Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 40

An atheist’s advice on defending Christianity (and other thoughts)

I have ten pages left of How to Defend the Christian Faith: advice from an atheist, but I doubt they’ll change the opinion I’ve formulated already. The book certainly accomplished what it set out to do: it made me think.

John Loftus writes in the introduction that many conservative Christians will bristle at the title and fear what a book like this will do to their faith, so I pride myself a little bit on not being one of “those” Christians – I like being challenged (well, to a point). The writing style itself though is pretty abrasive, and it’s a big turnoff when an author plugs his other books multiple times before the second chapter. Still, I think it’s worth reading and discussing.

This idea isn’t unique to Loftus, but he mentions that adult converts to the Christian faith are most often seeking ways to find meaning after life-altering events, not so much because they find the evidence in favor of Christianity compelling. I’ll agree with him there. I was nineteen years old when I “prayed the prayer” for the first time, though my fascination with Jesus started long before that. I was moved primarily by the doctrine of grace and redemption: that God can make broken things new, which is much more appealing than the old trope “everything happens for a reason.”

Furthermore, a god in human form was just more accessible than the distant father God of the Old Testament who, let’s face it, was kind of violent and angry. My conversion makes even more sense considering the abusive relationship I was in at the time, in which my boyfriend’s actions and words convinced me I was worthless. Jesus dying on the cross for my sins was an extreme act that proved I had value. So yes, my reasons were emotional.

But Loftus also makes criticisms of Christianity that even other Christians might agree with, and that has to do with the issue of cherry-picking. He argues that there’s no way the Jesus story makes sense without a literal Adam and Eve, and science has proved that the human gene pool is too diverse for all of humanity to have descended from just two ancestors (who, it is assumed, arrived to earth in full homosapien form, bypassing all the earlier Neanderthal developments). No evolution means no Fall in the garden of Eden, meaning no original sin. This is something I have thought about a lot, and while I agree that there’s a lot of reorganizing theology happening in light of scientific discoveries, I still don’t agree that evolution being true = Jesus didn’t rise from the dead. Even theologian Timothy Keller agrees with this viewpoint.

But Loftus’ larger point is that Christians are quick to reinterpret the Bible in light of both scientific discoveries and cultural reformations, such as the abolition of slavery and, most recently, the legalization of gay marriage. They’ll argue that Scripture was meant to be interpreted this way all along, we just didn’t figure it out until now. I agree with Loftus that these “revelations” are rather convenient, and I suspect my friend Neil Carter, blogger at Godless in Dixie, is right in his prediction that fifty years from now, when gay marriage is widely accepted, Christians will say they were the champions of equal rights all along.

That’s a lot to take in for such a short book. Loftus’ best achievement, as I’m sure was his goal, was in making me think on why I became a Christian in the first place, and why I still call myself one today. I’ve written before that there’s a lot about Christianity I don’t understand, and don’t even like: hell being the biggest stumbling block. But if I don’t understand something, I read everything I can about it. I bristle at the accusation that I’m just another Cafeteria Christian, so saying “I don’t know” or “I don’t get it, either,” feels like a safer place to land than “This feels wrong to me, I’ll just cut it out.”

But the list of things I don’t understand keeps growing, which means I say “I don’t know” an awful lot. And if I’m so uncertain, then why bother continuing this journey? What’s the point?

Thinking back to college, I can say that the Christian faith enabled me to make brave and unpopular choices I might not have made otherwise. It would have been much easier to cave to peer pressure without a backbone of faith: pressure to drink underage, pressure to go further with a boy than I was ready to. Faith enabled me to be strong and confident in my refusal to do those things. Faith enabled me to stand up for myself when it was necessary; when a date took me home early when it was clear I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Faith made it easier for me to move past that disappointment, to believe I was worth more than what he saw in me.

Certainly there are people who are not Christian who have made similar choices, and didn’t need God to back them up. Where that kind of strength comes from, I don’t know. I can only say with the authority of my own experiences that without faith, I’d have been weak. Without faith, I’d have had no bigger picture to make any pain and discomfort more bearable.

And to be honest, I miss that certainty; that security. But just wishing I could be that person again doesn’t make it so. I have too many questions now that make it difficult to go back to that place. I’ve never had any reservations about Jesus – he is definitely someone worth following, worth aspiring to. But the God he answers to scares me sometimes. Can you have one without the other? While Christians bicker all the time, and even split churches over doctrinal disagreements, I still think there have to be some distinguishing characteristics that define this faith, and the trinity is one of them. The Gospel, certainly, is the core of it.

