The Fourth Rock

October 7, 2022October 8, 2022 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

You reign above it all You reign above it all.

Over the universe and over every heart

There is no higher name…
(Reign Above It All, Hannah & Paul McClure)

A senior trip. A gathering of global perspectives. An opportunity to lift up other girls in their education…

For 20 days in July, my daughter, Zoe, and I had the incredible privilege of traveling to three countries, each with unique language, culture, and learning dynamics. As a Language and Culture Learning Coach, navigating new cultures is my sweet spot. On the other hand, navigating the physical world is a challenge for me, and getting lost is something I’ve learned to factor into life. This dynamic provided ample opportunity for Zoe and me to problem solve together in new places.

The overall goal of our trip was for Zoe and me to be empowered together through the joys and trials of traveling adventures—before Zoe sets out on her independent college journey. For a girl who lingered in Narnia most of her childhood, and then graduated into Harry Potter’s world, Zoe would have enrolled at Hogwart’s post high school if she could. Instead, she settled on sauntering through Parisian chateaus for her summer between high school and college. Germany was a place to meet incredible world travelers and rub shoulders with their love for language and culture and adventure. Bangladesh was a window into a world so far outside our own–a place where we could encourage the empowerment of others.

We strategically embarked on our expedition equipped with only a backpack and a carry-on—to avoid losing luggage amidst multiple strikes in various European airports. A few other essentials for our journey included a 2022 multilingual playlist and 3 painted rocks…

July 4, 2022:

In the security line at the Denver airport: It turns out, if you travel with multiple painted rocks in your carry-on, your bag WILL get searched. Before we left, we committed to a mini-mission of helping my cousin spread her Colorado rocks around the world—I channeled my inner Amelie as we ventured out to deposit a hand-painted rock in each of our three destinations.

July 5:

We landed in Paris and successfully navigated our way to our hotel. We enjoyed dinner and an evening walk… by the river, past the cathedral, through the medieval gardens.

July 7:

Lessons from today’s excursions in Paris:

Trains take longer than you think they will
Half a ballet is better than no ballet at all
Raspberry sorbet is the perfect Parisian comfort food

Rock #1: We strategically deposited the first Colorado rock in a French castle windowsill. I hope they let it stay there.

July 8:

We learned some essential French vocabulary…

Navigating trains:

Sortie = exit
Gare = station

Navigating treats:

café crème = latte
confiture de framboise = raspberry jam
fromage = cheese

Zoe and I felt so empowered as we navigated the train system together and took in all the fancy palaces, castles, and chateaus Zoe had planned for us to see.

I’m a princеss of 2022…
Dancing all night, wеaring vintage dresses
(Princess, Tiphene)

July 9:

Ever since Zoe was 5 years old, she wanted to be in charge of planning parties. My husband, Steve, and I would give her a budget, help her make shopping lists, and work out the details of her vision together. At 18, her goal was a senior trip to Paris—to get castles out of her system before heading off to college. She’s been working, saving, budgeting, and planning for months.

My joy has been to accompany her in realizing her vision…

to learn to navigate new places
to problem-solve the unexpected
to figure things out even when we don’t understand the language, or the way things work
to adapt and enjoy the simple wonders of another culture
And to make amazing memories along the way

NEXT STOP: Germany—via train

July 10:

We put our train navigation skills to the ultimate test when we took 6 different trains from Paris to a small German town and met up with Steve and our SIL International colleagues. When my sweet husband met us at the final station, he quickly snatched up our carry-ons and led us to our cozy accommodations. Zoe and I gladly relinquished some of our powerful independence, and received Steve’s loving care for us on this middle stint of our journey.

After settling in, Steve and I enjoyed dinner and an evening walk together… by the river, past the village, through the forest.

July 12:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;

He makes me lie down in green pastures

The Lord is my shepherd, leads me to still waters. And He restores my soul
(Come What May, We Are Messengers)

July 13:

Rock #2: Spreading the Liebe… We delicately deposited our second Colorado rock in a German flower garden at the conference center where we gathered.

July 14:

Steve and I work with incredible, multilingual people of deep faith who live and travel all over the world. It always lifts our hearts to be together. And I’m super grateful Zoe connected with some amazing third culture teens who widen global possibilities and perspectives for her.

NEXT STOP: Zoe and I to Bangladesh.

Steve back home to Colorado.
Really hoping for no unexpected overnights in Frankfurt or Istanbul or anywhere else.

Like a sunrise on the longest night,

Like a rescue coming just in time.

