Rising Above

September 15, 2020September 15, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 3 Comments

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.

I’m not sure if I’m haunted or inspired.

20 years and I’m still trying to figure out living.
20 years since my leukemia diagnosis in September of 2000.
20 years of grasping at my sense of self in the midst of chronic limitations.
20 years of a tenacious spirit learning to dance in fragile body.

How can I rise above my personal cancer and be a part of treating malignancies that face all humanity?

This question has been weighing on my mind since last September. I needed to rise up for my journey of Chronic Hope in order to clarify my identity.

20 years later, there is clarity to rise. But rising above is not a climb.

It’s a descent.

My challenge, quarantined in 2020, has been to listen, lament, and repent of injustice in myself and in our culture. To weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn. I really wanted to just take action. But I had not stopped to consider the lack in my understanding of justice and society. And how justice for all reflects the heart of God.

There is a lot of humble stillness and lowly heart work involved in rising. Nothing glorious or stunning. Just quiet, dark, quarantined heart work.

If the world had not shut down in a global pandemic, would I have done that work?

I don’t exactly know how to take action, but one thing has become clear:

If I don’t take action, something in me will die. Or will never have the chance to truly live.

So, from this humbler and haunted place I desperately seek to learn in community from those who are taking action. To join. To grow. To serve. I thought the vulnerable and the marginalized needed me. It turns out, we need each other.

Rising above is not mine to achieve. Starting to live is not mine to map out.

Mine is to quietly join the labors of love.

To learn from those who weary their hearts and dirty their hands for the plight of others.
To allow the plight of the vulnerable to be felt deeply and personally.
To understand how to do justly, because I cannot truly love mercy without it. Mercy accompanies justice.
Ultimately, to surrender the sense of self I’ve worked so hard to grasp.

Mine is the work of vulnerable humility.

Rising belongs to the Divine Hand that is strong and wise enough to lift me up in due time.

Just curious… what are the daunting malignancies you’ve been called to rise above?

Corona 2020 #2: Deep Breath

April 3, 2020April 5, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 1 Comment

Sunday, March 22: Small successes make us stronger

Virtual church in our home—that’s a good family rhythm. Coffee with my Sweet. Pilates during worship.

Deep breath. The sun is shining. We know how to rally as a family. We’ve done that before.

I learned in grad school that when things get really challenging, it helps to take on doable physical challenges. Before graduation, I was standing on my head for a solid 3 minutes or more. Today I take on my ripstick—I haven’t done that since our move to Colorado in 2018. I went further on the Poudre trail than I have ever gone on my ripstick.

I can do this. All of this.

Drive-ins—a social distancing spring break treat post family physical activity. Sonic is Mommy’s rare and spontaneously fun fried treat. Desperately wishing I could wash my hands, the Sonic manager offers us disinfectant wipes at our window. It’s the best she could do. And I was thankful.

Monday, March 23: Empathy and grief set in

Emotions are so mixed up. I can alternate tears and laughter without taking a breath. I think the complexity of emotion keeps me going. Empathy is a part of me. So is shared laughter. I can’t shut out the hurt of the world. I have to find a way in it.

Grief sets in as social media pours out the news of loved ones’ sick loved ones. There are people who can’t breathe. I feel pressure around my own lungs. Or is it my heart?

I got this song stuck in my prayers…

🎶 You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken
Great are You, Lord

It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise to You…

And all the earth will shout Your praise
Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing

Great are You, Lord 🎶

Zoe bakes her first berry pie. Yum. She has been painting and creating and plotting a socially distant picnic with a neighbor friend. She makes beautiful things. She makes me smile… with teary eyes. She is filled with purpose and plans and projects.

Wednesday, March 25: To be seen and heard

I have a regularly scheduled virtual meeting with my colleague. She hears exhaustion in my voice and heartache in my rhythm. I needed her to say that I didn’t seem ok. Someone noticed. Someone said something. I try to hold back immediate tears. I’ll save them for later. My tear bank is robust. I am tired. I am overwhelmed.

