We Three Kings

Many, many, moons ago, I was a sweet young thing, living in Provo and attending a BYU Ward.

Okay, fine. I wasn't such a sweet thing, but I was young. (Like I said, it has been many moons.)

I remember, the Sunday before the semester break, we had a musical Sacrament Meeting and three boys in the ward (Arden Anderson, Craig Woll and Terry Anderson, as I recall) sang We Three Kings a capella. ... It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard in my live-long life.

Even now, whenever I hear this song, I hearken back to that Sunday in the Sky Room. I can feel my red velvet seat give beneath me as I lean forward to listen with my whole heart, and I can hear the boys singing a song I'd never truly listened to before that day. It was a beautiful, and life-changing, experience.

It's been almost 20 years since that December Sunday, but I've thought of that musical program every time I've heard this song over the years. I don't know that I'll ever be able to tell those boys what that song did for me back then, but I can tell the original 13 readers of the blog (and anyone else who may have hopped on board for the Christmas song-fest this year).

I love this song. 

I love this song, because the language and the harmonies are beautiful. But I also love this song because it reminds me of three young, but wise, men I knew once upon a time who stood up to sing without accompaniment in front of a room full of people. I literally thank God, every year, for what those men did for my relationship with this song. And for everything else they did that blessed my life - and the lives of countless others - in the mid 90's. (My life has been awesome. I've known so many incredible people, and those three men are some of the cream of the crop.)

The Beach Boys' a Capella version on YouTube is short (one verse), but it's men singing. Without accompaniment behind them, which is how I think this song sounds the best.

Do you remember the movie Fly Away Home?

Yeah, neither do I.

I had to Google "duck movie true story 90's" to remember the name/find the trailer.

But what do I remember?

Going to this movie with Cousin Julie.

Ahhh... Provo's Movies Eight. Back in the day when I thought dollar movies were awesome (I have since decided that most discount theaters smell like someone - or someones, like, 17 of them - have peed their pants in the seats), and when I thought a theater with eight screens was pretty much the coolest thing ever. (Who grew up in a town so small that it didn't have a stoplight, let alone a movie theater? This girl.)

Anyway, I went to see this movie with Julie. We were (shockingly enough) the only people in the theater. (Crazy, right? With an inspiring story about a girl whose dad fashioned a flying machine so she could show her duck "children" how to fly South, I can't believe that theater wasn't packed to the gills!)

We were a few minutes early. It was a dollar movie, so there weren't previews. The theater was blasting (and I do mean blasting) muzak to keep the masses (we two) entertained until the movie started.

Enter this song...




Now, you can't tell me that you don't remember this song. (The movie? Sure. You could totally forget about that. But this video, complete with the creepy ghost motorcycle riding boyfriend?! It's unforgettable.)

As weirdie as this song is, it practically BEGS to be sung (sang?) along with. (I double dog dare you to disagree with that statement.)

I was sitting next to Julie, singing along to my heart's content, when she said the infamous words...

"I dare you."

More specifically, "I dare you to get up and stand in the front of the theater and sing this song. Out loud."

And how did I respond, you ask?

"What will you give me?"

"... A nickle."

"Done!"

No sooner had I gone up to stand at the front of the theater than an entire family (of, like, ten... you know how those Utah Mormons are with their big families) walked into the theater. I looked at Julie, silently asking if the bet/dare was still on... and she held up a nickel between her thumb and forefinger.

Oh, yes. It was on.

So, I sang. And when I say "I sang", I mean... I sang. I sang my little heart out. At the top of my lungs.

Picture it. Me standing at the front of the theater, belting it out as loud and proud as I could, throwing my arms out (a la Celine) at the "Babay, babay, babay" ...

I'm telling you, I put on quite a show.

For a nickle.

For my cousin.

For a memory.

And I've never regretted it. Not once. ... Not even when the family of ten just sat there in silence, staring at me. (They didn't clap, but I like to think that my musical performance was the highlight of their Saturday afternoon. I mean, come on. My competition was a movie about a girl who mothered ducklings, and you know that I totally rocked the song.)

I love my life. I love my cousin. I love to sing. Out loud. ... Some things never change.

I love this boy.

When my nephews were smaller (and when I was strong enough to pick them up and/or hold them down) we used to play The Kissey Game. (Yup, that was the name of the game. We Evans kids are HUGE on creativity.)

This is how the game was played:

1. One of the boys would bring me my purse.
2. I would take out my darkest lipstick and gloss up.
3. The little boy would run. ... Usually right into a corner. (They all knew that I wasn't fast. Also, they were pretty determined to get caught.)
4. I would smother said boy with kisses, marking his face up with lipstick marks.

Pretty fun game, right?