Yeah, you save me when I cannot see the light.
Yeah, you save me when I cannot see the light.

(Lease on Life, Andy Grammer)

July 15:

Some first moments in Bangladesh…

Intro to language and culture with Troy Uncle
Riding in an easy bike
A Hindu festival parade, viewed from our hotel
Islamic call to prayer accompanied by car horns
A welcome of marigold leis, star fruit, and colorful scarves from the girls in the Speak Up – Girls Education Program. I can’t believe we get to be here with all these sweet, smiling faces and curious giggles.

I’m so thankful for safe travels via trains, planes, buses, and easy bikes to get here.

July 16:

Bangladesh is a predominantly Islamic country. The sign in our hotel room points to the direction of Mecca so people know which way to face when they pray. In my mind, facing East and facing Mecca have always been synonymous. It has been a bit disorienting to think of Mecca as west of us here. I’ve never spent this much time east of Mecca.

July 17:

With a background in Romance Languages, decoding French signs was kind of fun. German signs were a little more of a challenge. However, once we arrived in Bangladesh, our decoding skills were of little use. The cultural differences were also striking in so many ways. We felt the opposite of the fierce independence we had honed in Paris.

It turns out that in Bangladesh when you want to walk the neighborhood, you hold hands with your hosts… across the busy streets, past the dragon fruit vendor, through the sweet shop, with new friends.

July 18:

This is the day… that the Lord has made,
We will rejoice and be glad in it…
(A summer camp fave)

The girls in the villages and the dorm love singing and dancing. We’ve learned we need to have a song ready at a moment’s notice, and this one has been our go-to.

Today we were welcomed into the village and home of Dee, the girl Zoe sponsors with Speak Up for the Poor. Dee helped her mom serve us noodles and orange slices and coconut water fresh from the tree outside. As I looked around the lush green village and around the sparse room in their home, I thought: I am the farthest from home I’ve ever been.

July 19:

Rock #3 has traveled so far from its Colorado home.

When we went to visit Dee’s village for a parent meeting, we formally presented our lovingly painted rock to the girls. Then the Vice President of the student leadership team at their local schoolhouse formally received our little gift—a tangible piece of our home with them. They placed it at the head table in the school where it will likely serve as a very useful paperweight.

It was definitely a sweet spot to attend the parents’ meeting in Dee’s village. The girls are amazing, so it was fun to meet the moms who came to support their daughters’ educations—in place of child marriage. If the parents aren’t supportive, the girls will often end up getting married as a young teen. I was really proud of these moms, with limited education themselves, wanting something more for their girls. And, I felt so grateful to be there with my girl, supporting her education and wanting the best for her future.

July 20:

Today we met Lula—the girl my husband and I sponsor. We visited her village, her school, and her home. All the other girls followed from the schoolhouse. We met her parents and 4 sisters. We shared small gifts with them, and they shared fresh dates and coconut sweets with us. I love having a clearer perspective of her context, and seeing how sponsorship lifts up all the girls in the Education Program—in the villages, the dorms, the slums… I’m super grateful for this experience and all that it took for us to get here.

July 21:

I love you, you love me,

We are one big family…
(I love you, Barney)

Zoe and I have learned to teach English lessons with only a moment’s notice. Today we joined the Student Teachers from the college dorm as they taught their classes in small schoolhouses in the slum areas—full of bright-eyed learners. With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you… I loved this impromptu English lesson with these cuties.

July 23:

Heading home… Our trip back to Colorado starts on an easy bike, then a bus, then 4 planes, and 30+ hours later, a final car ride to our house. We packed some extra suitcases full of letters from the Speak Up girls to take back to their sponsors in the U.S. We also loaded up on henna cones—an essential for Zoe to take to college. And we sadly said a gazillion goodbyes.

July 29:

As I am back to walking my regular neighborhood, I love how music can take me right back to a place…. When I made my multilingual playlist to accompany our epic summer adventures, I included a popular Bangla song (by searching 2022 top Bangla songs). With all the dancing that went on while we were there, Komola was one of the first songs I heard in a dance performance, and then kept hearing. Now, when this song comes up on my playlist, it takes me right back to this little village school. Sometimes I can’t believe we were even there. But the feelings and memories stirred up by this song and others are proof that it was all so real.

August 15:

One, you get one heartbeat, so,
Take it seriously…
This is your masterpiece,
Don’t forget to dream and taste the colors
In the air you breathe
(Masterpiece, Andy Grammer)

Today we moved Zoe into her college dorm: She’s ready. She’s ready to ask hard questions, explore possible dreams, taste new colors. She’s ready for home away from home, for new friends, and new levels of adulting. I’m super excited to release her into this new aspect of her masterpiece.