Evangelicals will, if nothing else, appreciate Loftus’ insistence that the pickers and choosers are fooling themselves. Once upon a time, I would have agreed. But now I understand that, hey, faith is complicated. Journeys are complicated. Life is complicated! Like Loftus, I’ll always have my judgmental opinions. But reading this book helped me realize that writing people off simply for disagreeing with me only makes the journey more complicated than it needs to be. Being open-minded means being willing to listen. It doesn’t require me to agree and believe in everything I hear.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: atheism, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, creationism, evangelicals, evolution, gay marriage, hell

“For I was a stranger, and you were afraid of me”

I have frequent moments when culture speaks louder than faith, and this past week was one of those extended moments. You see, when I was younger, I would gauge the strength of my friendships by wondering who would be most likely to hide me and my family in the event of another Holocaust. Actually, I still find myself asking that question. Even if none of my relatives were killed (none that have been confirmed, anyway), it very well could have been my family, if the circumstances of birth, time, and place had been different.

I have to say…I’ve been horrified at what I’ve seen shared on Facebook by many Christians I have worshiped with over the last few years. I realize you can only judge so much of a person’s character by what they show via social media, but in such a dire scenario as this – a scenario in which thousands of refugees are fleeing their war-torn nations and hoping to seek shelter here in America – well, to say I expected better is an understatement. I understand the fear. I understand the apprehensiveness to open your home to people whose identities and backgrounds you do not know. I just figured, as self-professing Christians, that compassion would drive out that fear. I thought empathy would drive out prejudice and outright bigotry.

I was wrong.

Throughout my journey into skepticism, I’ve been exposed to plenty of No True Christian rhetoric: no True Christian supports gay marriage, abortion, whatever. And yet these same gatekeepers of True Christian behavior are acting and speaking in ways that are reminiscent of Germans circa 1939.

One side of my family fled to the US when pogroms started vandalizing Jewish businesses. There’s no way that I can’t, on some level, take these comments personally.

But one need not have Jewish ancestry to be mystified by the Christians who are so quick to condemn all of Islam by picking out a few Koran verses tinged with violence, despite the conspicuous violence in our own texts.

One need not come from a long line of persecuted ancestors to feel outraged by the lack of decency for desperate families trapped in circumstances beyond their control.

And if you think the comparison of Syrian refugees to European Jews in the 30s and 40s is apples to oranges – the Jews, after all, were not suspects of terrorism – the two situations are comparable in that both indigenous groups were, and are, considered threats. Hitler convinced a nation to blame the Jews for deep economic ruin. Fox News and a handful of politicians want to blame Islam for the murders of innocent Americans. Either way, people were, and are, looking for scapegoats. A certain demographic may fit that bill, but it doesn’t automatically mean they’re all guilty.

The difference between being an American and being a Christian doesn’t seem so clear lately. But American Christianity seems to prize a doctrine of fear, and that is when my allegiance between Judaism and Christianity is most tested.

I conclude this post with the immortal words of Hollywood philosopher, Cher Horowitz:

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, Facebook, Judaism, social justice, Syrian refugees

‘Confessions of a Jew-ish Skeptic’ showcase reading

I had the privilege of participating in the Colorado State student showcase this week, in which I read excerpts from my upcoming memoir, Confessions of a Jew-ish Skeptic. After workshopping this book in class and then performing, reception to it seems pretty positive.

I imagine part of the entertainment factor for the audience was watching my face go wonky.

Anyway, here’s Part 1:

Part 2:

My first memoir, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter, ranked #1 in Amazon’s top 100 bestselling personal growth books in August 2015, and can be purchased here .

Filed under: Religion, Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Christian culture, Christianity, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter, evangelicals, Indie Author Life, Judaism, memoir, Seminary, Writing

Just how hard is it to be Christian in America?

While the rest of us think they’re ridiculous, there are some Christians who genuinely believe their religious freedom is in jeopardy. Just how difficult is it to be a Christian in the United States, exactly?

I’ve wracked my mind, and can’t come up with anything close to persecution, save for my initial (and, thankfully, unfounded) fear that my family might disown me. That’s not to say there weren’t moments of genuine discomfort, however.

At a liberal party school like mine, it certainly wasn’t popular to be religiously devout. I can recall a few times I faced some heat for having certain convictions, which mainly had to do with sex. As a freshman living in an all-girl dorm, there would always be a group congregating in the lobby area, and let me tell you, women gossip about sex just as much as men do in locker rooms. I’d listen to these conversations with voyeuristic interest, but when someone asked me about my level of experience, I quietly and humbly confessed that I had none. This surprised some, who thought I was “too cute” to still be a virgin. No, I explained – actually, in hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t just respond with “That’s none of your business” – I’m a virgin by choice. Until marriage.

