Seeing Beauty Around Me

The other day around 5 a.m., I drew the blinds and sat in my favorite lazy boy. Borah, Trey's 26-pound Maine coon, practically apparated onto the arm of the chair and stared out the window. And so, as I drank my homemade peppermint mocha, Borah and I stayed there for the longest time, just watching and waiting.

The wind picked up; leaves scurried over rocks; and a fallen branch twirled, somersaulting across the driveway. That's when Borah's ears slid back with concentration. He looked from me to the edge of the yard, and as I followed his gaze, my heart stopped. The most beautiful buck I've ever seen stood clothed in moonlight, fur gently combed by the wind, and massive antlers stretching toward heaven. 

He turned toward us, studying both me and Borah as if judging our souls. Although I couldn't pull my gaze from his, I lost hold of the moment and suddenly remembered something from the past.

 

We bought our house in 2015, and on the first night, Sky and I were so excited that we popped popcorn, turned out the lights, and watched nature out the front window. We whispered with excitement and could hardly believe it when we counted 28 deer that came into our yard that night!

 

"This is the best moment of my life," Sky squealed at one point. "I'm so happy we moved to Idaho."

 

I hugged her. "Me too." So much had changed. I'd been a single mom with four young kids, and going it alone had been tough yet gratifying. Then, I ended up meeting the most wonderful man, and after dating a couple of years, we got married and moved the kids from Utah to Idaho. Looking back, sometimes I think my life really started when I moved here.

 

Anyway, as I watched the buck, I thought about my years in this house, how I'd been so grounded at first, focusing on all the right things. Then, I got my dream job, managing an entire newspaper. But somehow... between balancing spreadsheets, hiring and firing, writing, editing, and paginating, I somehow lost myself and became the Scrooge of the modern world. Life was about work and earning money, college degrees, and breaking news. I no longer had time to eat popcorn and stare out the front window, watching nature with my children... Then COVID came. The newspaper went under, and we all had to find new jobs. It was only a few months later that doctors diagnosed me with terminal cancer.

 

Everything crashed down: my expectations, self-imposed goals, and even how I saw myself. But from those ashes, something wonderful reawakened. One morning, I stayed huddled in a blanket, trying to warm my skinny body after cancer treatments. I'd been throwing up, worried I'd wake Mike or the kids. So, I stayed in the front room, trying to gather my thoughts. I opened the blinds, gazed out the window, and saw 5 deer that night. It hit me how close they walked to my bedroom. How ironic that such magic was so near every night, but I'd had no idea, too focused on menial things.

 

After that, if I hurt too badly at night or struggled emotionally, I started looking for animals. 

As months passed, I didn't just find beauty in my front yard, I saw it everywhere. And through it all, I became a better mother, wife, friend, sister, and daughter. How strange it took hardship for me to slow down and see the beauty around me. I'd been chasing so many things, trying to prove my worth to my parents and even my creator. I wanted to earn their love by writing books and getting promotions, but I'd missed the point. Life should be about relationships, building each other up, and ensuring people feel valued and loved.

 

Some days, I can get fixated on this diagnosis. It's easy to feel trapped and even scared if I think about the "what-ifs" too much. But other times—the vast majority—I've begun living: seeing the good. Even when I feel worse than normal, the kids enchant me; Mike seems like a miracle, and the deer in our yard… they're waiting at night, if I'm just willing to look for the magic around me.

 

My thoughts turned back to the present. The buck dipped his head down as if nodding with approval, then turned and bounded from our yard. I'm not sure if I've ever locked eyes with an animal that long—not ever—but it felt truly surreal. After the buck was far from sight, Borah curled up and fell asleep, probably dreaming about a huge deer hunt. As I snuggled into my perfect blue chair, I thought about how lucky I am to still be alive.

The Power of Peace

Do you ever have days when you sit and wonder, "What's the point?" It's not always like this for me; usually, I'm just so grateful to be alive that all other thoughts are shelved for another day. The inconsequential worries of yesterday no longer fill my mind, and it takes a lot to make me flustered or upset. But there are days when no one else is home, and I don't have to pretend to be "well" for anyone... When I'm all by myself, sometimes I feel like I'm in a hopeless situation with no happy ending. During those moments, I forget that my happy ending is now, making the best out of the present.