The 4^th Rock:

We left three Colorado Rocks in each of the countries we traversed. The 4^th rock is the rock we brought home—the one I lifted from the railroad tracks outside the slum areas of Khulna. I had searched in each village we visited in Bangladesh, but with the hard-packed dirt trails covered in jungle plant debris and mud puddles left over from recent rain showers, loose stones were hard to come by—and the girls thought it was strange that I kept digging around in the dirt with my fingers! Rock #4 will become part of our Thanksgiving Rock collection—a tangible reminder of gratitude for our epic 2022 adventures.

All my life You have been faithful,

And all my life you have been so, so good.

With every breath that I am able,

I will sing of the goodness of God.
(Goodness of God, Jenn Johnson)

Lifted: Thanksgiving Rock 2021

December 22, 2021December 22, 2021 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 3 Comments

Each of you is to take up a stone…
to serve as a sign among you.
In the future, when your children ask you,
‘What do these stones mean?’
Tell them that…
These stones are to be a memorial to the people forever.
Joshua 4:5-7

I paced up and down the gated driveway. I felt trapped inside the iron gate as cars whizzed by in this unfamiliar corner of the world. Even if I did venture beyond the gate, there was nowhere for me to go. A smaller mission would have to suffice. I continued to pace up and down the drive looking for the perfect stone. Nothing too ostentatious. I did have to fly home with it in my little orange suitcase. Flat, paintable, able to be cradled in the palm of my hand. The fascinating flora in our enclosed community felt like a lush green oasis. But in reality, we were on the outskirts of the ginormous city of Bogota—the wiles of concrete and winding roads.

In order to complete my mission, my precious stone would have to be plucked out of the driveway. I found a less-used corner of the drive that was made up of dirt, concrete, and a variety of rocks packed down by busses full of human cargo regularly deposited at the oasis. Would anyone notice one small rock dug out of the drive? I was willing to take that risk. I curled my fingernails around the underside of a small grey stone and popped it out of its firm dirt casing. I looked around nervously as I brushed off the dirt, wondering if I had triggered the alarms to sound. I slipped the rock into my pocket and went in search of my new friends for tinto–a Colombian coffee break between seminary classes.

Each of you is to take up a stone… Part 1 of the mission accomplished.

Part 2 of the Mission: In the Future…

It sounds easy, but from decades of rock collecting, I knew that keeping track of my stone from June until November amidst the bustle of normal life was no easy task. The goal:

Don’t lose the rock.

Don’t forget which small, grey, unexceptional stone came from that risky mission in that specific faraway corner of the world.

Part 3 of the Mission: To Serve as a Sign

The idea is to encapsulate the essence of 2021 in a word, in a sacred Scripture, and within the boundaries of a small stone and a limited array of paint markers.

Humility was something my husband Steve and I were growing more familiar with this year—learning to live for the sake of others. Learning to offer our whole selves. Learning to delight in the offerings of others. Learning to let God do the heavy lifting, in the privileged places alongside some of His most precious children—Zoe, our oldest daughter, and her steps towards leaving our nest; Ella, our middle girl, as she navigates the wild world of a huge high school; Jamin, our middle schooler, and his newly kindled motivation to understand grammar and poetry and success in learning;

Khalid* the translator and his very real struggles of translating holy Scriptures for his own people in another part of the world;

Cesar* the young linguist who settled on the far side of the sea, learning a language no outsider has yet studied;

Hortensia*, the 15 year old who has worked her way into my heart, and her big, beautiful family learning to thrive as newcomers in our neighborhood;

Naya*, the bright teen I hope doesn’t slip through any cracks;

Yendra and the gift of deepening friendship;

The unique personalities and intense stories that come out of my interactions as a Community Navigator at our local Immigrant and Refugee Center;

The sometimes overwhelming gift of being a good listener;

The adventure of sitting on the Council of Elders—the heartbeat of our church—pondering and praying for the deeper complexities of a thriving church family.

Touring college campuses. Sitting through countless doctor, dentist and vaccination appointments in service to others. The small, daily work of dropping off and picking up precious preschool cargo. Travels to Colombia, Kenya, and Germany—and all the wonderful and difficult places Steve and I connect with virtually as an International Media Consultant and a Language Learning Coach, respectively.

