“Who are you and what are you doing with Steph’s phone?” asked a friend when her text saying “What are you doing?” called forth the response, “Cooking supper.” Cooking has not been a great passion or even habit of mine for years. The last time I cooked consistently was six or seven years ago when I had to give Roxie rice and meat to control her seizures. I cooked every night then and people were generous in sharing moose and other meats, so when anyone asked me what I had for supper, I would playfully respond “Dog Food.” Meat and rice was good enough for her, so I made extra and ate with her. When we found a canned dog food she could stomach, we stopped sharing meals! LOL! Prior to that, since leaving home for university, eating out has been my game. Restauranteurs in every town know what I like and rarely needed to “take my order”. In one Chinese restaurant in Vancouver, I had the waitress trained to not to mention that I was there a second time in the same day with different people each time. She would smile and nod and lead us to my favourite table. When I went back, walking and not in my wheelchair, after years of being away, she recognized me immediately, grabbed me with a hug and went to get my hot pot order. All of the staff at the restaurant managed to steal over to my table at some point during that meal and welcome me home. Obviously, cooking has never been my jam and too many fast food drive thrus have been. In fact, when I was leaving Gander for St. Anthony, the landlord called with a warning that he hated cleaning ovens and my whole security deposit would be kept if I left the oven dirty. That threw my mom into a fit of giggles. When she could finally speak, she called the landlord and told him that if my oven was dirty after seven years of me living there, then it wasn’t clean when I moved in. In fact, it had only been turned on eight times in seven years and most of those were times mom was visiting and turned it on to be sure it worked! A couple of other times, it was turned on for craft night when melting something on a baking sheet was part of the instructions! I have been absolutely and completely blessed by the many friends in each town and congregation who have provided food and fellowship around the table - much needed food for the body and food for the soul! So hearing that I was cooking, you can understand the surprise that registered when my friend asked what I was doing! It is like a new Steph 2.0 is hitting the market with recipes, buying vegetables, and using coupons! Damage to my pancreas from side effects due to medications has made me a four-needle-a-day Diabetic and the lifestyle choices that imposes has made a huge difference in my schedule. Even so, I am settling into a new normal with the diabetes routine and eating rules. Scheduling and planning ahead to think about and prepare for proper food intake is quite a foreign concept in my lackadaisical, disorganized style of procrastination and flying by the seat of my pants. Don’t get me wrong, this style of work has always delivered for me in creativity, enthusiasm and Spirit-filled inspiration. The focus on my calendar has been food, but the scheduling has infiltrated my entire life. For the first month, friends had to put up with my incredulous queries about how people could eat so much. It seemed that as soon as I finished one meal with all the proper grains, greens and proteins, I was facing snack time or another big meal. For someone who often ate one meal a day in the car on the way home from a meeting that capped off a busy day of visiting or preparing worships or meeting with families and the community at the funeral home, eating three meals a day and two snacks was almost overwhelming. I’m not complaining about having the diabetes on top of everything else. The way I ignored my body and willfully subjected it to drive thru meals, irregular sleep patterns and little exercise made me a prime candidate according to the warnings we hear all the time about lifestyle risks. All things considered, I am managing this new lifestyle of order and advanced planning quite well. I am almost as good as Pavlov’s dog... I don’t salivate or drool, but when the alarm goes off on my phone four times a day, I dive for the cupboard or fridge and put something healthy into my mouth while poking myself with the insulin that will help digest it. All this food and still forty pounds of weight loss is quite a motivating perk! The other day, I was three quarters of the way through a slice of pumpernickel bread when I realized the phone was alerting me to a WhatsApp call, not telling me it was time to eat again. The lifestyle change has not only affected the way I eat, but every aspect of my life. One must rise early to fit in all the exercise, work and food expected, so my day starts consistently at 8-8:30 every morning. Again folks who know me know that mornings are the hardest when Rheumatoid Arthritis is a factor. Becoming a morning person has taken a lot of getting used to and it is good that I live alone. The animals and I are the only ones having to bear the grump of an early rise everyday. Who knows, with all these alarms and bells going off multiple times per day and my newly scheduled lifestyle, I may get these blogs sent on a regular schedule for production as well. I’ll go now and set that alarm for weekly! No doubt when it rings, I’ll make myself a snack before I sit to write! And I’ll phone my friend that thought I had been kidnapped, so she can be sure that the crazy response from the kitchen that day was in fact the new me - Steph 2.0!