I know, it sounds pretty lame. (And who wants their aunt to make kissey marks all over their face?! ... But the boys loved the game. Those were good times.)

They're all big now. Too fast for me to have any chance of catching them, and too strong for me to even try to pick up.

But then, them being big comes with it own set of rewards.

I was talking to my sister-in-law tonight, and she told me a story.

It seems that my nephew, Connor, was asked to say a family prayer this afternoon. It's the first Sunday of the month, and they had fasted as a family. Con was asked to say the prayer to close their fast. He wasn't sure what to say, as this wasn't the typical blessing-on-the-food or family-prayer prayer, so his dad talked to him about the purpose of fasting, and asked him what he had fasted for today, thinking that would help give Connor some direction in what to say in his prayer. Con's answer was short and simple. He had fasted because he was thankful that Aunt Laurie doesn't have cancer. ... With a little direction from his father (and my guess is, more than a little bit of emotion... we are a cry-y group), Con said a prayer, and as the voice for his family, thanked Heavenly Father that I'm not sick anymore.

The boy is eight years old, and he went entirely without food/drink for two meals to thank the Lord that I don't have cancer. He did that on his own. Without instruction from his parents. Because he wanted to.

Oh my goodness gracious... I love this boy.

December 23

Today may have been one of my favorite days of my life.

It's up there in the Top Ten, for sure!

Why? Because it is Christmas. And I am home. (I love it here!)

Kate, Mom and I sang Hark, the Herald in the Christmas program this morning. (My voice only cracked one time. I'm considering that a win. ... Not sure if the congregation would agree with me, but I know my history and the fact that I was able to sing loud and fairly high for two verses and only had one minor fail is pretty good, considering.)

I was able to visit with friends I grew up with who were also home for Christmas, and hug all my sweet little old ladies in 1st Ward before I went to RS, where my mom taught the lesson. (Read: Where we sang Christmas hymns for almost the entire hour.)

After our block was over, we headed home for a quick lunch, and then Mom and I ran across town so I could go to the ward I grew up in. (My parents' ward was divided just over five years ago and the bulk of our original ward was thrown into the 8th ward when The Stake President Who Shall Not Be Named redrew the boundaries.)

I had decided a couple weeks ago that my Christmas present to myself was going to be going to 8th ward, and it was exactly the perfect thing to give myself. We walked into the chapel and there was Pam Craner, saying "Welcome home!", as she threw an arm around me. ... And it did feel like going home. I love those people!

I hugged more people in an hour than I have in... oh, probably the last year combined (I'm not even kidding). I said (and heard) more "I love you's" than I can count.

After church, we picked up Katie and the three of us caroled our way through the neighborhood. We were out for hours, visiting and singing with our friends.

Tonight, Mom and I were talking, and she said it had been great to be able to see me with my people. (She called them that, "my people".) They are mine. All of the people I visited with today, in all of the places that I saw them. I love them, and they love me.

I love so very many people. I've been blessed, my whole life, to be surrounded by fantastic, kind, good-hearted people, but these people... They are the support system of my childhood, my adolescence, my late twenties and my early thirties. They are part of who I am. I love them!

I love this day.

I love my life!

November 4

A couple weeks ago, when I was pseudo-preparing my workshop talk(s), I spent some time trolling through my blog, confirming dates and looking up data. I found some seriously awesome stuff.

I hope that doesn't sound too full of myself. (Who's kidding who? Anyone who's read half a dozen posts here knows that it's all pretty much about me.) But seriously, these posts are AWESOME. From posts of gratitude about specific prayers having been answered, to photographic evidence of tumors past, there's some pretty fun stuff archived here, folks.

I thought it would be fun to do a post that did nothing more than link back to some of the oldies but goodies. (Click on the dates and they'll take you to the original posts.) I hope you all enjoy this little trip down memory even a little bit as much as I did.

Pictures:

June 21, 2012 - A comparison/contrast of Tumor Tummy 2010 and 2012

June 12, 2012 - Showcases the growth of my new little friend from June 2 to June 10

July 14, 2010 - Before and afters of my first surgery

June 22, 2011 - Anniversary photo shoot with 22.5 pounds of watermelon

June 22, 2011 - "Pregnant" pic with Jo in 2010, with follow-up of me in the same outfit, 12 months later

Direct Answers to Prayer:

July 9, 2012 - The Miracle of the Poop

June 12, 2012 - The Miracle of the Medical Release

June 20, 2012 - The Miracle of Family Getting Together (Best Medicine Ever)

Fundraisers:

June 16, 2012 - The First and Original Fundraiser of 2012, aka: the day my blog went viral. I wrote a post that was literally read around the world... and the help came pouring in.

