This guy

It's the same story just a different tune.  In two days he'll dare to turn six.  He'll step into roomier clothes and continue to surprise me with all that he is becoming.  I wish I could adequately express what a phenomenal person Ian is.  Since his wee bitty days he has a light that doesn't seem to have a dimmer switch.  Even though he and I both know that those baby days are long gone he still humors me with a perfectly timed hug and a hint of baby talk.  He's so eager to please that I'm left praying that we won't take advantage of his easy demeaner.  His sensitivity is a gift and I pray that God will mold all those soft pieces into great strength.   I couldn't help but tear up as his teacher expressed what a joy he is to have in class.  Not that I'm surprised.  I've known for awhile that he would be a quiet but strong leader wherever he goes.  I am so head over heels in love with this guy and on the edge of my seat to see all that God will do through him.

hair release and surrender

It isn't too often that a girl gets the option of a complete head shave and the opportunity to rock a new vibe.  I'm not going to say I'm lucky that I get to sport a "I wonder if that girl has cancer?" hairstyle, but it is kind of empowering and makes me feel a tiny bit like a bad a#*.  It also seems to beat the alternative of of standing in the shower bawling over clumps of hair cascading down the drain.  There was so much friendship radiating around that room. The best part was just the simple reminder that I am clinging to a whole lot of ordinary love right now.

 my sweet sis in law sent chocolate covered fruit

 Ava got her fancy on with some bubbly

 sister selfie

 Popping the champagne

 Angela was so sweet to get all my fancy on before cutting my hair.

 It was fun to have so many of my girlfriends in one place and getting to know each other,

 Me and My Anne

 It was so amazing to have Amy come just at the right time to hold my hand. :)

All the Lincoln ladies 

 Beautiful Terwilligers although we missed Jaime!

 love that girls smile

 Ava and Bob the corkscrew.  It looks like she's having a blast but she spent most of the time hiding in Melanie's arms crying about my hair loss.  It's taken awhile to convince both my loves that I am still mama no matter what I look like.

 On display

 The first cut

 Mohawk mama
Was tempting to keep it this way and see what would happen but I totally chickened out

All done!

 Wig #1

 wig #2

wig #3

I'm not even sure if I'm going to lose any hair or not.  So far we are on week 4 and I haven't lost any.  Most days I end up without a wig just because it's more comfortable.  It's been an easier decision than all this surrender I have to face.  So much love and generosity and all the people showing up for everything and making me believe that I am LIVING with cancer not dying with it.  I have the best people that love me richly and remind me of the every day Jesus.  The one giving extra hugs and chicken noodle soup.  The one driving me to all my appointments and letting me cry into his cashmere sweaters.  The ones watching the kids and filling advent calendars or flying in from around the country to hold my puke bag.  The party was just one more reminder of how precious this team of mine is.

port side

Things got a little matrix-y this week with the insertion of my port.
 It definitely ranks high up on the list of bizarre things that have happened over the past month.  Maybe I wish I would have known, maybe not.  It seems normal enough at first.  Take off you clothes, let's play 50 questions, lots of needles and enough cords to make you feel like a home office.  The barely 5 foot asian doctor gives you the run down, most of which I plugged my ears and hummed through.  Oh you know, it's just like your run of the mill night at home chopping vegetables and whoops, your hand slips and you stab yourself in the chest.  To which Ben replies, or your average gang fight injury.  You know stuff that happens to everyone.  You'll want to take it easy for a couple days.  
Then they wheel you into a room with four hipster guys listening to music and casually joking around about real estate and not staring too long into their beards.  I'm introduced to "my bartender."  And then my top is taken off and I'm rubbed down with alcohol while under a giant blue hospital napkin.  I'm thinking in the future that maybe they want to do all of this after I've had a few Versed cocktails but I guess they know what their doing.
On the flip side I now have a built in Halloween costume if I choose to go as Frankenstein or the victim of a vampire attack gone horribly wrong.

I can only imagine the ragers that go on in the post surgery wing of the hospital that required this kind of signage.

It probably would have been perfectly manageable if this kind of day wasn't stacked up against a dozen others like it.  I barely have time to try and deal with the physical pain and emotional fears coming at me when inserting a port and starting chemo want to come to the party.  Thankfully those who rally in love are stronger than that which whispers deceit and fear.  
I've got so many human angels in my corner reminding me to focus on the solid truth of my being loved by the most perfect love and not dwell on the what-if's, I'm-not-strong-enoughs, and it's-not-fair temptations.  There is an answer for those days that tempt me towards darkness.
Because If I say, Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.  Psalm 139 11-12
And because I cried tears of laughter I'm including this post surgery video of me that B took.  It was a toss up between this one and the one of me trying to eat a banana and missing my mouth, which I'm pretty sure I was set up for because I didn't see anyone else eating a banana there.