Bless my little cotton socks! Well, bless more than that actually! It happened twice now in the last three days. First, I pulled up to the wicket at McDonald’s to pay for my coffee and the coffee for a friend and the woman handed me the drinks with a smile. “The lady ahead of you just paid for these.” I looked quickly to see who it was that turned onto the Main Street toward the church, but even with that glance, I couldn’t see who my angel for the day was. Then, I had just finished lunch at Jungle Jim’s in Gander with that same friend yesterday. Having had a medical appointment in the morning, I needed lunch before heading back to Lewisporte. Since I have become a four-needle a day diabetic (there will be a post about the lifestyle change that has brought on), I have had to make healthier choices for eating and fast food meals are out. Instead, stepping it up a bit, I choose salads and baked things, rather than deep fried or sugar packed options. I will give some of you time for that to sink in. I have had two months to adjust and you are all just meeting the new me! (Waiting, waiting...) Ready? On I go. So, I was in Jungle Jim’s ready to pay and go when the waitress said, “One of the men sitting in the back corner just paid for your meal.” My friend and l looked at each other and spun quickly to glance at the empty corner table. It happened again! This time I didn’t even have a chance to glance at my benefactor. Just leaving was a fun feeling, certainly one of gratitude and yet a mischievous feeling, too. Like we were dining and dashing! For those wondering, the meds have not yet started to work in any real way, so the new me is no faster than the one of old! Dashing wasn’t quite the movement in motion! But it felt fun! These random acts of kindness made my spirit smile and my heart sing! Singing praises to God for joy in life and praises for attentive people who watch for opportunities to bless others and make their day more special! Thanks to the special people who blessed my friend and I (and much more than our socks) the last couple of days by going out of their way to be kind.

Even Rollie knows. Rollie is one of my two cats and he knows that if you want to get attention, you have to get between your person and their screen. It never fails that when I sit down to write, Rollie sabotages my phone by sitting on it, dropping it or hiding it. Rollie knows that personal connection is best. Emailing, Facebook and texting have their place, but in-your-face love is the most effective way to communicate. Just like Jesus showed us. God did not stay in heaven and simply send the Word through the inspired prophets and leaders of Israel. There were many messages sent as we can see in the Old Testament, but when the scrolls were put away, God’s love letters were forgotten or willfully ignored. Knowing that love is an in-your-face action, God left the heavenly realm and made for earth in order to connect and communicate with humans made in God’s own image. The word became flesh and dwelt among us. God’s message of loving grace was no longer written only on scrolls, but shown through the compassionate presence of Jesus. Even after this real experience of humanity had ended, God stayed connected to earthlings by filling hearts with the loving, playful, creative, unpredictable and inspiring Spirit. God knew that to get people’s attention, it was necessary to get between their schedules and their screens. And God left us, the church, with the mandate to make and keep connections as we love and serve others. Because we are connected to the source of our being and inspired by the Word of our God, we are the love notes that God sends to the world. As you travel this summer and explore the beauty of Creation close to home or far away, remember your calling as the beloved children of God sharing love and staying connected to God and others by the Spirit. May it enliven your days and fulfill your joy!

He has risen! Jesus is not in the tomb! Now there is space for the ministers of the gospel who lived through Holy Week Services and Easter Celebrations to crawl in and have their three days of rest Hallelujah! For me, since Palm Sunday, I’ve been singing, “I owe, I owe! It’s back to work I go!” You can join me... Sing this in your head picturing the little Disney dwarfs with their pick axes and lunch buckets packed by their new roommate Snow White. Whistle, if you like! Palm Sunday, Jesus entered Jerusalem and with less fanfare, but triumphant nonetheless, I re-entered the pulpit. Not because I owe money for the mortgage or the power bill or groceries or other everyday items. Our National church, through Restorative Care, makes sure that salaries are covered while staff recuperate. My paycheque continued as always even though I was off for medical reasons, so I did not have to hurry back to work to save my material possessions. And yet, I came back with a debt of gratitude to pay! And so, I owe, I owe, it’s back to work I go! I love Holy Week and all the different ways that we share together ecumenically with our brothers and sisters in Lewisporte. So many kinds of worship and the creativity of walking the most treacherous and painful journey of Jesus’ life. Walking that journey with Jesus gives us an opportunity to relate to him as we enter his pain because he entered ours. I am grateful for a Saviour who is a Wounded Healer and whose vulnerability makes him strong, passing that same strength to us. God’s power is shown as strength in our weakness. As Jesus displayed the whole realm of humanity’s brokenness, he also allowed people to help him through the tender and terrible points of the passion account. I cannot begin to list the names of the people that I am grateful to, for fear of missing some. My people, my church and my community have surrounded me on my journey of late and I appreciate the prayers lifted, the food dropped off, the Sunday Services that were covered, the organization to fill the gap in my absence, the conversations and the immense amount of caring that has been showered upon me. All of which has contributed to strength in my pain and healing in my body. I have seen God through all of you. And I was grateful to come back to work, a small bit improved in health and a huge improvement in spirit! We live as Easter people, knowing the hope, joy and power of God seen through the garden, the cross and the empty tomb. Not just at Easter, but all the time, I recognize an unending refrain, “I owe, I owe, with praise and thanks I go!”