I get cancer treatments once a month—and then Zometa, an infusion for my bones, once every 3 months—and those infusions make me feel so ill for weeks upon weeks. Yet, they're the only thing keeping the cancer from growing. And without those, I wouldn't be here, typing this right now.

Anyway, I'd been having one of those down days when I got a text from Colleen Hancock. "Scott would love to see you."

So, without a second thought, I went to see my dear friend, who's become like family. The next few hours were a blur of laughter and storytelling. I even got to visit with Scott's amazing nephew (Kent) and his beautiful wife (Karrie), Gordon (the renowned artist), Colleen (the best baker in ALL of Idaho), and, of course, the legendary man of the hour, Scott Hancock!

Listening to and sharing stories about hilarious things that have happened, I somehow forgot about all of my troubles. I laughed so hard about possible sasquatch encounters and a chance meeting with a gigantic otter. I smiled big when Scott told me about his adventures as a young man. "We drove to California at the drop of a hat. Then we met a woman who really pursued me," he sighed, "but I turned her down."

"First time he didn't go for it," Gordon said, chuckling when Scott gave him a "side eye." 

"But spurning that woman might've been my first mistake."

"Why?" I asked, hanging onto this story like honey butter on cornbread.

"Well, I got in trouble. My dad was furious."

"Not just Grandpa," Kent said. "Grandma. Grandma was the one who got all worked up."

"Moral of the story," I said. "Never turn down a good woman?" 

"Maybe so!" Gordon agreed and broke out laughing.

It's funny how one different choice can change so much.

I gave everyone the biggest hugs goodbye and told Scott and Colleen how much I love them. "Thank you for letting me come visit today," I told them, more grateful than they would ever know.

A sudden nostalgia overtook me as I drove home, so I pulled off by a shaded tree, parked my car, and closed my eyes. The first thing I registered was happiness—normalcy—not feeling sick or flawed—just feeling valued and not judged for my limitations. But as I closed my eyes, I suddenly remembered sitting on a rock in Southeastern Utah. I grew up in the desert and, at times, camped so much that sandstone felt like a second skin.

Anyway, that particular day—near the San Rafael Swell—was in the high 90s. We'd been camping as a family, and everyone else wanted to hang out in the shade. Instead, I'd gone to sit on a sandstone boulder where I could see all around me for miles. A hawk circled above as I played my somber violin. Lizards scurried around far beneath me, and rocks gleamed in the sun. 

And as the wind brushed through my hair, I couldn't help but grin. I was made for the desert; I could've stayed there forever because, in those rustic hills, that's where I really felt G-d...

I opened my eyes, returning to the present moment... where I'd parked my car in the shade of a beautiful Idaho tree. I chuckled softly, watching snowflakes dance with one another before changing form and coating my windshield. How strange to think of the desert while being surrounded by snow! That's when I realized what had felt so nostalgic as I drove back from visiting Scott and his friends and family. 

They'd reminded me of that day in the desert because I'd finally felt peace... pure and simple.

Sometimes, the only things we really need are love and community. No matter how hard life gets or how insurmountable challenges may seem, the companionship of good people can give us the reprieve and courage we need to keep going.

So, I wanted to thank Scott, Colleen, Kent, Karrie, and Gordon. You lifted my spirits and reminded me how powerful peace can be. As I prepare to go to my monthly treatments again, I hope I'll find someone who needs kindness; maybe I can change their day as much as you brightened mine. I appreciate you so much more than you probably realize.

Love you,
Elisa

What's in Your Garden?

"Forgiveness is something I don't align with," a friend told me.

"What does that mean?" I asked. "You've never forgiven anyone?"

"No," she said. "I don't mean that; it's just that forgiveness doesn't make sense to me."

I'd called her asking for advice about someone I can't seem to forgive, and her response shocked me.

"I've always heard that saying," I said, "'forgive doesn't mean forget.' Is that kind of what you mean?"

