1. Number of children who will get cancer: 1 in every 300.
2. Number who will not survive: 1 in 5.
3. Number of children diagnosed with cancer each school day: 46.
4. Number of children who die of cancer every school day: 7.
5. Number of children currently fighting cancer: 35,000.
6. Number of new drugs developed for childhood cancer in the past 25 years: One.
7. Percentage of cancer research money spent on childhood cancers: 3%.

We all have causes that are close to our hearts. This is mine. You can click on my tab “Childhood Cancer” and read more about why it matters to me. This month, you may see gold ribbons on people’s shirts and cars. We have these ribbons to remind us of the many kids battling cancer and of the ones who are with God now. When you see them, I hope you’ll think about these kids and their families. Go Gold!

Yes, the end is near…concerning my favorite television show, Lost, that is.

As I write, two episodes remain, though one is reportedly a 2 1/2-hour series finale. The last several episodes of this epic show have provided answers to numerous questions we’ve asked for several years now: Who are the skeletons in the cave? What are Jacob’s origins? How did the Man in Black become a “smoke monster”? What is the source of the mysterious whispers? Why is Richard ageless? Et cetera, et cetera. Some of the answers have disturbed me (particularly the shattering of my ideal of the Jacob character, who seems more clueless than I imagined), some have confirmed my suspicions (the Man in Black is perhaps less evil than I thought), and many have only provoked more questions (I still don’t know the purpose of the Island).

Usually, after watching an episode, I head over to Entertainment Weekly.com to read Doc Jensen’s unpacking of the story. Often much of what he writes flies over my head, but I think this reflection on last week’s episode finally highlights the point of the entire series:

It could be that Lost is philosophically relativistic and religiously pluralistic—but given everything else we’ve [seen] on the show, I think what’s more likely is that Lost just doesn’t trust human beings enough to know “the right answer.” We are too flawed, too damaged, too biased, too selfish, too incapable, too limited, too mortal, just plain too much of this world to be able to really and fully know what this world is really all about. To paraphrase Mother: All our answers will only lead to more questions. It’s an infinite progression into infinite regression—”turtles all the way down” cubed…. I don’t think Lost is saying to stop pursuing truth. Not at all. I think it’s more concerned with how we conduct our search and how we can labor with our neighbor in their search. Because lord knows that the bloody, brutal fight over all this stuff remains more troubling and terrifying than ever. (See full article at All About Lost.)

Interpret these words as you will. I do the same for myself. Lost has been one great big mysterious pile of confusion. Entertaining, yes, but rather frustrating for its continued sense of the unknown and the untold. Kind of like this journey of faith I’m on. I know many people who are completely at peace with the answers they’ve found in their spiritual lives. Though they may have further questions, they are okay with not knowing and they accept that they “see through a glass darkly” for now (1 Cor 13:12).

Sometimes I wish I were like this so the incessant questions about God and faith would stop torturing me. Then again, I find that the process of discovery (or continued mystery) is rewarding in itself. I think Doc is right. Most of us are completely incapable, for various reasons, of reaching Ultimate Truth here on earth. As I watch Lost, most revelations only lead to more questions. As I journey through my faith life, I find that the same thing happens. I feel at peace with one aspect of my beliefs only to question another.

Wikipedia cites a book by Stephen Hawking to explain Doc’s “turtles” comment. Hawking said a scientist once explained the arrangement of our galaxy—the sun in the center and everything orbiting around it. At the end of the lecture, a lady said, “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.”

The scientist replied, “What is the tortoise standing on?”

“You’re very clever, young man, very clever,” the lady said. “But it’s turtles all the way down!” (From Hawking, A Brief History in Time [Bantam Books, 1988])

Say what you will about Hawking, but this story resonates with me. The answers to our questions about something as grand and unfathomable as God will simply bring more and more questions. And everyone will have his or her own idea of how to answer them.

Sadly, I think religious sects (and divisions within those sects) will continue to war about their ideas of the Truth. It is indeed a “bloody, brutal fight,” and it is “troubling and terrifying.”