The part where you stay

This morning as the steam rises off my chai, the kids have been whisked off to school, and the two B's ignore the breakfast dishes in leui of extended time in bed catching up on reading, I want to remember.  I want to knit together the snapshots of these past few weeks and study them.  How did so much happen in such a short amount of time?  How did we go from stomach pain to pancreatic cancer?  When did God think I could face this reality?  I'm not the girl with Philippians 4:13 tattooed on my left ankle.  I'm the girl who, when faced with her first real crises, decided John 6:68 was the only verse that made sense.
"You do not want to leave too, do you?" Jesus asked the Twelve.

I can so picture the looks on their faces here.  Like, um well, let's see.  We've given up everything to follow you around.  You've given us the only answers that ever made sense and the only life that actually means something so where are we supposed to go.  Or as it's actually written:
Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life."

I mean it's not like I'm getting t-shirts made that say, Hi Jesus, I'm just here for the free food but I don't really see myself as a poster child for faithfulness through a devastating cancer battle either.  I suppose everyone is called to something different.  I was sort of hoping my calling would be of the quieter kind.  The classic Middlemarch ending of the beauty in living a simple faithful life.  I don't think it's a bad thing.  It was Jesus after all who mastered the equation that a little + a little bit less=more than necessary.  As usual though I'm prone to wanting something other and quick to forget all the ways he wants me to be less so that He can take all the glory in the end.

If there was one moment I wish I had a photo of these past two weeks it has to be a week ago today at the hospital.  The smell of flowers filled the room and the other sights and sounds had become comfortably familiar.  My bed and nurses and family were my constant security blanket.

Come to think of it, it's a wonder that they managed to get me out of there at all, what with all the morphine IV's pumping me with relief for the first time in a year while being swaddled under a heavy heated blanket with my sister finger combing my hair.  Ahhh...why did I leave?   I think there were promises made but now I can't remember any of them.

It was in this scene that my mom came into the hospital from church and sat down next to my bed.  She took her finger and gently rubbed her own forehead and then mine.  We prayed for you in church today sweetie.  We anointed you with oil even though you couldn't be there.  I can't remember if I cried then or later but just the physical feeling of the oil on my head reminded me of the extension of my experiences.  The oil had traveled from the elders through the hands and prayers of the members and from my mother's forehead to my own.  It was such a beautiful image of how I am not alone in this.  In those fleeting moments I remember that this calling is a gift and my track record for thinking I know what I need would have robbed me of experiencing the beauty that has made this life mine.  I'm still in the hard days of getting overwhelmed by physical pain and emotional fear, struck by questions and worries that I'm too scared to even put down on the page yet.
The only thing I'm sure about is that this story is going to have some twists and turns.  But I haven't painted any walls black yet and I'm still looking for manna each day to keep me from starving.  I have a sneaky suspicion that my days are going to look less like a bouquet of peonies and more like that little yellow flower that pushes its way up the ugly crack in the sidewalk.  But maybe, on most days, the sun's light will catch it just right and make it gleam.

Perfect 10

When the white caps rise up and the west starts to feel a little wild I burrow in to all the cozy I can scrounge up, usually in the forms of soft blankets, tall stacks of books, creamy chai and swing naps.  The last few weeks of lazy family time have come and gone and I'm trying to keep my ear tuned in to the need for a slower pace even as the calendar fills up.  Whether I will follow through on that remains to be seen.  But it seems like a worthy enough cause today.  As I came nose to nose with summer I marveled at how much I love my people.  With all the travel and long days at the hospital the troops rallied.  It was some concentrated time but we all fit together in the best ways.  I kinda miss them the rest of the year.  Their sunshine cannot be contained.

Pickin peaches at the farm

 Even the dahlias can't compete with that smile

 Tree stump shortcut

 Skin and bones and spunk

 Frog whisperer?

 Playroom campout = late night giggles

 These two are in straight up bff territory and I am so geeked out by it.  They woke each other up all summer to play.  I won't lie, there were a few incidents of hurtful words and most days I had to turn a blind eye to their tornado alley creative adventures. But they can turn two rooms and a handful of toys into another world like its their job.  Of course she was too cool to sit by him on the bus but her secrets safe with me.

 she's always showing off her pachabels cannon

 No one can make her laugh like Tia

 What am I going to do with this kid?!  Could he be any cuter?  He schools me in love and ninjago villians.  Every time he says, "that was like ten yesterdays ago" my heart melts.  

