Dirty Laundry

I hate laundry. I hate the piles of laundry on my bathroom floor. I hate the spoiled laundry in my washing machine that I forgot to put into the dryer the night before. I hate spending money on detergent. I hate treating stains. I hate matching socks. I hate ironing. I hate putting clean clothes away.

But my kids? They LOVE laundry "day" (day being a general term as this "day" often exceeds a 24 hour period). They love to push baskets of dirty clothes to the laundry room. They love making the washing machine their "hoop" and the dirty clothes their "bee-kit ball". They love filling the dryer with wet clothes. And they absolutely love climbing on the mountain of laundry that awaits folding.

Many of their play time hours revolve around this monstrous pile of laundry on my couch. Two weeks ago it was their castle. Last week, their wall filled with pipes that needed "fixin'". This week, a cliff to jump off of into the water (the floor). They simply love laundry day. They don't view laundry as tiresome, an eyesore, or just another "to do". Their perspective (which, yes, is innocent because they really don't have the responsibility like I do) allows them to enjoy something that their Mama so thoroughly despises.

While true literally, each of us also has figurative dirty laundry. It is a fact of life:  there will be adversity. Mountains of troubles. Stains of transgressions. Stench of afflictions.

One of my biggest "dirty laundry" moments has been cancer. I have now dealt with thyroid cancer twice in the last two and a half years. The first time I was diagnosed I had a "bring it" attitude. I was upbeat. I was peace-filled. "Bring It On". I fought that cancer. I learned from that cancer. I put that cancer behind me. Or so I thought.

When residual cancer was found in my neck after my newest babe was born I was devastated. I had the world's hardest newborn and I had cancer. Again. What the heck? Who does that? Why me? What was God thinking? I was angry. I was in denial. To make matters worse I had postpartum hormones surging through my body and past knowledge of how hard surgery and radiation can be. I was no longer naive to the trial of cancer. I was no longer naive of how much harder a newborn was going to get before he got easier.

I felt beat physically, emotionally and spiritually. My perspective, my outlook, was poor. The lessons came slower and much, much harder. The peace was fleeting. The fears were overwhelming. I was Mrs. Pessimism (and, on some days, rightly so)!

It wasn't until two weeks after my surgery that I met a lady at church named Jane. She had sought me out because she had just had a diagnosis of thyroid cancer. She wanted to know my story. She wanted my advice. She needed my experiences in order to get the help she needed.

After conversing with Jane my heart broke and soared all at once. I mourned for her and the trials she was about to experience. But there was a pep in my step knowing that I had helped her in a small way. In that moment, my perspective shifted. I once again embraced the adversity. I thought an exhausted "bring it on if it means I can help someone else." From that day this journey has been easier. I still find my chest constricting with worry over next week's appointment where I find out if I need another round of radioactive iodine. But good has come from my trials thus far. This will continue if I will but believe in God, in myself, and in this eternal plan that I am walking.

My "dirty laundry" is being made clean. It's hard work. But I'm tackling that mountain by focusing on my perspective--the one thing I can control.

To read more about my journey with Papillary Thyroid Cancer i n 2011 click HERE.