I think Lost, as a series, has touched deeply on the fact that we may not all know exactly where we’re going, why we’re here, what God means to us, how life and death and afterlife will play out, or how we got here in the first place. However, the show has shown effectively that, even in our ignorance of these things, we can still make choices and take leaps of faith that have widespread implications—for good or for evil.

What will I choose?

One died on April 13. I knew him in high school and lost touch soon after graduation. He was a brilliant, witty, tortured, terribly tragic soul. After more than ten years of substance addiction and struggles, he apparently lost his life at the hands of another. A few brief comments in his city’s newspaper noted his death at age 32, deeming it a possible homicide. A few people who cared about him are hoping to give him some small semblance of a memorial service.

One died on April 17. I knew him through the vast collection of his writings that I have edited over my years of work with a local publishing company. He was, to quote the executive vice president of my company, “a combination of care, insight, wit, tenacity, common sense, faithfulness, and hard work.” Loved by a dear wife and daughter and thousands of others who either learned under him or worshiped under his leadership, he lived a full life and was a powerful agent for change in the Baptist denomination. Multiple-page obituaries and editorials honor his life and work. At 82, he might have lived longer, but it is certain that he could not have lived much fuller than he already had. Caring loved ones are giving him two separate memorial services this week.

Two deaths. One barely noticed. One deeply mourned. Both infinitely significant in their own ways.

I will remember each man.

I think about the other ways she grew this year. Her silky blond hair that falls straight no matter how I style it now touches her shoulders. Her face, though still round and smooth, is more expressive. Her hands gained amazing dexterity that allows her to cut impossibly small shapes from paper and scatter them all over the floor.

Ladybug is a package of contrasts: adorable and rowdy; physically loving and abusive; sweetly quiet and deafening; curious and indifferent; daring and fearful.

She is a fascinating balance (and sometimes unbalance!) to her more observant, cautious sister. She makes us laugh, and she makes us wring our hands. We love her deeply, fully, and unconditionally. Always. Happy belated birthday, my spunky three-year-old!

Yesterday, I received a call from Dr. GI’s assistant, who told me the definitive diagnosis. They want Butterfly to begin taking a maintenance medication called Apriso, whose purpose is to keep a person in “remission” from UC. This means people take it to keep their symptoms at bay and control inflammation. In two weeks, Dr. GI wants to see the three of us. If he thinks Butterfly has made no progress, he will put her on a short-term steroid to get the condition to the point where we can maintain remission.

Of course, we’ve consulted the great Internet to research this disease, explore its implications, and learn more about the treatments. As with any health problem, treatments and symptoms range from mild to extreme.

We are glad Butterfly’s problem is diagnosed so early, but also sad that she will likely live with this condition and be on medication for most of her life. We are grateful that UC is at least treatable and, with good care, not life-threatening, but we are heartbroken that our little girl has to deal with this at all.

I let my mind wander into the future, when her digestive issues may cause her emotional as well as physical discomfort and embarrassment. I think about the possibility that she may have to undergo surgery in her adult years. I wonder what kinds of side effects the medication may cause, even years from now.

Believe me when I say we are so thankful for a happy, otherwise healthy child who is blissful and relatively oblivious to the seriousness of her problem. We know that much, much worse illnesses and diseases strike too many children to name. Even so, please understand that we still grieve for what she has. To one who dearly loves a child, any problem is one problem too many.

Thanks again for everyone’s comments, support, prayers, and love. We’ll take care of Butterfly, and she’ll be fine regardless of any obstacles her condition might put in her path. And I have no doubt that she’ll take care of us too. She already does.

No. Instead, you say, “Sweetie, the doctor wants to take pictures of the inside of your tummy. We want him to be able to see everything, so your tummy has to be clean. It can’t have food in it. This weekend, you get to have special things like all the juice you want, popsicles, and jello! We’ll mix a special medicine into your juice to help you go potty. On Monday, the doctor will help you fall asleep so he can take pictures, and then we’ll go home and you can eat! Okay?”

The King and I bore the burden of knowledge for more than a week without telling our daughter. We wondered how she’d take it. I, for one, am grateful for a husband who took Butterfly aside on Saturday morning, cuddled her in his lap, and gently relayed the news to her. From her reaction, you’d think he’d offered her a trip to Disney World.