I know its shocking to hear that summer went way too fast.  I'm not ready for it to end.  Tomorrow we'll all get up and head into four classrooms ready to do this.  But tonight I'm throwing my own personal pity party.  281 days till summer vacation.  Boom.

High Five

Because these beauties should be shared and because I like to boss people around here are a few that made my summer favs list.

Mom and I went and saw this a few months ago.  Part celebration of eccentric choices and part sappy love story.  Wholly wonderful.

God bless food bloggers. This cracked me up.

My new favorite author Mary Karr is the only one who's come close to matching Marilynn Robinson's commitment to poetic novels.  Just be forewarned that it might ruin all future reading for you.  In this novel alone she thew out 1000 pages before sending it to her editor and was FOUR YEARS behind on her deadline.  She writes with such raw honesty and every word is beautifully crafted.  Apparently I started at the end of the trilogy but I like to live on the edge.

I'm on day three of the fodmaps elimination diet to try and see if certain foods are contributing to the pain I've had.  SK's granola bars have been my go to breakfast/snack/dessert.  I start with this recipe but I currently can't have dried fruit so I add extra peanut or almond butter, almonds, coconut, pecans, and peanuts to my mix.  I cut them into squares and they keep forever (and less crumbly) in the fridge.

If you haven't yet you need to get on the Trampled By Turtles train.  B and I spent our anniversary date at their concert and had almost as much fun people watching as we did dancing to the music.  A special shout out to the guy in dreadlocks with a backwards Packers hat, a PBR in each hand and a baby strapped to his chest.  You are living the dream.  Their stars and satellites album is our favorite and makes for the best beach road trip soundtrack.

Honorable Mentions
If your still shopping at Target this is my new favorite find.  Every month they put out a box of fun samples to try.  They sell out FAST but if you get there on the first day of the month you can usually score one.  My last one included OPI nail polish, a full size lipstick, nail polish remover pads, dry shampoo, and Olay wrinkle cream for 6$.  It comes in the cutest black box and if you have a red card it's 5% off and ships free.  Because sometimes its the little things in life.

And a couple for the kiddos

Happy inspiration hunting!

Eulogy

Matt and Ben couldn't have spoken more beautifully about their dad. They somehow managed to upstage both a well known pastor and two college presidents with the weight of their words. Maybe there's just something about a man's own sons giving testimony to a faithful life that can't compare to anyone else's words, no matter how well crafted. I managed to hold back a well of tears right up until the moment Ben had a sanctuary full of people crying their way through Home On The Range. I can't imagine the courage it took but I should be used to this man of mine surprising me by now.

Yes, my Dad was Chinese.  He looked Chinese.  He spoke Chinese.  He ate Chinese.  But his story is an American story.  His family fled from Communist China in the 1940’s. He immigrated to America to get an education.  Once here, he even found himself a headstrong, American-style wife.  He even likened himself to some of America’s most famous icons:  Elvis Presley, John Wayne, and Frank Sinatra.  Frank Sinatra popularized the song “I did it my way”.  Ted Hsieh certainly did things his way.

As I got older, I began to realize how unique (and sometimes strange) that way was.  For example, the Hsieh family used to always have family dogs:  Camelot, Susan B. Anthony, Mei-mei.  As is natural with dogs, there were regular messes to clean up in the backyard.  My dad called these messes dog “goods” and the entire neighborhood could see him picking them up using a pair of chopsticks and a folded newspaper.  My friends rightfully teased me about this, and I asked “Well how do you guys pick it up?”  And they said “We use a shovel!”  And I thought you know … a shovel really makes more sense.  But that was his way.

I remember while playing soccer in high school, I would sometimes peek over at the sidelines to see what my parents were up to.  Only to find my father in the grass doing stretches or push-ups as if he were preparing to enter the game himself.  Or the way he treated every McDonalds like it was his own personal Costco.  He would collect all the napkins and condiments he could, and stockpile them at home for a rainy day.  He was unique.  He did things his way.

What amazes me was that “his way” was so effortlessly selfless and fully of joy.  My wife is fond of mentioning that Dad’s mantra seemed to be “I’ll go to wherever I’m needed.”  And he seemed to take so much pleasure in that.  Whether it meant waiting on a bench for his grandchildren to finish the Dumbo ride.  Or packing up a U-haul and driving my stuff to California.  Or faithfully caring for his long-lived mother at the Strawberry Creek Lodge.  