"No. It's more of... Who am I to forgive?" she said. "Isn't that up to the Creator? If someone wrongs me," she paused, "I just get away from them. That's it. Fool me once doesn't apply to me. If someone tries to fool me, I throw all my walls up and leave."

"I knew you were a tough person, but… I don't know what to say." And after I hung up the phone, I thought about how much I want to forgive. Instead, I keep thinking about this person from my past, and with each thought, it's as if I'm tying myself to them with invisible strings. The strings of… bitterness. 

Although my rigid friend had views that differed from mine, at least she wasn't bitter, overthinking the past, and ruining the present. 

I called another friend the next day. It'd be interesting to hear what she had to say.

 
"Elisa! How are you?" Her voice lit with such excitement that it brightened my whole morning.

"I need your advice," I said. "It's about forgiveness."

She asked for more information and listened while I told her the entire story. (I even cried at one point.) "Getting cancer treatments makes me feel so gross, and I'm honestly exhausted. I need to let this go. It's like another kind of cancer," I finally said.

"You should surround yourself with positivity and people who love you. Especially with what you're going through right now."

"I think so, too," I said. I should surround myself with people like her. "Otherwise I won't be strong enough to keep going for Mike and our children." I sighed, then told her what I'd recently learned about the word "forgive." I'd looked up the etymology, and its meaning completely surprised me. "The root of 'forgive' actually means 'to no longer punish' or 'to not enforce a penalty.'" Oddly enough, I felt like I'd been punishing myself and not the person who wronged me. They were out there skipping around, enjoying that they'd left so many people behind. Yet, instead of letting the past go, I clung tighter, like a flippin' squirrel gathering nuts for winter! Except in this analogy, the food would be rotting and useless. How ridiculous? I need to hold onto goodness and hope. I need to hold onto the people who love me, like my husband and our kids, instead of the friends who stopped talking to me right after my diagnosis.

"I should let this go," I said after picturing myself as a frantic woodland creature desperately holding onto rotting things. "Do you…" I whispered then, so fatigued. "Do you have any advice for me?"

My friend said the most wonderful thing after that. "What do you want growing in your garden?" 

"Excuse me?"

"Metaphorically." Her words held such empathy. "What do you want growing in your garden, Elisa?"

"Good things," I said. "Definitely not weeds."

"So, let me explain what works for me: Every time I think about someone who I'm having a tough time forgiving, I've promised myself to immediately wish them well. I'll even sit and pray for them if I have to. And before long, I've always felt better because it changes my thoughts."

After we hung up the phone, I already felt better. It was so intriguing to get two different views on this topic. I don't think either person is wrong; they simply do what's best for them. And it hit me that I could take a page from each of their books.

It's good to protect myself from people who might hurt me. Before, I'd stay through thick and thin and often become a doormat for people, but now I can remove myself from bad situations earlier. Fool me twice… 

But I also found such wisdom in my second friend's words.

The next time I felt sad about this person who treated me differently than I'd hoped, instead of planting seeds of rejection and maybe even bitterness in my heart, I planted something much better: goodwill. 

Sometimes, I don't know if anyone hears prayers, much less answers them. I've often thought about creation being like a gigantic clock. It was formed, and no one meddles with it. That way, sickness, and hardships aren't personal. Instead, no one steps in, so everything will be fair. It's all chance? Maybe? 

Despite that, I did decide to pray. I prayed for this friend who abandoned me. I asked for her to be healthy and happy. I begged for her to never experience what I've gone through with poor health. I asked for her to have a wonderful marriage and grateful children. And by the end of this massive prayer, peace flooded through every bit of my being, and I knew I'd weeded my garden.

That evening, as I rested in bed, I thought how ironic it is that the root of "forgive" means "to no longer punish" because the only person I'd been punishing was… myself. And as a newness bloomed in my heart, I was ready to keep fighting, so I could spend more time with the people I love.

 

S'mores in the Sky

 Not long before my grandma passed away, she started her "happiness file." It's a simple recipe box filled with index cards. There are dividers for A–Z, months, and a section for photographs. Who knew a conglomeration of plastic and paper could offer courage and hope? Who knew it could help someone have the strength to keep living? Well, apparently, my grandma had an inkling... 