GG, the King’s mother, came to take Ladybug away for two nights. Without her sister’s competition for attention, Butterfly thoroughly enjoyed her two full days of having Daddy, Mommy, and Nana (my amazing Queen Mother!) all to herself, complete with new activity books, food coloring to mix into shaving cream, a new movie, a fresh box of colored chalk, and plenty of one-on-one time with each of us in turn. She drank her Miralax-laced juice like a champ, handled the resulting potty trips with grace, and suffered through a few bites of jello and sips of broth. Only on Sunday evening did she begin to complain of an aching belly.

By the time we made it to the hospital on Monday morning for our 8:30 check-in, our girl was puny. She rarely spoke, grew listless, and fell asleep several times as we waited in our little corner of what eventually became the recovery room, along with five other children getting upper GI scopes. One by one, the kids went away, got their IVs, and returned, only to leave again on their rolling beds for their procedures. A kind nurse came to give and get information, noted Butterfly’s condition, and quickly ordered fluids for her IV. The King carried her back for access, and later he reported that once her beloved Mickey Mouse got his IV, she took hers well. Apparently, the “magic cream” they rubbed at the site made the needle stick painless.

The fluids perked her up a little; she watched the Disney Channel while we waited for her turn. Nothing prepares you for witnessing powerful drugs put your little one to sleep. Even so, Butterfly (and her parents) did well. After the brief procedure, the doctor (whom I’ll call “Dr. GI”) spoke with the King and me, telling us about his findings. Unfortunately, Butterfly has some form of colitis. We are waiting for results from the biopsies Dr. GI took, which will help him determine between ulcerative colitis or Crohn’s Disease. He thinks colitis is the most likely diagnosis, which involves less of the digestive system than Crohn’s.

We were all surprised, considering Butterfly’s healthy weight, eating habits, and active lifestyle. Dr. GI said the lining of her colon bleeds easily and sloughs off. We saw pictures, and the problem is obvious. Basically, this is worse than we expected but not as bad as it could be. Medication can help control the chronic condition, and she will likely have a thriving adulthood. With good treatment, Butterfly can avoid any complications from the disease. I know enough about childhood afflictions to be grateful for something treatable.

The King and I are still trying to process what we learned. Of course, our consult with Dr. GI once the results come back will help. For now, we enjoy watching Butterfly as she enjoys life—creating her artwork, making “soup” outdoors from various nature items, playing with friends, telling us about her days at school, and aggravating her little sister. For now, we live.

We’ve all been there: bearing a burden for days at a time, maintaining relative control of our emotions, moving through life as usual despite the knot in our stomachs. And then we reach the boiling point.

For me, it was last Friday morning. In December, I wrote generally about a medical issue Butterfly faced. Since then, the King and I have debated whether to go through with the recommended test. Meanwhile, Butterfly continued to have sporadic episodes of diarrhea and bleeding. We finally realized that the colonoscopy, a test most people don’t think about until they’re fifty, was necessary for our five-year-old. (Check back for more regarding the test and results.)

So there I was on Friday morning, after a week of knowing the scheduled date for the scope, mentally preparing myself to deny my daughter food over the weekend, and it all boiled over. The girls were dressed for school, and I looked forward to the much-needed three hours of work time before the trials of the next days. We needed to leave in ten minutes. Then Ladybug, nearly ready to claim her place in the “Trying Threes,” refused to let me comb her hair. She also refused to comb her own hair. She whined, she resisted, and she attacked. Eventually, I calmed her. At the door downstairs, though, she refused to put on her shoes and had another meltdown. After buckling a placid Butterfly into her booster seat, I returned to the house to get my wailing younger daughter. At long last, my heart pounding in frustration (it was, after all, 9:00, and we were supposed to be at school), I sat at the steering wheel. Unbelievably, the car wouldn’t crank, apparently the result of a door left open for hours the day before.

That did it. For perhaps the first time, my girls saw me cry. It silenced their argument. I tried unsuccessfully to phone a friend, and then I just sat there struggling to compose myself. Several minutes passed, and then Butterfly said calmly, “Why don’t we just get out of the car?”