This was the Ted Hsieh way, and in honor of that I’d like us to sing a song that speaks to both his uniqueness and his joyful optimism:  “Home on the Range”.

This song is likely not meant to be spiritualized.  But, dangit, I’m going to do it anyway.  Dad, it feels like we did not have enough time with you here.  But you went to where you needed to go.  And  I take comfort in knowing that boldly you approached the eternal throne.  And now savor your home in the presence of the Savior.  A home without clouds.  A home that surpasses the unbridled joy you showed here.   

I will start the first verse then please join me in chorus.  The words are in the memory book if any of you need it. 

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,

Where the deer and the antelope play.

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,

And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Home, home on the range,

Where the deer and the antelope play,

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,

And the skies are not cloudy all day. 

Thank you Dad. Welcome home.

This Dad's life

Of all the events that fall on a family surrounding the death of a loved one, the funeral ranks high up on the bizarre cultural expectations list.  Exhausted from the emotional and physical strain of day and night care followed by the intensity of saying goodbye our family was suddenly thrust into party planning mode.  This being my first hands on funeral I was completely caught off guard by the amount of decisions that have to be made immediately.  All the burial preparations, the flowers, the mementos, the extended family communication, the food, the tributes both written and spoken, and the obituary are just a few of the items on our pages long checklist.  Any one of these decisions taken out of the context of a funeral would be given weeks or months of consideration.  The weight of the choices feel heavy with each one being meant to honor a man who was so deeply loved.  But time is not a luxury provided under these circumstances and you just pray that each gut instinct made that day was the right one.
 Thankfully our family loves each other and know how to (for the most part) communicate respectfully and forgive abundantly.  There were moments when I wondered how other families navigate these strange intersections of intense grief and sound judgements.  We really had the best of circumstances from financial stability to time off work, with everyone getting along and carrying the load.  I can't imagine how others get through these stressful times.  I watched mom in awe at how she handled it all with the organization of a five star general and the grace of a nun.
I kept thinking how if Ben died I would just lock myself in the bathroom and tell everyone to go away.
I'm pretty sure I told him at one point that I would just like to be cremated and have the family take the money and go on the trip of a lifetime to throw my ashes over some tropical ocean.  However this was not an option with a man who affected so many people all over the world.  Over 500 people came to the visitation alone and shared how he had deeply changed their life and impacted their faith.

People waited in lines that went around the funeral home just to come and say goodbye.  There were so many funny stories such as when he taught Sunday school and put verses in fortune cookies followed by group after group who said he helped their little Chinese church grow from tiny home groups to large neighborhood churches.  For over 50 years he devoted his life to sharing the gospel in his native language.
All of this seemed impossible to me given the fact that he was so preoccupied with devoting his life to his family.  He traveled the country speaking at Chinese churches and retreats both with youth, singles, and married groups.  I met a woman who cried at being given the opportunity to sew a memory quilt of Dad's many t-shirts that was displayed at the wake and funeral.  A project normally taking six weeks that she did in five days.  She shared how Dad's encouragement 30 years before had changed the course of her life.
As I pulled together pictures for his memorial I realized that dad was a six headed coin.  He managed to do the extraordinary and never made it seem hard or complicated.  He made everyone feel that they were his first priority.
 More than that though was what he taught me about finding joy in the wild simplicity of the ordinary.  I love the story of a day years ago when the family was busily getting ready and everyone was advocating for their plan of the perfect family day.  Some of us wanted to go to Sea World and some wanted to go to the beach.  Others wanted to stay home and prepare for some of the extended family that was visiting.  I noticed Dad sitting on a kitchen chair bouncing a baby in his lap and smiling as wide as usual.  I asked him what he wanted to do and he said, I'll just go where I'm needed.  If I remember correctly, we all went our different ways and later met up at a Mexican restaurant where he was entertaining many elderly aunts and uncles.
You see he didn't just do the right thing.
He did it like he had won the lottery.
He was always there when I needed him.  He might as well have worn a cape for all the times he swept in to save the day.  He listened to stories about the kids as if it was there was a ten year drought and I was giving him directions to the only water source.
But what I'll remember most is how he taught me that my life is an actual gift.  It isn't something to be survived but something worth savoring.  I'm not the quickest convert but if I could do anything well it would be to see that this life has been chosen for me, and every day I can choose it back.

Oh, this one gets me every dang time....

Nobody did it better than Dad.