July 4, 2012 - The Navajo Taco Fundraiser. A handful of friends of in my hometown gathered together and cooked up a storm... A storm that brought in enough money to replace a full month's income

August 1, 2012 - The Car Wash Fundraiser. A few of my local girlfriends spent a couple hours washing cars in a McDonald's parking lot. Between their hard work, the generosity of both friends and strangers - and one sweet homeless man who emptied his pockets - my rent was paid in August.

September 27, 2012 - People do not suck. The email to Dr. G releasing stats and info from the three fundraisers done over the summer.

Aha Moments and Testimony:

March 3, 2012 - Sometimes peace can sneak right up on a person.

February 13, 2012 - There is a plan. There has to be one. I will accept no other reality.

Because some people are silly enough to think I am always strong and/or brave, I give you some posts about seriously hard days:

February 6, 2012 - Dr. W had told me that there was a special blend of chemo that he thought would work. Many sleepless nights ensued. ... Until I met Dr. H, who advised that surgery was still the game plan. (I heart medically-induced whip lash.)

February 8, 2012 - The day I learned (the hard way) to NEVER leave the house without a bottle of Ativan at my disposal.

May 20, 2012 - One of those (luckily, few and far between) days when the sick and the tired caught up with me.

Gratitude:

August 29, 2012 - A Thank You Note to all the world

June 14, 2012 - It was like EVERYTHING in the world was going right, the week before my last surgery.

July 17, 2011 - My body blows my freaking mind.

February 14, 2010 - Valentine's Day 2010. ... I am pleased to report that the cancer hasn't done much in the way of changing most of the items/people on this list.

December 31, 2010 - New Year's Eve, 2010. Little did I know then that the summer of 2010 was just a warm-up phase. I meant every word that I wrote that night, most especially these:

I am grateful for the clarity that being sick brought me. That which has always been precious to me (family, friends, the gospel - life) has become truly treasured.

I've been writing at this blogspot for four and a half years. Almost half of that time, there have been posts pertaining to - or specifically about - the cancer popping up among random testimonials, book reviews, science project reports and love letters to my celeb crushes. In the last ten months I have written almost exclusively about what it has been like to be sick, to go through surgeries and treatments, about my friends and my family and all of the amazing things that have done for me.

The primary reason I went back through my blog was to verify data and confirm dates prior to speaking about it publicly. (I know that the cancer was in my abdomen, but I swear, sometimes, I think it was in my head. By which I mean: my brain is fried.) What I found as I searched through the past two years surprised me. Were there pics of distorted abdomens and freaky CT images? Yes, there sure were. Reports of hard days, and frustration with both my body and the health care system? Absolutely.

But there was also an overwhelming theme of gratitude.

I surprised myself with what I had written, almost two years ago. To go back to the 12/31/10 post:

I am grateful for my health. I am grateful for where I have been, because I survived it. I am grateful for wherever it is that I am going, because now I know that I am strong enough to go there.

Little did I know, in December 2010, where I was going. (To that same end, little do I know now, where I'll be in 2014.) But I have been strong enough to come this far, and I will be strong enough to keep going, wherever it is that I am supposed to go. Because if there is one thing that I have learned, it is that I will be made equal to whatever it is I have to go up against.

I'm so grateful for the written record that this little blog has been. I'm so grateful for the pictures and the stories and the opportunity this little corner of the www has given me to share my life with those of you who aren't physically here to do this with me. In my home, I am just me. When I write, and when you all read what is written, I have the strength of many.

Thank you for having cared enough to read what I have written, for laughing with me, for crying with me - for loving me. I could not have possibly done it without you.

July 25 - Christmas in July

Merry Christmas!!!

(in July)

Many, many moons ago, I lived with my cousin Julie (and our friend Elise, who we called Weez ... if you'd ever heard her laugh, you'd know where the nickname came from) and we would celebrate Christmas in July. Every year, we'd decorate our apartment. Put up a tree, throw garland around the place, make fudge and sugar cookies, watch holiday-themed movies... you get the picture. Every year. We'd have a Christmas party and invite our friends and family. One year we assigned our Cousin (with a capital C) Greg to read from Luke. Another year, I made both homemade eggnog and peppermint ice cream and we had so many friends/family come to the party that it had to go out onto the lawn. The year we lived in the blue house, we had a standing invitation to anyone who knew us to come over on Friday night to watch a Christmas movie with us. We'd publicize the week before what we'd be watching (Holiday Inn, White Christmas, It's a Wonderful Life) and anyone who wanted to come over for sugar cookies and a bit of holiday cheer was welcome.

Our house was a party. Who's kidding who? ... We were a party!

