Today is January 16. Do you know what that means? It means it’s my last day of radiation therapy for breast cancer! I had 15 sessions beginning December 26, every week day other than New Year’s Day (and no weekends, of course).

It went well, overall. Though getting up at 4:30 every morning and driving the 90 minutes to the hospital through some high elevations with horrible winter weather got old fast, the treatments themselves were easy. I experienced a wee bit of pinkness on my skin and a slightly-itchy rash, but that was pretty much it for side effects. Not too bad!

The weather was definitely the biggest obstacle. We had to get a hotel several times so that I wouldn’t miss treatment, and I used the time to finish up the novella I was writing and get caught up on other work that the commute interrupted. This January has definitely been WINTRY around here! We’ve been having super-cold (for us) temperatures, with the lows often in the single digits and only one day above freezing in weeks, which means the snow we got nearly two weeks ago is still lingering…and though the forecast kept insisting there was 0% chance of precipitation even in the high elevations last week, we in fact drove through white-outs and horrible roads that had me joking about hiring a dog sled team. (Image below is what was supposed to be a 3-lane highway…)

Instead, we just got another hotel room for the last few days, and I have zero regrets! It snowed again yesterday despite not calling for it, and I’m very glad we weren’t driving through it in the dark on those sketchy mountain roads.

This marks the end of the BIG treatments. I still have 6 immonutherapy injections to go (these are every three weeks), but they’re no big deal–it takes 5 minutes and I have zero side effects from them. Final reconstruction surgery is also in my future–when that happens depends entirely upon how quickly my skin recovers from radiation.

But the completion of radiation therapy brings me one MAJOR step closer to being DONE with cancer treatment! And that is a cause for celebration!

Thank you all for the prayers that have been offered to our Lord on my behalf!

I grew up in the United Methodist Church. I attended the same church every Sunday, and though once in a while we’d have joint activities with other area UMC churches, they were rare. And never were we encouraged to go to another church. When we went on vacation, I remember exactly one time that we attended a church in the area we were visiting, and I didn’t like it. At all. It wasn’t another UMC (I don’t honestly remember what denomination that church was…it may have even been non-denominational), and it felt weird to me. They didn’t sing the same songs, it didn’t feel the same, people didn’t act the same…and I wasn’t sorry that we didn’t go back to that church on our next vacation to the same place.

I liked my church. The one that was familiar. Where I knew the people and the order of service and the songs. It felt comfortable. It felt like home. And when I wasn’t home? Well, I’d just wait until I was again to return to church.

In college that got…tricky. We didn’t come home every weekend, but the churches we found around our school didn’t feel “right” either. We did eventually find a college-church-home, and we’re still friends with the young pastor and his wife from that church. But while I eventually felt like we belonged okay, we certainly never became members or anything as formal as that. And we still had no real compunction about missing when we were out of town or on vacation.

So when we joined the Catholic church and realized that there is an obligation to attend church on either Saturday evening or Sunday and that travel is no excuse to skip, I had a moment of panic. What about when I was on a writing retreat? Or we were on vacation? Did we seriously have to find another church to attend? Wouldn’t it be weird? Wouldn’t that mean those awkward feelings of “not my home” that I experienced as a kid? And having grown up with the reality of  churches being very territorial and possessive of their members, this just felt bizarre. “Wait a minute,” I couldn’t help but think. “You’re telling me that you want me to go to other churches?” Even in my three-church-parish, they encourage you to go to the other churches, not just your “own.”

Yeah, this took some adjustment to my thoughts.

And a week after we officially joined and this “obligation” became mandatory, I was traveling for a writers retreat. For the first time, I had to find a church that wasn’t “my own.” I had to go to a place I’d never been, on my own, and sit with strangers. And you know what I discovered?

This was a blessing I’d never fathomed.

As I drove to that unfamiliar church, I pondered why this was an obligation…and I realized something that has stayed with me ever since. The mass isn’t just a church service. Its focus is 100% around communion–a meal. God the Father is inviting all His children to gather together and partake of this most important meal, the one that unifies us to Christ, through Christ, and therefore to the Father, the Spirit, and the entire Church. It’s like a Sunday dinner with family, one that has been going on unbroken for millennia.

Why would I want to miss that?

And as I sat through that first service away from my home parish, and as I’ve done it time and again since, you know what I discovered? There was no awkwardness. No feeling of “not my home.” Because each and every Roman Catholic church in the world is reading the same readings. We’re singing the same words. We’re focused on the same thing–Christ giving Himself for us. The melodies are often different, yes, but once you know the liturgy, you know what to do in any church. You know when to stand together to pray. You know when to kneel before the King of kings. You know when to lift your hands in the Lord’s Prayer. You know when to wish peace for those around you. You know when to turn to extend that peace to those in the neighboring pews. You know when to go forward with your palms outstretched for that greatest Gift. You know when to return to your seat to pray your own prayer of thanksgiving.

Now, visiting other churches is one of my favorite things. I love seeing the buildings. I love seeing those strangers who are my brothers and sisters in Christ. I love experiencing the small differences as well as walking through the familiar steps. I love seeing the individual within the uniform. I love seeing pastors from different orders leading their congregations in familiar Scripture. I love knowing that no matter where I go, I’m home. Because home isn’t one particular church building or even one particular body of believers. Home is The Church. It’s not a building or a place anymore. It’s something bigger. Something grander. Something I can find absolutely anywhere.

In December, while we were traveling for vacation, we visited San Pedro’s in Marathon, Florida, where we discovered a prayer garden that absolutely took my breath away. On the way home, we took our Sunday in Savannah, Georgia, and attended mass at the basilica, a gorgeous cathedral that not only made me sit back in awe of the beauty–reminding me of the even greater beauty that comes in heaven–but making me want to visit again. Their amazing choir made me wonder how much more the choir of angels would have been when Christ was born. The soaring, star-studded ceiling made me think about our place in the vast universe of God’s creation. And the faces that smiled and welcomed us reminded me that these strangers are brothers and sisters.

And much like the best Sunday dinners with family, it never feels like a have-to. It feels like a get-to. I get to visit churches everywhere I go. I get to worship with others who love God and Jesus just as I do. I get to experience both similarities and differences. I get to take time out of my busy days and weeks and just dwell with the family of God for an hour.

I love that. And I laugh at myself. Because one of the things I hated when I was younger, that I avoided at all costs–being at an unfamiliar church–is now one of the things I most look forward to. Because now the focus isn’t on the people I don’t know or the pastor whose personality defines the church or what “sermon series” might be in progress; now it isn’t about the tempo of the worship music or whether or not you clap your hands. Now, the focus isn’t on me at all. It isn’t on the people. It isn’t on the worship team or the one behind the pulpit. Now, we’re all just participants in the REAL purpose.

Jesus. He is the star of every show. He is the reason for every mass. He is the focus of every service. The emphasis isn’t on the sermon but on the Sacrifice. And that will be the same wherever I go. The Scripture and homily are just the overture–the real point is what comes next. Just as in history, all Scripture, all events led to this one amazing thing: Jesus coming and giving Himself up for us. Jesus paying the debt. Jesus shedding His blood for us. Jesus becoming the Bread of Life and inviting us to partake of it.

Jesus invites us to be part of that meal every week. Because we need it. We need His sustenance. We need His grace. We need Him to become more and more part of us. He invites us every week because He knows that communing with Him and His church is the most important thing we’ll do.

I love the church I attend most often. But you know what? I love even more knowing that it’s not that church to which I belong–it’s The Church that I call home. And I can find that home absolutely anywhere in the world.