggin with flair.

Hoping that sweet slumber would soon mercifully get there. 

But, sleep only came in nine minute spurts,

Interrupted by strange impulses and hurts. 

My mind was racing at 164 miles per hour, 

My mouth was dried up and really tasted sour. 

I can only remember one short crazy dream,

I was trying to snooze in a hotel it would seem. 

When I had nightmarish visions of small children with bowling balls,

They were loudly hurling them outside my room down long hotel halls. 

All night there in my head there was such a clatter,

Playing unwelcome games with my gray matter.

AND when my brain did take a quick break,

My bowels tapped in, NOT for goodness sake! 

I’m happy to say that I made it through the long sweaty night,

Eventually the swampy darkness was overcome by light. 

I’m pretty worn out, I’ve experienced an energy zap,

I’m REALLY looking forward to taking a power nap. 

We call newborn babies bundles of joy.

Even though sometimes they stink and they need to be changed.