The year has been full. Our position in the lives of others is privileged. Access to people’s hearts is always accompanied by joy and sorrow–the practice of rejoicing with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn, our emotions trying to keep up with the quick tempos of life. 2021 has been full of struggle and victory and pain and celebration and barrier and clarity. The rhythm slows just long enough for a deep breath and a moment of beautiful surrender.

Our 2021 Stone:

Location: Colombia

Word: Lifted

Scripture: 1 Peter 5:6

Humble yourselves under God’s mighty hand,
that He may lift you up in due time.

I don’t know who God will lift, or when. But He will. In due time.

And if we are in the privileged space to see Him do any of the heavy lifting or launching—then we too are lifted up.

The Greater Mission: What Do These Stones Mean?

After a lifetime of this familiar rhythm of rock painting as a family—Zoe, Ella, and Jamin know how to join in. They tell their own stories of remembrance and listen to ours.

Steve and I lifted each of them up with specific promises painted on their stones:

Zoe—prosper—Jeremiah 29:11

Ella—belonging—John 14:23

Jamin—focus—Ephesians 2:10

Lifted, belonging, and focus were all placed in the medley of rocks that tell the stories of God’s faithfulness over 22 years of Thanks-giving together. A few stray rocks have gotten in the mix. No one is sure who painted them, or when.

As for prosper—that sits on a smaller shelf of rocks painted by Zoe over the last 10 years of her young life. The rhythm has become her own. She’s building her own altar of thanks and remembrance. Who knows where the rocks in her future will be lifted out of—gated driveways on the outskirts of Bogota? Southern California? Khulna, Bangladesh? Near a French castle or along an Italian riverbank?

To Be Discovered… in due time.

And to be part of a memorial… forever.

* some of the names of my precious friends are pseudonyms

White Noise—A Cry of Repentance

June 11, 2020June 13, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 4 Comments

I’m sorry.

Not I’m sorry, but…

Not I’m sorry, in general.

Rather, specifically…

I’m sorry for my ignorance that has perpetuated an unjust status quo.

I’m sorry for my silence when advocacy was needed.

I’m sorry for all the little compromises that left your life more difficult and exhausting.

I’m sorry for my complicity in racism.

For my fear of not knowing what to do, and so yielding to inaction.
For letting false White conceptions of color blindness go unchallenged.
For not understanding how the systems I’m a part of and benefit from have put me in a privileged place at your expense.

I’m sorry for the White sorry buts that add salt to your wounds.

I’m sorry for being dismissive when the problems of society get too scary for me to handle.

I’m sorry for allowing this or that movie about ugly White racism to appease my conscience and make me feel like I get it—when I don’t.

I’m sorry for getting so used to Black bad news that it has become noise in the background of my passive tranquility.

I’m so sorry for reducing your trauma to my White noise.

Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God, you who are God my Savior, and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.

Open my lips, Lord, and my mouth will declare your praise.

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise. (Psalm 51: 14-17)

Lord, forgive us for the pride of thinking we’re innocent.

Lord, expose the hypocrisy in our breaking hearts and lead us to repentance.

Lord, forgive me for being an ambassador of peace but not understanding justice.

Lord, forgive me for being so passionate about Your great love for all nations and tribes, races and languages, yet somehow not having eyes to see and ears to hear the trauma and injustice of my Black brothers and sisters.

Lord, forgive us for our White supremacy—for standing too high on a pillar of infection—like an abscess on our nation. It’s disgusting.

Lance it. Drain it. Then, heal it.

Like a boil that must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed to the light of human conscience before it can be cured. MLK Jr.

I see now that racism is a White problem.

I understand now that Black Lives Matter—so much. I’m sorry I never said so sooner.

I hear your cries of grief. I’m sorry it took me so long.

I shudder at the images of George Floyd’s murder. And Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor. I’m sorry for your loss. Your losses. I’m sorry for the innumerable losses that have gone unseen.

I can know better.

I can be better.

I can do better.

It’s not your responsibility to enlighten me. But many have taken the time to love me where I’m at and patiently help me get to a better place. Thank you.

I know I’ll mess up again. I know racism has had its ugly effect on me. I know there are still offensive ways in me.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psalm 139:23-24)

For context: I am white. I am a follower of Jesus. I deeply value the authority of the Bible. I am a church goer. I work in non-profit contexts. I have been on an intensive journey of listening, learning, and lamenting since May 8, 2020–what would have been Ahmaud Arbery’s 25th birthday.