She'd write down every good and happy thing she could think of: advice and words of wisdom. And whenever she felt depressed, like a burden, or even sorry for herself, she'd open the file and feel at peace once more.

She could make it through life... for her family. And her own positivity somehow showed the way.

My grandma has been gone for quite a while, but the happiness file helps me feel like she's still with me. I love seeing her handwriting and reading her words. Anything from "Let people live their own lives!" to "Who are you becoming and how does that relate to the person you want to be?"

Just last week, I read something she'd written not long before her death: "Take a second look."

I thought about her words all day, and even when I went to a potluck at our local synagogue that night, I wondered what my grandma had meant. It's just that normally, the index cards' meanings are obvious, but this one seemed different. 

At the potluck, a woman I'd never met sat next to me, and after a moment of chatting, I decided to tell her about the words my grandma had written. "What do you think she meant by 'take a second look'?" I asked. "Something about perspective?"

"I think so," she replied. "That reminds me of something I've recently started doing." The woman explained how she leaves for work around 2 a.m. "I hated it," she said. "Hated the dark. The drive. The cold. Everything. Then, one morning, I decided to look up at the stars, take a few deep breaths, and just appreciate the morning. Now, it's one of my favorite parts of the day just because I took a second look."

It was incredible how she let go of fear and accepted the moment. "Your story about living in the present," I finally said, "is so inspiring. You know, just the other day, a friend of mine said that when the sun is out, we can't appreciate the beauty of the stars. I guess a lot of his loved ones have died, but he believes that stars are their campfires in Heaven. So at night, he sees those campfires and remembers all the people looking out for him even on the other side."

She smiled so thoughtfully. "When I go to work tomorrow, I'll remember the campfires in the sky. That's beautiful."

After I drove home, I gazed at the stars and thought about my grandma, her happiness file, and the campfires in Heaven. Maybe she's up there, roasting marshmallows and thinking about the irony that her happiness file helped her so much, and now it's helping me. I'm so grateful for her wisdom and the friendships I've made because of her words. Who knew I'd go to a potluck, meet a stranger, and leave inspired by a new-found friend?

Light in the Darkness

 I had a Godwink happen recently and wanted to tell you about it.

So, recently I’d been telling some family and friends about something I’m struggling with. Many of you know I’m converting to Judaism. But as part of this journey, I’m actually supposed to change my name to something that is Hebrew. 

Several weeks ago, my Rabbi went over about a dozen names with me. She found things that seemed as if they might fit me. But this is much harder than it sounds, and I want to pick the perfect name. After a lot of thought, I kept thinking about the name “Liora”—which means light. (I also thought about “Eliora”—light of G-d). But there are honestly too many choices, and I’d just been thinking how I desperately wish I could have some type of confirmation about the name Liora.

Anyway, this thought wouldn’t leave me, and it probably didn’t help that cancer treatments have been especially tough this month.

Despite that, I finally dragged myself out of bed and decided to go grocery shopping.

I’m truly a creature of habit lately, and there’s a place I always park. It’s the handicap area, right up front. But after I parked this time, something incredible happened! 

Somebody had put a painted rock right in front of the parking spot! It was later in the day, and the golden-painted sun shone so brightly in my headlights. I got out of my car, so excited to read the words on the rock, and I gasped as I held the rock in my hands. 

“Be the light in someone’s darkness,” I read the words aloud and studied every detail about that rock. You could see where the weather had worn off parts of the paint and even chipped away at pieces of the rock itself. I realized then that the rock had probably been sitting there for quite a while! How many times had I parked in that spot and missed a miracle waiting right in front of me?! That alone is such a good lesson: There are all these beautiful things around us, but we have to be aware and open; otherwise, we might miss them. 

I decided to take the rock and put it on my desk. But I didn’t want to go without leaving something behind, so I bought a really uplifting card and taped it where the rock had been. I hoped everyone who saw it would feel inspired, but I also wanted the rock artist to see it.

