'Twas the night before radiation

I am excited, yes, I know that sounds strange.  I am excited to begin radiation because that means I am a giant steps towards healing.

After a successful surgery, clean margins and no lymph node involvement, I was doing great and feeling great. And then Holy Week (busy week for a preacher), I developed an infection and my incision totally reopened. I have had to heal from the inside out and it has been a slow process.

So, I am excited to get started on this next phase of treatment. Every day ( Monday through Friday) for the next 6 ½ weeks, I will begin my day at the Caromont Cancer Center. I am so grateful for all the support and prayers I have received.  Through one of the most challenging times in my life, the body of Christ has truly been present with me. I can literally feel your prayers lifting me up, and I am carrying your support with me.

I have been reminded about over and over that I am not in control.  Cancer disrupts plans, cancer doesn’t care about commitments, and healing takes longer than anticipated. For someone who lives by her calendar and commitments, it is quite the challenge to fit something into my everyday life.  And yet, I am reminded that my strength does not come from myself. My strength and resolve come from the power of Christ that resides within me. I am not in control. And it is freeing to rely on Christ’s presence and power to strengthen me.

At our house, we are having lots of cancer conversations these days.   Between my mom’s diagnosis and my diagnosis, our surgeries, treatments, etc, my girls have asked lots of questions.  We are all focusing on not allowing cancer to have the final word. Cancer will not steal our joy! We are choosing joy today and everyday.  

Let’s do this!!!!  

#godsgotthis #shebossstrong

April 1

I was the apple of her eye.  She loved me beyond imagination.  She would tickle my back until I fell asleep, all the while telling me stories.  She purchased the red fire truck I chose from the top shelf of the hardware store and one year she made sure we had matching navy blue jackets to wear.  On Sunday afternoons, we played church together; she directed the choir and I was the preacher (we even had communion with peanuts and grape juice). She took me shopping, she TRIED to teach me to play the piano, she laughed uncontrollably as we played together in the pool…..well she pretty much did anything I wanted.  Through all of this she taught me about Jesus. She freely shared God’s love and significantly formed me in my faith. When she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I saw her live her faith. She found her strength in Christ and had courage to face life without fear. One of the hardest things for her to let go of was life itself.  Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t afraid to die. She simply wanted to live. She wanted to live because she lived life to the fullest. She was my Aunt Jane.

I have thought of Aunt Jane so much since being diagnosed with breast cancer.  She taught me how to live and how to die. She died on April 1, 1998. It was quite appropriate that Jane died on April fools day because she loved to joke and laugh.  Her birth into eternity was a Big April Fools jokes to cancer because cancer and death did not have the final word. Jane continued to live and experience the fullness of life on the other side of eternity.

I felt such comfort when they scheduled my surgery for April 1.  My journey towards healing begins in her memory 21 years after she entered the church triumphant.  I will carry her courage, strength and faith with me. I will live as she showed me embracing life without fear and committing to embracing the fullness of life.  

My mom is another woman who lives her faith.  She is the most selfless person I know. She loves all and welcomes all into her life….no matter what.  I am who I am because of her. I have always wanted to be just like her. I didn’t realize we would both be fighting cancer at the same time. Tomorrow is her 3rd chemotherapy treatment. I have watched her courage and joy shine as she embraces cancer and chemo. I will live as she is showing me embracing cancer and not allowing it to take away my joy!

And then there are 3 little girls who remind me of all that is to come.  They are part of me and I am part of them. When I told them about my diagnosis, I told them “your mom is strong as shit.”  It immediately changed their tears into disbelief because I had said a 4 letter word.  I will live with courage and strength, so  they can see my faith in Christ and will embrace life with courage and strength and joy.

April 1, 2019 is in memory of Jane Wooten Hartzog and in honor of Kathy Goforth Wooten, Ella Grace Queen, Mattie Jane Queen, and Kate Marie Queen. Once again the joke is on cancer.     We are all #shebossstrong. And #godsgotthis.

My Aunt Jane

My Mama and My Girls 

I Have Cancer

I have been around cancer my whole life.  Granny was the first person I remember having cancer.  She died the summer before I went to 4th grade.  I learned right away that cancer wasn't pretty.  Granny spent a lot of time in bed and she couldn't get better.  I missed the biscuits she would make or the round cookies that fit on my ring finger that she would always buy for me.