We did. We went inside. I was able to reach my friend, who graciously came and drove us to the preschool thirty minutes late, where dear, sweet teachers welcomed my girls with smiles and open arms. I got more than two hours to finish editing an overdue book for my supervisor.

For some, exceeding the boiling point is healing. It was for me. I spilled out the rough bits and discovered smoother waters beneath. Thanks to the physical release of sobs and the rescue of a priceless friend, I was able to move ahead with the path awaiting me. Sometimes we have to reach the boiling point before we can go forward. When I do, at least I have a little observer who puts life into perspective. Check out the picture Butterfly drew to capture the moment. Ladybug sits in the back seat. I’m in the front. Butterfly, my hero, stands outside the car, using her long super arm to try to push the vehicle out of the garage. “It didn’t work,” she told me. But look at her smile. She reminds me that, even when it doesn’t work, it will be okay.

Being better stewards isn’t necessarily easy because our society is set up to make life instant and convenient. Helpful steps like home-cooked meals with whole foods take a bit more time and planning than shoving a store-bought entree into the microwave. Rinsing and sorting various recyclable items takes more effort than simply tossing everything into the kitchen trash. Even so, I think many families can begin taking small, comfortable steps and work their way to a level that suits them. That’s what we’re doing.

Here are our recent steps on the road to more environmentally sound and physically beneficial ways of life.

1. We recycle aluminum, paper, glass, and plastics. We are fortunate to have a curbside pickup service for these. Some parts of our area aren’t serviced in this way, and it may require extra effort to get items to the local recycling center.
2. We buy more whole foods. This means I try not to purchase so many mixes or prepared items: no taco seasoning, store-bought bread, frozen hash browns, pre-made cookie dough, etc. Amazingly enough, this amateur cook who can’t even separate eggs has been making these things herself!
3. We strive to buy produce, dairy, and meats that are either organic or harvested in less harmful ways—less or no preservatives, pesticides, hormones, or other chemicals. These foods are more expensive, but I find that I actually use all of them rather than letting fruits and veggies go bad or leaving meat in the freezer for much too long. My friends and I have joined a group called Organics to You, which delivers local and/or organic produce and grassfed beef right to your doorstep each week. (We’re only in our first week, but we’re hopeful that this will work for us.)
4. We use washcloths instead of napkins and paper towels. I still buy napkins, but only for times when we have guests and I am embarrassed by my stained washcloths.
5. The girls and I are experimenting with more naturally sound toiletries. We use either Avalon Organics or Burt’s Bees shampoo and conditioner and Tom’s of Maine bar soap (all available at Wal-Mart). I purchase my homemade mineral makeup online from All Natural Face, and I am very satisfied with it, as the cost is comparable to or less than what I paid for Cover Girl, and it covers/accentuates well. I use Avalon Organics Vitamin C cleansing milk to wash my face. Lotion and deodorant are tricker. We need a strong lotion for Butterfly’s eczema. After checking Skin Deep, I found that our fragrance-free Curel ranks a 3 for hazards, so I’m okay with that. The Tom’s of Maine deodorant I tried made my skin burn and did not keep me dry, so for now I’ll stick with a fragrance-free, sensitive-skin product from Dove.
6. We use unbleached, unbromated flour from King Arthur for baking. Specifically, I’ve discovered a white whole wheat with the same nutrients as traditional whole wheat but a lighter flavor. It’s delicious in pancakes, waffles, cookies, and even brownies.
7. I actually bake our bread, finally using the bread machine we received as a wedding gift 8 1/2 years ago that, until recently, sat in the bottom of my pantry. Thanks, Heather, for showing me how easy it is to use! We haven’t bought bread from the store in more than a month.
8. We switched to pure butter rather than spreads* and to full-fat natural cheese rather than shredded and bagged low-fat cheese, which has pleased the King in particular.
9. I continue to strive to conserve water and power.

Every family is different, and we can all make small steps that suit us. I want to do more—get better with my cooking, perhaps even make my own yogurt (!), eventually move to safer dairy products. Maybe you, like us, can begin by taking one small step. Eventually, you may move forward to do even more.