The influencers who have significantly informed my understanding, challenged my beliefs on issues of systemic racism, and shaped how I craft my words are: Dr. MLK Jr., Dr. Robin Diangelo, Dr. Anita Phillips, Jemar Tisby, and Mona Haydar. And my friends, Befkadu Meshesha and Ian Simkins.

CHRONIC HOPE #6: The Luxury of Looking Forward

October 12, 2019October 12, 2019 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 6 Comments

“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

When I was first diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) in my 20s I stopped looking too far forward. Planning for the future felt presumptuous, so I learned to live more fully in the present.

September 2019 marked 19 years since my cancer diagnosis.

I’ve had the privilege of reflecting back on 2 decades of living alongside a cancer diagnosis while continuously being treated for it.

4 different cancer treatments.

12+ bone marrow biopsies.

2 cutting edge miracle meds.

3 miracle babies.

3 times achieving medicated remissions.

2 relapses.

1 Master’s Degree.

Tens of thousands of dollars invested.

This journey is chronic. Chronic struggles. Chronic tears. Chronic persistence. Eventually forging a resilient chronic hope that anchors the soul.

I have learned invaluable life lessons of chronic hope:

We all have struggles. We all need help. We all seek a hope that is bigger than us.

We don’t rise above our struggles alone.

I can dare to make long-term goals that are bigger than me, because others dared before me.

In 1959 a researcher identified a very specific chromosomal abnormality present in CML patients. In the 1990s my first miracle medication was developed—a targeted immunotherapy treatment that was revolutionary. The standard chemotherapy treatments do not discriminate between healthy cells and cancerous ones, thus, leaving the patient with a myriad of miserable toxicities and a bleak prognosis. But this miracle medication targeted and treated a very specific problem inside of me, on a genetic level. It was proven more effective, more efficient, and less toxic than standard chemo.

It changed the world for people like me.

Reflecting back is essential for moving forward.

Now, with 3 growing kids, a specialized degree as a language and culture learning coach, and a healthy body in medicated remission, I dare to look forward.

There are so many people along the way who have given of themselves for me to be in this privileged place.

Like the doctor who created my miracle med after building on a researcher’s breakthrough 30 years earlier, what offerings can I bring that just might change the quality of life for a single soul?

These words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. both scare and inspire me:

“An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.” MLK, Jr.

As a language learning coach, I love to champion individuals towards greater possibilities in their lives. But MLK Jr.’s words challenge me further forward. How can I rise above my personal cancer and be a part of treating malignancies that face all humanity?

While Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s impact on society was profound, maybe he started with small offerings and a few champions in his life. I can do that! I can spend precious life energy trying to figure out my present and future impact, courageously taking small steps forward.

“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.” MLK, Jr.

Thank you, dear people in my life, who have championed me along the way to fight my battles with cancer—my devoted Greek-immigrant family, my loving husband in sickness and in health, my life-giving friends, my empathetic professors and generous neighbors.

Thank you, doctors and researchers, for devoting your lives and your minds to profoundly changing my prognosis and my quality of life.

Thank you, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., for your wisdom and impact on the world, and for encouraging me to bravely take baby steps far beyond my personal cancer.

Thank you, readers, for allowing me to reflect back and dare into the future on this journey of chronic hope.

This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, October, 2019:

Georgia Coats is a Language & Culture Learning Coach, freelance writer, educator, wife, and mother of three who is passionate about healthy mind-body-spirit living. Chronic Hope is Georgia’s collection of stories, lessons, and life adventures of living alongside chronic leukemia, cancer of the white blood cells, for two decades. She often shares what’s on her mind at: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com

CHRONIC HOPE #4: A Potential Risk of Fighting Cancer

August 10, 2019August 10, 2019 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

“How dare you be so irresponsible with your wife’s health? Don’t you understand the risks you’re putting her through by getting her pregnant in her condition?”

I watched my husband’s face change from shock to anger as the nurse unleashed her stern lecture on him.

Five years into marriage and four years into my cancer diagnosis, I was nearing my 30^thbirthday. We had given up on making long-term life goals. I let go of the dream of living abroad for language and cultural studies, and I quit graduate school.

But the dream of being a mom got stronger.

My super-effective miracle medication for chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) extended both my quality and quantity of life. Aside from 3-month check ups, an annual bone marrow biopsy, and my daily meds, I lived a normal life. But normal life made me hope for normal things, like a family of my own.

Truth: In this world we all face struggles.

My doctor was STUBBORNLY clear: pregnancy was out of the question. It was too risky to subject a fetus to the potentially hazardous effects of my miracle meds. And it was too risky for me to go off my miracle meds for any reason.