Then there was my Aunt Jane.  She was my dad's sister and was like a second mom to me.  She didn't have children of her own, and I was the only grandchild on that side of the family.....so she loved me as her own.  My senior year of high school she got sick and was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  I watched her fight through surgeries, chemotherapy, medicines, and lots of doctor visits.  I saw her courage the day her hair fell out and she decided to throw clumps of her dark hair outside for the birds to use to make a nest. I witnessed her put aside plans and dreams because she was so hopeful that chemo would help her live.  I sat and held her hand the night that doctors told her there wasn't anything else they could do and didn't expect her to live through the night.  After that I visited her in the care facility and would go get her a hot dog or a milkshake because she thought that sounded good, only to have her not take a bite.  I said goodbye more times than I wish to count.  Jane fought hard.  Jane taught me how to live and how to die.  She deeply impacted my life and my call to ministry,

A few years later, standing in my parent's kitchen, my dad would tell me he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer "and its aggressive."  My Uncle Joe and my cousin Ben both faced that diagnosis.  And then just a few weeks ago I walked into my mom's hospital room.  She was wrapped in a prayer shawl.  Dad told me to sit down that pathology came back from mom's surgery and she has colon cancer.

I have held the hands of numerous parishioners dealing with cancer.  I have prayed with them, cried with them, and visited them.  I will never forget embracing two teenage boys, one under each arm, as they walked out of their mom's hospital room knowing it was their last visit with her on this side of eternity.  I have volunteered for hospice and been an advocate for the amazing work they provide.  I have walked in the Relay for Life and given money to the American Cancer Society. I have bought luminaries in honor or memory of family members.

Cancer has always been part of my life.  I have always known it shows no partiality.  it is nasty.  It is heartbreaking.  It inflicts pain.  It is life changing.  And now I have to pause every time I say, "I have cancer."  Yes, "I have cancer."  Now the story is mine.  I was sitting with my mom at her first chemotherapy appointment when the surgeon called with my biopsy results.  We found cancer and we will need to talk about next steps.

Tomorrow I begin the journey towards treating my cancer.  I have a procedure scheduled to identify the tumor in preparation for surgery on Monday.  After surgery, there will be pathology reports of the mass and lymph nodes, more doctors visits, radiation and hormone therapy for sure.  Oncotypes will determine if chemo is necessary.  Perhaps more scans if the lymph nodes are involved.  For now, it truly sucks to say, "I have cancer."  It is raw.  It brings unanticipated tears to my eyes.  It makes me angry to think that my body has failed me.  It makes me angry to think about how my girl's worlds have been rocked this year because two of the women they love the most now have cancer.  Yes, "I have cancer."

Cancer is now part of my story and yet it is not the only story.  My identity is found in the fact that I am a beloved child of God.  So, while I do have cancer.  I also have a God who walks ahead of me; walks alongside of me; and promises to never allow me to walk alone.  I have cancer AND I have God. 

A New Club

Today is International Women’s Day.  I have always been an advocate for women’s rights.  I have always been encouraged to be what I wanted to be, to speak up for myself and others, and to never settle for anything.  As an only child, I was rightly called bossy. Today I call that leadership.

My grandfather used to say there was no such thing as a SHE Boss.  However, he knew better than that, he was married to a very independent and outspoken woman and he was the father to three girls who grew to be strong, independent women known as “the Goforth girls.”  Four of his 5 grandchildren were all girls and have grown to be strong, independent women. I am raising 3 girls, who have strong opinions, speak their minds, stand up for themselves, and are certainly SHE bosses in the making.  (I often wonder where their determination comes from?!).

I am a proud graduate of a woman’s college.  At Meredith College, I earned a BS in Biology that taught me to think and reason.  I was shaped by my advisor, Dr. Swab who insisted that I write and speak clearly. I was gifted with friends who became like sisters, and I am forever grateful for an education that taught me to lead and love.  