It’s interesting because the next day, I returned to the grocery store and happened to tell the cashier about this. “It’s confirmation about the name Liora,” I said. “I’d just been wondering if I should pick that name—which means light. I can hardly believe I immediately FOUND a rock that talked about being the light in the darkness! It was such a godwink.”

“You just gave me chills,” the cashier said, beaming so much. HER name should be Eliora! “I can hardly wait to tell the artist,” she whispered.

“Wait?! You know her?”

The woman nodded. “She’ll love this story. You know,” she paused, looking at me with wonder, “she leaves those rocks, hoping to bring people joy. It’s all she really wants.”

I wondered then if she was the artist, but I didn’t say anything. She would’ve told me if she wanted to.

So I left the store, knowing what my new name would be and feeling as if life couldn’t possibly get any better. 

Uplifting Despite Circumstances

An incredible group of women were traveling on a bus when they got into a huge car accident and ended up passing away. Unfortunately, there was a long wait to get into Heaven, so an angel came over and told them they belonged in Heaven, but a bunch of paperwork needed to be done. They’d need to wait in Hell for a while, but it wouldn’t be… forever. “Don’t worry,” he said. “A representative will come and get you soon.”

The afterlife must be a LITTLE bit like Earth because things didn’t go as expected, and after a while, the women had been in Hell for a very long time. 

Finally, Heaven got a call from someone down below. “You’ve gotta come and get these ladies; they’re making a mess of it down here! They’re ruining everything!” He sighed with exasperation. “They’ve already started all these fundraisers. They opened a hospital and have started helping the needy and making things easier for people who are being tortured. But the worst thing—the thing we can’t abide…” He took a deep breath. “They raised enough money for us to get air conditioning, and it’s being installed tomorrow!”

Ironically, we heard that joke on the way to the cancer center because that’s exactly what Indy did after she brought me to treatments. She smiled and waved at patients. She complimented a somber woman on her beautiful blouse and gave an older man a bumblebee pin. She lifted everyone up, and it seemed like she had left a trail of happiness in her wake.

“Did you notice there aren’t a lot of kids here?” I asked her.

“Yeah, why is that?” she said, looking around.

“If kids have cancer, they go to the children's hospital, and not many parents bring their kids here. People under 18 weren’t even allowed to the Huntsman during COVID.”

Indy went on to say that the cancer center is happier than she expected. “The staff is nice, and most patients are in such a positive mood.” 

I suppressed my surprise and nodded. “I think, for the most part, people here are positive because they’re fighting hard to hang onto life. They’re grateful for what they have…” I’ve visited the cancer center many times, and although Indy went with me when she was younger, I didn’t realize she’d even been thinking about the Huntsman when I went there. It surprised me she thought it would be sadder. 

“Fighting cancer IS tough,” I finally said, “but it does put things in perspective.”

Before we left the center, I watched as Indy continued making the day better for everyone around, and then it hit me: Most people were positive there, but Indy lightened everyone's moods. She saw the good and inspired others to be brave enough to see it, too.

After we drove home, I gave Indy the biggest hug. “People there wouldn’t even know what you’re experiencing,” I said. “I overheard you talking to your boyfriend the other day. I know this must be so hard on you. I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For wanting to make other people’s days better even though I know you’re going through tough things too.” 

Indy smiled through her tears and looked at me with so much love.

“I know you’re going to beat this, Mama. I just know it.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Indy, you are amazing.” She made my day brighter, just like she did for so many other cancer patients. I just hope she can feel the happiness she brings into my life each and every day.

Appreciate What You Have

 It’s surreal thinking how long ago my grandma passed away, and yet she continues to have such a positive impact on my life. I thought about this while in the MRI machine for 2 1/2 hours last week and remembered something my grandma said to me before she died…

Maybe memories like this keep popping up because the 30th of January was the day my little boy, Zeke, passed away so many years ago. He was only alive for 2 1/2 months, and he stayed at Primary Children’s almost the whole time. It was the most horrific, harrowing experience of my whole life, and I think taking him off of life support is the worst thing I will ever do. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully move past it.