After multiple heart-wrenching conversations, desperate prayers, and seeking counsel from others who had faced life’s storms and held on to hope, my husband and I felt like it was risky NOT to start a family.

Two significant things happened:

We learned that we must calculate our risk and take the first step into the storm; and expect God’s reassuring presence to show up along the way.
My stubborn doctor left. His replacement was willing to treat me as a whole person, instead of just treating my disease. We needed someone to champion for the fullness of life.

Hope is a function of struggle.

“Hope is a function of struggle,” affirms Brené Brown, author of Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent & Lead.

Eighteen months of chemotherapy injections were considered “safe” for growing three wondrous new lives, but they left me feverish and weak. As I lay limp on the couch, I regularly recalculated our risk.

Giving up a safe miserable life without big dreams, for the opportunity to cultivate new life, changed something in me forever. Ultimately, wherever beauty and life-giving possibilities exist, they are worth the pursuit.

Brené Brown reminds us that, “the willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.”

My desire to be a mom dared me to set 9-month goals. Three times. That led me to reconsider the daunting goal of graduate school to become a Language and Culture Learning Coach—this time as a non-traditional, cancer-fighting, mother of three.

Chronic struggles forged profound hope that pushed me higher and deeper in mind, body, and spiritual potential. And, in setting an example for my miracle children to live courageous lives.

The ongoing challenge is to keep hands open while living courageously—to never close in on the great gifts of life we’ve been given. I’ve been given 20 years to cultivate chronic hope. I find myself in a privileged place to champion others. My heart is for those who face war, leave home, and migrate across cultural and linguistic barriers in search of the fullness of what life can be. To these souls I hold out small offerings with open hands.

What are your dreams, forged in struggle?

Who are your champions?

What are the little offerings in your hands?

This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, August, 2019:

CHRONIC HOPE #3: Cancer Complicates My Identity Issues

July 13, 2019 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 4 Comments

The life of a creature is in their blood. Blood is the essence of who a person is.

By blood I am Greek. By nationality I am a U.S. citizen. By education I am a Spanish speaker. By cultural experiences I resonate with my Middle Eastern neighbors of Dearborn, MI. By faith I am a follower of Jesus the Messiah.

My whole life I have dabbled in multiple worlds, cultures, languages, and social groupings. I hover on borders, struggling to figure out where I fit in. That’s why I became a Language and Culture Learning Coach.

That’s why I have identity issues.

Enter Cancer.

By blood I have a cancer diagnosis. More specifically, chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) is cancer in my blood cells. Ironically, the white blood cells that function to fight off disease have become diseased.

Someone advised early on,

“Don’t let your cancer diagnosis define who you are.”

That piece of wisdom has both haunted and inspired me for that last 20 years.

When cancer runs in your blood, how do you not let it effect who you are?

To complicate things even more, I am on a cutting edge, super-effective, immunotherapy treatment. No complaints there. When I tell people I have cancer, they want to know: Am I a survivor? Am I in remission? or Am I still battling the disease? YES! I dabble in all of those things. My treatment keeps me in remission, as long as I keep taking it, daily. Forever.

In my blood, disease moves slowly. It’s a lifelong chronic disease, which makes me a peripheral member of another group. The Chronic Illness Group. People with chronic illness spend a lifetime on meds, and suffer from their diseases for decades. There’s no glory in chronic illness. To find support and strength in a chronic struggle, it helps to own it. To identify with others who struggle in a similar way.

Blood-Related Issues

This summer I will travel to the Old Country, Greece, with my parents, siblings, and kids, to share with my kids a sliver of their heritage—of the identity that runs in their blood. We will kiss my aunties and meet another generation of cousins. We will eat great food and connect with the passion, grit, and generosity of our people. I will admit my shortcoming to learn, and to teach my kids, the Greek language. Relatives will look at me through the sympathetic cancer lens and say I look good, considering my health issues.

While I don’t want to be defined by the disease in my blood, I also cannot deny that it hasn’t had a significant impact on who I am. Cancer brings definition to my character. And for that, I am grateful.

Thankfully, YOU don’t have to have my issues to embrace the wonderful beauty of your design.

Take a moment to celebrate the precious life God gave you.

Choose joy.

Seek beauty.

Admit weakness.

Chronically cling to hope, even when things don’t make sense.

Let your struggles carve depth and beauty to your character.

And together let’s learn to share in the struggles of others.

Because, cancer or not, we all have issues.

This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, July, 2019:

On My Mind

by Georgia