When God called me into ordained ministry, I never considered that some would disagree with a woman’s role in the life of the church.  I remember the day I was told in the Cardiac Care Unit that the doctor called for the Chaplain not his secretary, or the day the pastor let me know his church would not be participating in a community Thanksgiving Service because he preaches and teaches against women in the pulpit, or the day the church directory photographer told me he was not used to preachers looking pretty like me.  I am the first female senior pastor at the church I currently serve. Some call me and sister clergy “incompatible with Christian teaching,” but nevertheless we preach, teach and lead.

This week I joined another club of strong and independent women.  I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Monday. A mass showed-up on a routine mammogram (the second I had ever had) which led to more images and a biopsy.  I have met with a surgeon, a genetic counselor, my family doctor, and I have been in conversation with an oncologist this week. This was a club that I never hoped to join, and yet here I find myself with countless other women who have faced breast cancer.  I am 41 years old, and I am ready to fight. I am strong (as I told me twins, strong as ****). This will not have the last word. I will not be defined by cancer. I will live into my faith and my strength will be defined by the power of God that lives within me.  This She Boss is ready to fight.

*** if you have been putting off a routine examination for early detection.  Please, use this as a friendly and BOSSY reminder to make an appointment.

Divided or Broken?

I was raised in a divided family. And in many ways I still find myself living in a divided family. As the oldest granddaughter, I was invited to sit alongside of my grandfather as he received the golden elephant award for the Henderson County Republican Party. As an only child, I learned my parents political persuasions were different. As a woman called to ordained ministry, I’ve had my southern Baptist ordained father-in-law hold my hands and pray for my ministry, and I have had others say “my ordination is incompatible with Christian teaching”   I listened to our “adopted daughter” share how she received a notebook on how not to be gay from her mother, and I listened as her mother begged me to help her see the biblical mandate. I yearly sit with my extended family on the porch of the beach house listening to a variety of perspectives on immigration. My family is divided. And in the midst of this diversity, I experience love and learn how to love.

Two weeks ago, I held a hand washing service as my church concluded a series based around our 2019 ministry theme:  “Serve.” I had the opportunity to wash so many different hands and my prayer was that God would use those hands to offer love and grace and mercy to our world. Two of the hands I washed were those of my parents. As I washed their hands and looked into their eyes I said, “May God continue to bless these hands who taught me how to love.” They are different different hands.  Politically one is conservative and one is liberal. One woke at 5:30 every morning to read the Bible and pray and the other spent the Sunday school hour each week catching up on the latest sports news from the night before. One sat in an office in the midst of academia and the other visited the dirt floor homes deep in the Jackson County Mountains. One is my mom and one is my dad.  They are different and together they taught me how to love.

I have spent the last few days in St. Louis with my other divided family called the United Methodist Church.  It was the church my parents chose after they married, it was the church I was baptized in, confirmed in, raised in,ordained in, am raising my children in, and it is the church that taught me how to love, who to love, and how to live.   Over these few days, I have listened as people passionately shared how they love without limits and others share how love calls them to uphold tradition and biblical authority. I have been yelled each morning by Christians on the streets who protest our conversation  on human sexuality. I have listened as my LGBTQ brothers and sisters sing “Jesus loves me.” I have cried. I have laughed. I have prayed. I have cried and prayed some more as I witnessed how divided we are. Love was present because God was present, but in the midst of the division it was not the love I recognized.  Yesterday after the General Conference voted to uphold our denomination’s traditional stance on marriage and ordination, I realized that our division is really an expression of our brokenness. We are divided, but more than that we are broken. We are a broken people in deep need of God’s healing power.

I was seated near a group of 30 some young adults who stood for almost 1 ½ hours chanting, screaming, “no,” and “stop the harm.”  I will hear the reverberations of their voices for a long time. In the midst of their chanting, I saw a broken church on the convention center floor. A group who desired unity gathered in a crucifix form on the conference floor, others danced and sang together,  and others sat silently alone at their table.

Walking out of the convention center, I heard many of our sisters and brothers holding hands and singing in solidarity.  Others walked out in silence. Police surrounded the convention center to maintain order. I wept. I thought to myself: this is my family and we are broken.  This is the church and we are broken. I continued to weep.

