Last Saturday, Mother illustrated to us what might happen if, say, a person were to light a candle in too close a proximity to a green, leafy object...having had some expertise in the field:

I readied myself for church this morning; I skipped it last week. As I stared at the ceiling last night and begged God's mercy, I wondered if I'd be able to do it today. As I pulled on a crisp pair of trousers and a tidy shirt, I felt guilty for not looking like a bum. A few swishes with the makeup brushes and I was sickened to see that I could still look normal with all of the turmoil within.

One day last week, I couldn't figure out how to snap my brassiere. It wasn't a new undergarment, just a new ache stripping me of competence. My mother had to do it for me, commenting on my hollowed abdomen, my prominent rib cage. "You've lost weight in the last several days. Maybe we need to get you some of those Ensure nutrition drinks. That's what a lot of chemotherapy patients drink when food won't stay down."

The task of brushing my hair seems insurmountable. I could waste hours standing in my underwear, staring at clothing, completely inept at choosing something to don. I feel pain coursing through me...actual, physical pain. My chest aches continually, my stomach cramps. I feel like crying against the misery, but am too dehydrated between the stomach issues and the tears already shed. My soul screams in agony to be so sad and be so disabled in expression.

So, I will go to church today and pray for absolution from my selfish thoughts, pray for strength, pray for patience, and pray for hope. I pray for answers and I pray for effort. I pray for an unbroken promise.

And, I pray for the will to survive.