The juices are in and it is time to soak in the goodness. Both doses of my new medication have been infused 8 hours at a time. As the new medications flow throughout my system, my strength should increase and my symptoms decrease. With more energy and less swelling, I can get back to living life with zest. But for that, I wait. It could be up to 3 months before I see the total results. In the meantime, I celebrate every small improvement along the way. And so it seems appropriate to celebrate this tenth blog in a special way! So BBQ imagery it is! I know many friends who consider a good steak on the BBQ a celebration supper. Some places in our diverse country, Spring is sprouting and BBQs are being dusted off and placed in their spots on the patios and decks of eager grill masters. Here, in my most favourite climate, the celebratory season of BBQing is never truly put away. We simply don parkas and toques and grill any season. So as we fire up the feast and our taste buds and salivary glands kick into high gear, we mark the hurrahs and hallelujahs of light that will not be overcome by darkness. In the midst of our slow climb to success, each step is a celebration. Some big, some small. The tenth blog post seems small. My return to work this Sunday will be a much smaller parade as I re-enter the pulpit, than was Jesus’ triumphant entry to Jerusalem, but it is a great big deal to me and my congregation. And, of course, the marinade. All my new medications are finally in my system and there are very small improvements already, providing much reason for elation and hope. Much more improvement shall come as the mixture soaks in and adds strength of joy and zest to life. The image of the BBQ with the special marination of the steak goes a bit awry at this point though because marinade is for tenderizing the meat and in my case I will get less tender if the juices do their job! What are you celebrating, big or small, as we journey together through the successes and struggles of life?

I have signed my organ donor card. But really, there should be another checkbox on that card. I should be able to check a box and donate my body - the one that serves as a medical puzzle - to science! Surely no one will want it for organs! I hardly want it now! 😂 The drive into St. John’s was long and exhausting... and I was the passenger! But it was necessary to reconnect with my Rheumatologist at this stage in disease progression and medication intervention. Betcha can’t guess the first thing he said this time after checking the swelling in my hands, elbows and jaw. He declared, “You are abnormal!” You may not have guessed those words, but after hearing the diagnosis, plenty of friends have said I could have saved myself the pain of the drive to St. John’s because they already knew that! “Unique... You are unique,” he said as he rephrased his statement, “and I just can’t figure you out!” I am blessed that he loves a challenge and hasn’t given up on me yet. In fact, he says he takes me with him to all his medical conferences around the world to see if any colleagues can help. Since I have yet to travel anywhere, I assume he means the case study that is me. I, also, think he plans it so that there will be new Pharmaceutical Reps in the Office during my appointments, so he can regale them with my history. The doctor says, “Most people get pretty discouraged after the third medicine change. Doctor’s give too much false hope and patients get cynical when those hopes don’t pan out.” Rightly so. Pain and the looming disease progression tends to make one less and less cheerful. “But,” he says, “We’ve tried everything on Stephanie and she just takes it in stride. Nothing has worked and some have had some dangerous side effects that only she finds for us.” “Six. This is my sixth medication in this category,” I said as the doctor looks over the list for confirmation. After hearing about the other meds I have taken and the side effects and seeing the pain and discomfort as I move, the Rep declared, “You sound so positive and so hope-filled.” “I look at it this way,” I tell him, “and I have since the day I got sick in the first place, if I can’t move again tomorrow, I am going to live so that I have something to remember about today.” We all have mottos that help us cope with the struggles we meet on the path of life. That’s one of mine. A mantra, of sorts, that