Thursday, March 26: The good, the bad, and the garbanzo beans

A walk with a friend. I bring her chickpeas and pass them at a safe distance. Canned goods are hard to come by at the grocery store and she is a garbanzo lover like myself. It feels good to do a little good. Colorado is in full shelter in place mode now. Stores close earlier. People might start to panic.

I think I am among the immunocompromised. I google articles about leukemia patients, those on immunotherapies in relation to Covid-19. I should be extra cautious.

Speaking of Covid-19… I read a comment comparing the “Covid 19” to the “Freshman 15!” Hard to curb the quarantine baking spree. I love that there are so many things to laugh together about.

Steve and I have an important virtual work meeting. The meeting delivered bad news. Not really anything to do with pandemic, just regular life bad news. It hits hard. It feels like rejection. Emotions are already at the surface and reserves of faith and grace and strength and resilience have already been reallocated.

Sprycel—my leukemia miracle med—is delivered as usual. Check. The UPS man doesn’t ask me to sign for this pricy parcel. He just leaves it and waves.

I slip out for a run on the track as I pour out my heart in my prayer. My regular running playlist doesn’t seem fitting anymore.

Why is motivation so hard?

Goal setting. That’s my specialty. First, identify barriers: It’s hard to get to goals when you’re in the midst of grief. Mourning and gratitude are both necessary. But if you haven’t mourned, it’s hard to move forward.

Steve and I zoom in with our community group. Thursday night is our regularly scheduled hangout time—part of our familiar chorus.

I’m still not okay.

News of people sick, dying, or singing out their windows is global.

Urgency and exhaustion in the voices of healthcare professionals.

More emails regarding upcoming online school than I can process.

Loved ones have sick ones.

I worry for the most vulnerable, like my resettled refugee friends and pregnant mom friends.

I worry for my healthcare provider friends.

I am in tears for a hurting world.

Check in with your inner self. Practice heart presence. Breathe…. Oh yeah.

Steve gets a stern and caring reminder from our doctor friend to be extra cautious with his immunocompromised wife. Clarity. Caution. Heartfelt concern.

Friday, March 27: Emotional backlog

Things have to change. My heart is being pressed in on all sides. Everyone is caring about something else. I feel isolated with the whole world. I am.

So much has halted. So much to process. An emotional backlog. So many people going through something and the same things. Momentum is gone in most of life’s places.

Deep breath.

I decide to start collecting the songs I need for this new rhythm of life.

I choose carefully how often I watch the news. Today there is a healthy flow of tears watching a video montage of communities rising up and joining together.

🎶 And I’ll rise up
I’ll rise like the day
I’ll rise up
I’ll rise unafraid
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
And I’ll rise up
High like the waves
I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Thank you, Andra Day. Put that one on the playlist.

Saturday, March 28: Naming negative emotions

I cross out lots of things on my calendar that didn’t happen and that won’t happen. Good thing I write in pencil. Saturday is Ella’s choice for special breakfast. A rich cup of coffee with my Sweet. Pilates and prayers. My whole body feels heavy.

I have dealt with difficult things before. I cry. I walk. I sleep. I pray. I listen—to truth, to hope, to sadness. To divine whispers.

It’s helpful to just be present with negative emotions… 😕♥️
• grief—of losses big and small
• guilt—that we should be doing more, less, something else
• fear—of things we can’t control
• disappointment—of unfulfilled expectations
• discouragement—too many overwhelming things to take in at once
• sadness…
• madness…
•
🤲🏼👣

Tomorrows have no structure. We are oscillating between aimlessness and creativity’s blank page. Setting goals seems like such an uphill journey.