One of the only positive things that grew from that experience was how close I got to my grandma. She started calling every day while he was alive just to make sure I was okay. And sometimes, she’d call more than once a day after he passed. 

Her health began failing a few years later, and she told me something sobering during one of our many conversations. “Elisa, you see me in St. George about 2–4 times a year. Usually, you’re here a day. Well, I’m getting a lot worse, and I started thinking if I passed away next year, that only gives us about four more days together.”

This comment hit me. Four more days. It’s odd how we think about the time each year and the importance we put on menial tasks…things we do to fill our days and years. Conversely, I DO recognize that having a purpose is important, but in the process of trying to attain our goals, we often lose perspective.

Oddly enough, on the anniversary of my first son’s death, I overheard a man on a business call. He said, “I’m a doer, and you’re a doer! Do you know why I surround myself with doers?! So we can get more done!”

I saw so much of myself in that man but wondered if he understood that no one ends up on their deathbed, asking to be surrounded by piles of money—no one asks for crap that they bought. They ask for their family! And if we haven’t spent quality time with the people we love, will they be there for us? How many “days” have we spent with THEM? Did they feel like a priority? 

We’d been in line, and this man ended up butting everyone, bypassing dozens of people in his hurry through life! People gaped at each other, stunned, but that’s when Mike noticed something strange. 

“He left this!” Mike held up an electronic device the man had forgotten, something we knew he’d need later. Being inconsiderate and rushing around so much cost him time in the long run! It just goes back to my grandma’s point about time. 

It’s sad because after my grandma made that comment about how many days we had left together, she actually died within about six months, and I only got one more day with her. One. Single. Day…

So, I just wanted to remind you to appreciate the time you have. Appreciate your family and friends. Never let a day go by when they don’t know how much you love them because life is unpredictable, and I’ve come to believe that the most valuable thing any of us can do is make a positive difference for the people around us, especially the people we love. 

It’s cliché for a reason, but now is all we really have. Make it count.

Hope from a Stranger

“Someone said cancer is overtaking my life,” I typed, sobbing as I messaged my friend, Jess. I thought about sharing more, then erased the words several times. Most of my friends and family don’t understand what this journey is like, especially at this age. Often, I hold back, censoring myself because I don’t want to complain and push people away. It’s a tough place to be, but Jess is around my age, honest, and usually so understanding.

I’ve leaned on her quite a bit, to the point that I felt like I needed additional help; that’s when I started counseling again last year.

“You’d do better in group sessions,” the counselor said after only a few months.

“Why?” I asked. I’ve never had a counselor do something like that before.

“They’d understand your circumstances because they’re going through it too. I know what I’m supposed to say, but I’ve never had terminal cancer… I think you need to talk with people who understand.”

Her honesty was refreshing, despite that I haven’t dared to start group sessions again. I did them a while ago, and many of the terminal patients I met have died, and that's beyond devastating.

“Do I…” I typed the words, so nervous my hands shook. “Do I talk about cancer a lot?” I finally asked Jess something that's worried me for months. If anyone would respond with kindness and reassurance, I thought it would be her.

“If I’m honest,” she wrote back, “you talk about cancer all the time. It’s already hard enough SEEING that you’re suffering, but now your kids and husband hear about it all the time, too. You need to stop letting cancer ruin your life.”

I bawled after that; my face puffed, and my eyes turned red.

Luckily, I’d calmed down when my mom talked with me. “Elisa, you know how I’m playing the drums in that band?”

“Yes,” I said, setting concerns aside and feeling so happy for her. “You guys are awesome!”

“They’ll be over tonight, and they want to meet you.” She paused for effect. “Bill, the lead guitarist, said you're welcome to jam with us.”

So I decided to practice with them, but it was a struggle because I wasn’t feeling my best. “Are you okay?” my mom asked at one point. “Are you in a lot of pain today?”

I shook my head, lying. I’d already felt terrified about oversharing, but after reading the texts from Jess, my fears grew. “I’m great. Really.” But I’m not. I’m undergoing radiation again AND new cancer treatments because the cancer is growing. They're exhausting and debilitating. They make you nauseous and sick all the time. And unless someone has experienced this first-hand, I don’t think they truly understand.