pushes us beyond the rise and fall of emotional reactions. It doesn’t always keep me hopeful and cheerful, but it does help me focus when I am feeling down and depressed. It reminds me of how I want to live my life as an adventure and a memoir, even if I am the only reader. I want to have memories that would entertain me and inspire me. Things that I would have never accomplished if I didn’t grow and strive and push myself to new limits when my body, and some detractors, kept saying it couldn’t be done. Instead, with deep faith and an imagination that allows me to “hope in the Lord and soar on wings like eagles”, each pitfall is a temporary setback. One approaches each new trial, and trail on our spiritual path, with the hope of physical healing and a more pain-free future. Perhaps my new medications will be the miracle that brings me in line with what others in the medical world might consider normal. Perhaps they will bring on complete remission and all the physical freedom that can provide. I certainly hope and pray for that type of healing, but if it doesn’t happen that way. I am ok. Because I know that healing doesn’t always look like we think it should. We don’t always get the results we expect or demand, but we still keep going with God, with hope, with humour and with humility. The adventure continues and there is purpose in the path. Sometimes, the miraculous healing happens as our broken spirits are mended and strengthened for the journey. We face each day with God as a new adventure adding another exciting chapter in the unfolding memoir of our own lives. “If I can’t move tomorrow, at least I have lived today.” What is the mantra that leads you onward and upward as you travel? Along the way, I have found that normal is highly overrated anyway.

I took in this old clunker. It has been due for some repairs for a while now. And I finally got the chance late last week. Sometimes, no matter how many bells and whistles, squeals, clunks and little warning beeps are going off on my dashboard, I tend to turn up the radio, rather than book the appointment at the garage. I want to really be sure that I need the appointment before I go in for every little thing. The stoic in me often holds me back until it is hard for others not to notice I am on a bit of a downward slope... Finally, after the procrastination and after waiting a long time for the right parts to come in, I was able to get the routine check up and the specialty work done on the same day. Got the oil change and lube by IV - an eight hour treatment. While waiting for the new medications to flow through the old system, there were a few times around the shop to rotate the tires. Some of the creaks and groans in the body work seemed to abate with the simple touch up under the hood, but it is possible I feel it riding different partially because it has been to the shop. When I was a kid, I absolutely loved the day that we went shopping for back-to-school shoes. I ran everywhere. My mom says I learned to walk one day and run the next and I never stopped running just for the sheer joy of it. But never did I run as fast as those rare moments each year when we laced up those brand new shoes. Whether it is a a placebo effect or the real thing, I’ll take it. The old clunker seems to clunk a little less the last few days. I am hoping that topping up the battery fluids and cleaning the spark plugs delivers more energy and pick up than I have felt for months. In more ways that one, this old model needs some body work, but that will be an on-going project. I had all day to think, so I spent some time considering what might emerge from the garage that day. I joked with friends about having a brand new Cadillac or a priceless Rolls Royce. I hope that this new treatment does smooth out the ride. But it didn’t take me long to realize that going in with a clunky, old Plymouth would have me coming out of the shop with a more Reliant vehicle! It will take a few months to see the true results of running this new lube through the system, but with constant adjustments, this vehicle isn’t ready for the junk heap yet. Whether a Kcar or a Cadillac, The Maker still approves the workmanship and believes that this old clunker is still valuable and road worthy as it travels the Unexpected Journey. There is still work to be done on the engine and the path, but now I am fueled for better efficiency.