And one of the serious perks of living in Utah was the celebration of Pioneer Day on the 24th. Pioneer Day is a state holiday in Utah, so I'd be off work that day (giving us more time to bake and prepare - Julie was a teacher, so she was off all summer, anyway). ... Also, Pioneer Day was one of the two times a year that fireworks were legal. For the day of, prior to and after the holiday, fireworks were legal. Julie and I used to "carol" with sparklers. Up and down the halls of every complex in our ward, we'd go. One of us would light the sparklers while the other knocked on the door, so we'd be perfectly poised, sparklers in hand, ready to get out one quick verse of "We wish you a Merry Christmas (in July)" before the sparklers burned out. We had it timed perfectly, the singing would end right when the sparkler burned out.

Christmas in July was a magical thing. It's amazing, how easy it is to feel the spirit of Christmas as soon as you start to decorate/bake/watch movies/sing holiday songs. We had a whole lot of fun in those years, and we made a whole lot of memories. Not a July 25th goes by that I don't remember sparklers, peppermint ice cream, sugar cookies, my grammy's jingle bell earrings, and the BYU 3rd Ward. Christmas is too fun to only have it once a year...

And so I say to you, my internet friends... Merry Christmas (in July), and may the rest of your year be glorious and bright!

May 16

As some of you may already know, one of the more bizarre after-effects of my abdominal surgery of 2011 is a surgical hernia. It was found in September 2011, when I realized that I had a hard, kind of pokey-outy area in my belly button area. ... When I had my follow-up with the oncologist for my Sept scans, I asked about it and was told that it wasn't anything to worry about and should heal itself - in the next year or two.

Awesome, possum. Just what I wanted. A weird, bulging, area in my stomach that should heal itself in two years. ... But good news! Now I have another tumor that will have to get cut out of me, and the hernia will be corrected with that surgery. (And then I'll be super duper careful and ridiculously obsessive with the wearing of the binder to be sure this doesn't happen again.)

Every once in a while, I look down or feel my stomach and I roll my eyes at how lopsided my stupid stomach is. ... But when I mention it to a friend, they invariably say something along the lines of "I just don't see it."

People, my friends are liars. Well meaning and loving liars who are making an honest effort to draw my attention away from this (very obvious, thanks) flaw in my body. But still, they are liars.

Behold, the bump of 2012:

Note that I only look preggers on the left side of my stomach.

I mean, we're a far cry from the bump of 2010:

But I'm sure that no one's going to disagree with me that the (lopsided, thanks) bump of 2012 is a real thing and not just in my head.

I have my next scan in about 3 weeks. I'm curious to find out if my bump getting bigger is a result of my tumor getting bigger, or if it's just me eating too much cake combined with an unfortunate hernia that's making me even more pokey-outy. The upside? I can still breathe. So even if this tumor is growing, no way is it 22 pounds. ... This was the voice of experience, people. As long as I can breathe, I can live with a malignant growth inside me. (No pun intended, I promise.)

Just call me Lola

Even if I'm not wearing "a dress cut down to there", I do have a feather in my hair.

I figure, if the shoe (song) fits, wear (sing) it.

But I digress. A thing which is, sadly, typical. It seems that as soon as I have what I like to refer to as "song association" (esp if it's Barry-centric), I start singing to myself and the point of a post goes out the window. So sorry about that.

Anyhoo...

I went to an 80's themed birthday party a few months ago and was mocked (can you believe it?!) for my feathered hair-piece.

Mind you, the feathers were coming out of a pink fish that I'd sewn onto a barrette and clipped into my hair. (It was a cat toy. Before you join the throng and mock me, you just think about how many people you know who can fashion an accessory out of a 99 cent cat toy, some beads and elastic. Yeah, that's what I figured. ... From the thrifty/crafty angle, it's a pretty sweet feathered accessory, no?)



Anyway, I was mocked for the feathers. (The flip folder full of cat pictures I was packing around all night long didn't help, I'm sure.) Seriously. Mocked. People laughed out loud at it, and one sweet girl asked me what had made me think to put feathers on a barrette. Because, like, how was that "period"?

Clearly, most of the people at this party weren't alive in 1981. I was. I knew 80's fashion (specifically, about feathers-in-the-hair), because I lived it, baby!



No kidding. This is a circa 1981 pic of me wearing barrettes that I'd made with my very own hands at a Mother/Daughter Homemaking. (And how much do you love that I still have the same pointy chin and smirky look on my face? Hilarious!)

That my mother let me wear pink feathered barrettes with a blue and white polka-dot dress to have professional pictures taken is a testament to how she has always just kind of stood back and let me do my own thing (fashion sense be damned!), bless her.

And there you have it.

Me, with feathers in my hair. Just call me Lola.