Just after noon, I met everyone in the band. Denver, the rhythm guitarist, spoke with me for a little while. His kind nature and Scottish accent immediately drew me in. I had the best conversation with him and had no idea he knew about my diagnosis until he said something that surprised me.

“You know,” he finally whispered, “my mother had melanoma. She did eventually die from it, but she lived to be 70!” He patted me on the back. “So don’t lose hope, girl. You might have a long time yet.” Then he winked at me.

Tears filled my eyes because a perfect stranger had acknowledged how serious this fight is, and in the same breath, he’d also given me hope. 

We played three songs as a group. My mom and I smiled, shifting speed and taking cues simultaneously like we always do while jamming together. My previous worries dissipated, floating up so many octaves that I became obliviously unaware.

After we finished playing, I thought about how incredible playing felt. I didn’t worry about how I walked or hunched from the side. I didn’t fret over talking about cancer too much or too little. Instead, I loved how nimbly my fingers could still move, dancing up and down the fingerboard, turning strings and wood to sounds that change the climate of an entire day. 

“Please, please play with us for our gigs.” The bassist shocked me. “We only play once a month.”

“I wish I could, but I play a few songs and get too tired.” 

“Well, you really can fiddle!” Denver interjected. “I’m so glad we got to hear you play.”

After almost everyone else had packed up and left, Denver lingered in the entryway.

“You,” he said, then stood straight. I wondered what he’d wanted to say. “You’re…” So many thoughts seemed to swirl in his brain, but instead of saying anything, he thought hard. “You’re the best!” Then he pointed to me and gave me the brightest smile. “Hang in there.”

After Denver left, my mom turned to me. “Not bad for a group of people in their 60s and 70s.”

“Are you kidding?!” I said, giving her the biggest hug. “You guys are AMAZING! Especially you and Denver!”

Learn From Others

I opened my grandma's happiness file and read the words she'd written in 1998: Learn from others. This brought back a memory of something that happened when I recently went to the radiation oncology clinic. 

A kind-looking couple, probably in their 80s, talked so earnestly. At one point, the man must've noticed my interest because he turned to me and smiled.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said, "but you got radiation once and said you'd never come back?"

"It was... different than I expected," he said. "Is this your first time?"

I shook my head and told him I'd been there multiple times.

"So you know how hard it actually is?" he whispered. "The fatigue? And nausea?"

I nodded. "I'm just so grateful to be alive." I sat back in my seat. "If you don't mind my asking... what made you decide to get radiation again?"

 "Like you said, it kept me alive." 

He squeezed his wife's hand, and she finally spoke, explaining that ever since her husband first went into remission, he started a progress log, writing down what everyone in their family had been up to. After the cancer returned, they went through the log together and highlighted the best moments of every month.

"There were so many things in my life that I didn't really appreciate until I got sick," he added, and I nodded with understanding. 

"I looked back at all of the time—and years—I would've missed if I hadn't gotten radiation the first time. After reading through the progress log, it felt surreal how everyone in my family grew so much as people. And I got to watch. I had a front-row seat for all of it." He smiled reflectively. "A couple of our grandkids graduated from college. One of them even got married! I just can't imagine missing out on that or missing the look of pride on our son's face."

The two of them turned to each other with such love, and the woman actually had tears in her eyes. 

So, I heard an incredible reminder from a couple of strangers. And when the nurse called me back to my appointment and I spoke with the radiation oncologist, I didn't feel quite as hesitant as I had before. 

"How are you doing today?" my doctor asked me.

"Much better," I said, and I meant it.

Success is Subjective

I’m not sure if you’ve heard of the Frequency Phenomenon, but I’m sure you’ve experienced it. An example would be when you buy a car and suddenly see that same kind of car everywhere. Or you could be thinking about butterflies, then find a documentary about them, receive a butterfly sticker, and maybe even see one in real life—all within a short period. Anyway, I’ve been doing that with the word “persevere,” and I’ve been wondering if it happened so I could help a kid who came over to our house earlier this week...