* Ingredients in my tub of Country Crock: water, vegetable oil blend (including partially hydrogenated oil), tricalcium phosphate, salt, vegetable mono and diglycerides, lactic acid, potassium sorbate, calcium disodium edta, soy lecithin, polyglycerol, esters of fatty acids, zantham gum, vitamin E acetate, vitamin A palmitate, beta carotene for color, artificial flavor, cholecalciferol, whey. I don’t know what half of that stuff is.

Ingredients in my sticks of Land O Lakes unsalted butter: sweet cream, natural flavor. The taste is fabulous. Need I say more?

A few weeks ago, our Ladybug started coughing yet again. She’s used Xopenex nebulizer medication six times since her birth, and it usually helps soothe this cough. But when we medicated her only to have the cough return a week later, we grew concerned and consulted her pediatrician. It all culminated in an X-ray of her lungs. Fortunately, Ladybug took it in stride and refrained from crying. She did, however, sit shirtless on that steel table with a fearful look in her eyes that went straight to my heart. Again, no serious problems were found—only a confirmation of the bronchitis that her doctor already suspected.

It’s tough to find the line between caution and overreaction, to navigate the boundary between responsibility for your children’s lives and irrational hypochondria on their behalf. Yet, as the primary caregiver of our girls who spends hours with them each day, I notice the unusual. I saw my baby’s blue lips. I heard my toddler’s wheezing breaths. In both situations, I made the decision to get treatment for them and go the extra step to labs for tests. Fortunately, the girls were fine.

It is so difficult decide when something needs attention. Right now, Butterfly has another issue that seems relatively minor, but doctors think a test will help them decide the best treatment. They base this decision only on my reports. Noting the symptoms I listed, they are choosing to go a step further and get conclusive results. I imagine the whole thing will be at least as traumatic as Butterfly’s tornado cat incident, and it is likely that the examiners will find no serious problems. My girl may endure this just to calm her mother’s inner worries.

Of course, I hope that’s what happens: that it merely calms my nerves rather than finding a problem. Still, it’s on me. And that’s tough.

Though time and distance make me a bit more objective about certain situations, I will never completely lose sight of my teen self. My feelings raged so powerfully that I could barely contain them—frustration with my parents versus my deep love for them, powerful romantic love versus the ache of a broken heart, a desperate need for my friends versus a desire to be alone. If Stephenie Meyer does anything well in these books, it’s the way she portrays the roller coaster of the teenage heart. In reviewing the first film adaptation of the novel, NPR’s Kenneth Turan says, ”…the film of Twilight…treats those high-pressure high school emotions with unwavering, uncompromising seriousness; Laurence Olivier essaying Shakespeare didn’t approach his material with more reverence than is on display here.” He’s right. Meyer never pokes fun at the emotions, hopes, dreams, and yearnings of young people. That’s what struck me most about her books. (Well, right behind my head-over-heels fantasy love for a certain 104-year-old vampire, which was later challenged by my intrigue over the 16-year-old werewolf in book 2.)

The book series, translated into more than a dozen languages, has sold millions of copies and garnered mostly positive reviews. (See “Booksellers Find Life After Harry.”) Overall, I’ve viewed it positively as well. Recently, though, someone proposed the idea that maybe teen girls are taking away something unhealthy from these books. It’s all well and good for a grownup to read them with perspective, but what are they saying to young women?

What do you think, girls? Do these books/films inspire you to gravitate toward the “bad” boys? Do they support the idea that pining away for the one you love is acceptable when you’re 17? Are they suggesting that such powerful love and desire are okay when you’re still in high school? Do they make you seriously consider finding the love of your life and getting married right out of high school, not to mention pregnant? What do you think of Edward’s morals? Is he truly concerned with treating Bella respectfully, or does his inherent danger as a vampire outweigh his care? What do you think of Jacob’s words of caution to Bella? Is he right to insist that she takes Edward way too seriously, or do you think he simply wants her for himself and tries to make Edward less attractive?

I want to hear from you, Twilight fans! I’m especially interested in what teens and young adults have to say, but I also welcome comments from those like me who are decidedly NOT teens. Let the discussion begin!