Corona 2020 #1: Cancellations & Celebrations

April 3, 2020April 3, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Friday, March 13: Seismic shifts

What a strange and beautiful day. I left early on a birthday hike to celebrate my friend’s 40^thbirthday. We had the Twin Sisters trail to ourselves as we hiked through mounds of freshly fallen snow. I shared my Middle Eastern date cookies with her as a birthday treat. I had just brought them back from Michigan three days earlier. As we hiked, we processed the strange potential things that might happen, and we pondered the impact of recent social encounters and future plans.

Sharing cookies… that feels thoughtful and delightful and celebratory.

It was my kids’ last day of school before spring break. I knew I would arrive home post-hike to shifting sands.

And then the onslaught of virtual communication rushed in—every entity I am involved with is sending out emails of closure and postponement.

My kids dance around the living room celebrating the news of a second week of spring break, a.k.a., enrichment week, as the world is shutting down.

Saturday, March 14: Queen of flexibility

In normal life, I work 4 very fulfilling, part-time jobs—mainly, nonprofits, self-employment, and contract work. I am queen of finding rhythm with flexibility and faith through many changing seasons of my various jobs. And half my work is already virtual.

I got this.

Bring on change.

Bring on the unknown.

Bring on kids at home and the anticipation of spring.

Let’s keep dancing around the living room and watch as many movies as we can think of, and eat large bowls of white cheddar popcorn.

Sunday, March 15: Clean hands and pure hearts

This is ominously exciting. The CDC cancelled church gatherings of 150 or more, but our small community group is getting together to watch it virtually and enjoy Sunday brunch together. In the celebration of slowing down the pace of life and being together, there is a growing sense of urgency for quarantining. Some have opted out of our physical gathering.

Keep your hands clean and move to toe touches and elbow taps.

🎶 Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob 🎶

I timed it… this chorus is a solid 30 seconds of prayer AND proper hand washing.

I love finding hope, meaningful connection, and laughter in challenging situations.

Monday, March 16: Plans proceed but toilet paper is scarce

We have summer camp coming up in July. Kids need their wellness checkups. It’s going to be a highly productive spring break. I got two out of three kids went in the health clinic for physicals and vaccinations. People wore masks and signs were posted about being cautious.

Toilet paper is a weird crisis. We forgot to pick up our usual stash at Sam’s Club last month. Oops! I feel more and more compelled to join the bandwagon of fear and scarcity. Don’t panic… we’ll find some.

In the restroom at the local medical center for my kid’s wellness checkup…

Experiencing a new kind of temptation 😳🧻🧻

Tuesday, March 17: A cold coming on

Ella’s wellness checkup is cancelled. That seems to be the new rhythm. Most things left on the calendar are also being cleared. I feel a cold coming on and my mind trails to all the places I’ve been and the people I’ve touched. I start to rethink some of our spring break interactions… and sharing date cookies.

Wednesday, March 18: Rhythm in chaos

When the winds of change disrupt normal life, I find it helpful to hold on to a familiar chorus—a loose framework of routine and rhythm. I enjoy a morning cup of coffee with my Sweet. I run the empty track at the middle school. I do regular bouts of Pilates and prayers.

My throat is sore and I dig out the thermometer. No fever. All three times.

My mom calls. She’s worried about our lack of toilet paper. My dad unpacks meat from his freezer and finds our favorite kind of Greek cheese at the restaurant depot. We arrange a socially distant walk at a park halfway between our cities. No hugs. No kisses. Just a transfer of food items and a lovely stroll. The sun is in full shine, but road signs are flashing to brace for an impending winter storm.

Still no fever. I would feel horrible if I were the one to compromise my parents’ health in their late 70s.

Thursday and Friday are cold and dark and snowy. No place to go. Every cough makes me a little nervous. Still no fever. Ella coughs and sniffles. No fever.

Saturday, March 21: Keep baking, keep running, keep dancing

The week went by so quickly. It wasn’t much of a spring break—except for excessive movie watching and creative baking and spontaneous dance parties. Keeping our rhythm–Saturday pancakes. The dog park is perfect for social distancing. Another run on the middle school track while the gym is closed and the weather is decent.

On My Mind

by Georgia

quarantine