I’d already been thinking about perseverance, but this didn’t get odd until I opened my grandma’s happiness file. I’ve talked about this file before. My grandma suffered from pretty severe depression, but she came from a time when people didn’t see therapists or look for help when they struggled with mental health problems. So, trying to solve this on her own, she wrote on dozens of index cards, sharing what makes her happy. Then she put the cards into an old recipe box so that whenever she felt down, the cards waited with something better to focus on… something that made her happy.

 
After I got diagnosed with cancer, I wished I could talk with my grandma, but she’d passed away so many years before. Now, her happiness file and words of wisdom have become like a lifeline from Heaven, and I’m grateful to read her notes whenever I’m sad, too.

The other day, I pulled out a card from the happiness file. I expected to read what the cards normally say: a quote, inspiration, or words of encouragement. But the card this time only said one word… PERSEVERE. Hoping for something more to ground me, I went to a jar I have that’s filled with daily inspirations, and it talked about “your story.” "What does your story say about you?” It went on to talk about strength and resilience, and then the end of the card talked about—of course—perseverance.

Not long after this, a family friend came over to our house. “I just haven’t accomplished much,” he said. “All these kids I’ve graduated with, they’ve accomplished so much. They’re going to school. Some of them have graduated already, and they have awesome careers. They’re making so much money. And what do I have to show for my life?”

“You’re only 21,” I said. Then I took a deep breath. “And with my fight against mortality and death… I’ve shifted my focus. What really matters in life... What I consider to be "successful," has changed. I guess I’ve just fully realized how subjective so much of this is.”

“So what do you think success is?” he asked.

“Life—to me—is all about relationships. What matters most to me now is making a positive difference for the people I love. I’ve had to work hard to persevere through a lot, but my family keeps me going.” I recently got some tough news. I’d been getting so hopeful because the cancer in my body hadn’t grown since August of 2024, but they just found a new tumor in my pelvis and another possible tumor in my spinal cord this January (2025). I didn’t relay any of this to our family friend; I didn’t want to place that burden on him and detract any more from his current struggles. "I just hope you know what an incredible person you are," I said.

“Have you ever felt like a failure?” he asked, and I nodded. “It’s such a terrible feeling. I’m stuck in a hamster wheel, not going anywhere.”

“I know this might sound… strange…But can we pull up your Facebook page?”

“Um.” He got out his phone. “Okay, Yeah.”

I flashed through his pictures and smiled. “You look happy, and so does everyone around you.”

“That was during a family vacation.” He laughed. “We didn’t have much money, but we had the best time anyway.” He paused. “You know, it was actually more fun than the vacations when my parents had more money.” He continued telling me about other experiences, funerals, weddings, and hiking trips.

“This was all in 2024?” I asked, and when he confirmed, I said, “You did so much in a single year! And look at all of these people, these people who love you. You’ve impacted their lives. You make such a difference.”

I watched as some new realizations dawned on him while he scrolled through pictures. “I have done a lot this year, haven’t I?”

“You have. It was so neat seeing how happy everyone was in those pictures with you.”

“You really think the most important thing is relationships?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Not a career? Getting an education?”

I shook my head.

“Not money?”

“Nope. I really think it’s about relationships and being kind. That’s it." I took a deep breath. "I know you're worried about your future, but don’t worry. You’re gonna go far in life. You have the two most important skills: you’re kind, and you’re a hard worker. You know how to persevere and still make a difference for other people. So, don’t be too hard on yourself. Everything else will fall into place.”

He nodded. “Hey, thanks, Elisa. I… I do feel a lot better.”

It was such a surreal experience, literally witnessing as at least some of the weight and stress left this kid. I just hope he knows how many incredible things he's doing right now—in the present. He's making a difference for everyone he knows.

Anyway, after he left, I thought again about my grandma’s word from the happiness file (PERSEVERE) as well as the daily inspiration. If we could all look back at our lives and see what a positive difference we’ve made for other people and what our stories show about us... If we could see how hard we're striving and persevering just to make it through life... I think it could change how we live, help us give ourselves grace, and make us a lot happier about the people we’re striving to be.