I don’t say that to ask for sympathy or false praise or “Now, now, you do enough” reactions. I am not asking for placating comments that try to reason me out of this particular opinion or any of the self-care platitudes like we often hear. “If you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to take care of others.” I can even, with sincerity and compassion, suggest that others protect their time and prioritize down time from the daily pressures and hectic stresses of life. I know the logic and the value of self care, but this feeling of selfishness is not one of logic, but of heart. On par with the discomfort of self-care is the art of letting others minister to me. You know, allowing others to help when necessary or calling upon folks to step in when function is limited more than normal. Allowing others to use their gifts, so that I can use mine, is a beautiful symmetry of teamwork or the functioning of the Body of Christ. But being the helped, instead of the helper. Not easy. Especially when we wrap up our identity and self-worth in doing and not being. I want to be doing more. I’d rather not be worrying about what I need so much as what could benefit those who are struggling around me. Don’t you ever think that? In the darkest moments of life, whenever I have sunk into a very mild, compared to many, depression, or when my body needs rest, but my mind is still active... self-care is logically the answer, but feels selfish. Inward. Suffocating. Overwhelming. Especially in light of the really serious problems, tragedies and hate in the world like the terror in New Zealand this week. How can I possibly take time to focus on me when there is so much justice work that needs to be done around the world? Do we have time to rest knowing that each small act of love and respect plays into a more peaceful whole? I know that often, my best solution to grief, depression or pain of any kind - emotional, physical or spiritual - is to reach out and be with others who could use a witness, a hand, a companion on their journey to health and well-being. When I feel like my focus is too stifling and inward, the perfect solution is to think Christ-like and serve others to take the focus off of me and my issues. That call to be like Jesus pulls me into action and fills me with purpose and dignity. It calls me to raise my sights away from what I often see as my own navel-gazing into the eyes and lives of others who are also hurting... But wait just a moment.... Is that the only call to be like Jesus? Is that the only way to follow? Jesus served and healed and taught... but he also took time to rest, reflect and pray. If Jesus needed a break every once in a while by heading up a mountain to pray or sleeping in the boat as it crossed the Sea of Galilee, who am I to think I don’t need the same? Who am I to think that I can continue to pound the pavement and serve, serve, serve without time to refresh, renew and reconnect if we see Jesus taking time to rest in all of the multi-layered facets of who he is? Max Lucado in his most recent book “Unshakable Hope” says this about the need for rest and for Sabbath: “God’s message is plain: “If creation didn’t crash when I rested, it won’t crash when you do.” If the angels were allowed to come and minister to Jesus as he finished his 40 days of testing in the wilderness, if a woman was allowed to anoint him with expensive perfume, if Mary, Martha and Lazarus were special friends who often hosted him and his disciples, if that was so for Jesus, then it is okay for us to be cared for, hosted and helped, too. I am learning slowly how to treasure those moments when others are there for me. I am learning that help goes both ways and if I feel better helping others, then I need to also allow others the gift of helping me. If you hear grumbling along the way, sorry. “It’s me. Not you.” I am learning to thank those who show up to care for me on this journey. And grateful I truly am, for the big and small signs of love with which people have been freely and generously encouraging my heart! So, Jesus took time to take care of himself and he allowed others to care for him as well. And the two finally come together. Necessary balance for the heart and the head. Logic and feelings. The wounded and the healer! The helper and the helped!

A friend mentioned that I listen well to her pain. I sit quietly with her in her disillusionment and shock. I sit in the ambiguity without needing to spout answers or platitudes. I sit faithfully and prayerfully. And my response is that I have been a contestant in this game show for almost 30 years... The Price of Life. So I have had a lot of practice and I know what it is to be in this familiar theatre. After my first year of university when I was 19 years old, I had a flare that had me on bedrest for 7 months unable to move due to swelling, stiffness and pain. Once I had a diagnosis of Sudden Adult Onset Rheumatoid Arthritis, I was in a Rehabilitation Hospital for five more months. So this current flare that I am experiencing now is neither new, nor the worst I have faced. Neither is the pain or depression or the questions I ask of myself and my faith. Yet, through it all there are always more life lessons to learn. Talking and filling space with chatter and sentimental wishes through the entire presentation may cause us to miss our call. See, The Price of Life includes incredible joy and some unexpected sorrows. The Price of Life includes strength and vulnerability, comfort and pain. Sometimes the challenges and contests are more difficult than others, but I’ve been a participant since God first said “Stephanie McClellan, come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price of Life!” As we play the game, we learn to relate to our fellow contestants. We greet them as they join us at the theatre, cheer them on when they called to the stage for the preliminary guess at what’s ahead, and then to the game show floor. We commiserate with those who don’t get the glory on the public stage. Some wait their whole lives to realize the truth that The Price of Life is made exciting and beautiful by the inclusion of joy and pain, disappointment and success. We don’t all win on our first attempt in the preliminary pricing game, nor do we all get invited down in our first time in the theatre audience. But if we get to the stage first, we encourage others when they come behind us to take their spot with the host. Hearing that I finally have a date for my first of two infusions of my new medication next week, I feel like I have won my showcase and I eagerly await the spinning of the big wheel! I’ll say “Hi” to all of you as we wait for it to stop! In the Price is Right analogy, we know we are all heading for the Show Case Showdown in the Price of Life! Will you be ready for the whole game show experience when you hear the call “Come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price of Life?”