Many have asked what I am going to do.    I am still processing all of my feelings, and yet I know I am ready to walk into the brokenness.   There is so much brokenness in my life now: tomorrow I will officiate a funeral, Friday I will have a biopsy, Saturday I will be a mom at a  robotics competition and a dance competition, Sunday I will be in the pulpit proclaiming God’s word, Monday I will go with my mom to her first chemo treatment, Tuesday I will learn the results of my biopsy, and Wednesday is Ash Wednesday.  I will walk with those who are in their darkest valleys, I will face the sterile environment of medical uncertainties, I will join #teamkaki on the journey of chemo, and I will confess my sin and invite others to confess their sin. I will remember my own mortality.   I will proclaim that good news that resurrection comes from brokenness. I will confront the brokenness that does harm, and I will weep with the brokenness that excludes. I will hold those who feel broken and alone. I will wash broken hands, I will serve alongside broken people, and I will forever pray for healing and restoration.  I will trust that God is at work in my divided family. I will walk in the brokenness, and I will love.

Remember Your Baptism

Baptism of our Lord Sunday is one of my favorite liturgical days.  I am humbled when I get to place water on the forehead of parishioners saying, “remember your baptism and be thankful.”  I don’t literally remember my baptism.  I was four months old when Don Haynes placed water on my head and my family promised to raise me to know and love Christ.  I have seen the pictures.  I have heard the stories of how I cried.  And I know I can remember because God’s promise to me that day has not and will not fail.  God claimed me as God’s beloved daughter and God promises are trustworthy and eternal.  I remember and I am thankful! 

Through the remembrance of baptism we acknowledge all that God does for us and we are reminded of our identity.  Baptism makes us a child of God and a member of Christ’s universal family where everyone shares the name Christian.  Baptism calls us into ministry.  When we remember our baptisms we remember who we are and who God is.  We remember that we are connected with brothers and sisters around the world who look, talk, think, and even understand God differently and yet the waters of baptism unite us.   We remember and we are thankful!  

I was so excited to be back pastoring a local church and looking forward to marking the baptized with the sign of the cross and inviting them to remember their baptisms.  And then, it snowed and we had to cancel church.  I stepped out on a limb and tried something new for me, I recorded a “Live” video devotional (https://www.facebook.com/sally.queen.14).  What started as just something for my own congregation grew and attracted colleagues, childhood friends, college sisters, neighbors, family and friends near and far, people who knew me since birth, people who teach my children, and people who I do not even know joined together virtually as I had the opportunity to remind all that “we are God’s beloved children.”  The body of Christ came to life as I sat in my kitchen and hundreds joined from their homes and desks.  God’s family was united and worshipping together across denominational lines, with folks who feel forgotten by the church, with folks who regularly attend church and with those who don’t do church at all.  Through the unexpected gift of snow and technology we all were able to remember and be thankful!

Going “Live” today, I had my three daughters beside me.  Ella and Mattie read scripture and Kate greeted everyone with a smile.  I remember their baptisms.  Today they helped me to remember that God entrusted me with their earthly care and I entrusted them into God’s eternal care.  They are living into their baptismal promise.  I am living into my baptismal promises.  And we all belong to God.  Remember and be thankful!

The moment between breaths

 Today I was privileged to pray at the beside of a parishioner who had just died and then moments later I held a brand new baby, only about 5 hours old.  As a pastor we get invited into this intimate moments in people's lives. Since the birth of my own children, a verse from, the great hymn of the church, Because He Lives has become especially meaningful:

      "How sweet to hold a new born baby and feel the love and joy he brings, but greater still the calm assurance, this child can face uncertain days because he lives."

Both birth and death are resurrection moments.  Only one breath separates us from this life and the life to come.  I cannot begin to imagine all the uncertain days that the new baby might face in her lifetime and yet, I know that God will be with her, just as God tenderly and lovingly cared for the deceased.  I stood today on holy ground in that moment between breaths keenly aware that my presence was an expression of God's eternal care.

In that moment between breaths, we,too, face uncertain days.  For me, the post election days have felt very uncertain.  Division, exclusion, fear, and hate seem to be occupying the space between breaths and suffocating us and preventing us from fully noticing God.  We are in need of resurrection.  Perhaps we could let hate die, so that love might be delivered and birthed among us.  Perhaps we could resurrect the moment between breaths as an opportunity to live and proclaim that God is with us.