I don’t think I said this with any arrogance or derisiveness, but that didn’t stop a few girls from mocking that decision, calling it “archaic” and “ridiculous.” That was wrong on their part, as I didn’t criticize their choices not to be celibate, but persecution? Hardly. I wouldn’t even quantify that as bullying. My reputation as the “Third Floor Virgin” barely lasted a week.

There were other ways to feel like an outsider as a believer, though. It’s true that many modern American values – “Do what feels good and makes you happy,” obsession with wealth and consumerism, defining worth in terms of status – do run contrary to traditional Christian ones. And on a college campus especially, having to say no to tempting activities out of conviction – drinking, clubbing, sex – can mean missing out, perhaps even cost some friendships. But one need not be Christian or even religious to say no to activities they aren’t ready for, or instinctively know just aren’t wise. And friends who can’t respect your choices aren’t real friends, anyway.

I will say that most of the pressure I felt was put upon me by my Christian peers, not my secular classmates. I remember a session in English class in which we did a unit on modern romantic poetry. One assigned poem was written by a woman about her lover – also a woman. The poem itself was not explicit, but clearly it endorsed homosexuality as normal and okay. Never mind that homosexuality wasn’t an issue I had too many moral concerns about, personally. To my peers in Bible study, this was a “God moment”; a witnessing opportunity. My silence would imply that I didn’t see anything wrong with the sexual nature of the poem, thus compromising my witness. Interestingly, the heterosexual love poems that were more graphic in detail didn’t bother me as much.

It was moments like these, moments where I felt at odds with the majority opinion of a secular group, that I felt the most pressure. I never cared so much about what other people thought of me than when I was a member of Campus Crusade for Christ. Everything I did, and I mean everything, even walking inside my dorm with a male acquaintance (because that could imply we were about to sleep together) was under a microscope. If I screwed up, I could lead someone to hell, and I’d have to answer for that on Judgment Day.

As a result, I found myself speaking up about issues that really didn’t matter – issues like the “inappropriate” love poem – so my witness would be saved, but my peers definitely weren’t. After that, they would avoid me, but my Christianity had nothing to do with it. They avoided me because I was acting like a self-righteous jerk, to which my Bible study friends would pat me on the back and reassure me that I was doing it right. Jesus said we would have enemies for following him, after all.

And I believed that. I don’t anymore. If you perceive all non-Christians as enemies, that can very well turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy. You will convince yourself you are standing up for your God, never mind that a being so powerful and omnipotent probably doesn’t need defending. Your self-made enemies will convince you that you are the “other,” and you will completely miss the fact that minority groups feel like “others” because there are not enough members to normalize them. You will forget that most rational people don’t care what you believe about sex or R-rated movies or anything else, so long as you don’t impose those values on them.

I am ashamed now that I lost sight of those facts, which to me feels like the bigger sin than embracing Jesus as a Jew. The real sin, the biggest sin, was forgetting who the real one-percent is. And it isn’t evangelicals.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Campus Crusade for Christ, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, hell, Homosexuality, Judaism, marriage, Spiritual Abuse

Starbucks red cups and the ugliness of Christian culture

I’m sad today, guys. I’ve been sad all weekend, ever since the War on Starbucks Red Cups broke loose. In case you’ve been living under a rock, Starbucks opted for plain red cups this holiday season – no snowmen, ice skates, or any other designs that, you know, represent the true meaning of Christmas. And Christians all over the Internet have lost their ever-loving minds.

This is one more splinter in the table representing Christian culture on one end, and Christian faith on the other. I have felt welcome at one end of this table, but not the other. Sometimes, it’s been extremely difficult to decipher which end is which. You wouldn’t think that saying “Merry Christmas” over “Happy Holidays” is a central tenet of Christianity, but the culture would have you think otherwise. You wouldn’t think that martyr-bating to images of persecution is the eleventh commandment, but again, Christian culture will have you believe that is so. I’ve made the mistake of debating these things with Christians in small group discussion over the years, and like most debates over religion, I left feeling like an “other.” Like a child being told to “shush,” the adults are talking.

I wish this was an instance where I could chant, “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” but the fact of the matter is, if I am to call myself a Christian, then this is my circus, and these are my monkeys. And that’s embarrassing. True, my close Christian friends are in agreement that this whole thing is ridiculous, but to the world at large (or at least to the rest of the country), Christians are becoming known more for what they choose to boycott than what they actually stand for. And while I don’t believe it’s my responsibility to apologize on behalf of other people, I still feel an urge to add a “but…” whenever I profess to be a Christian: “I’m a Christian, but I know I have extreme privilege in the US, and this red cup hullabaloo is ludicrous.”

It’s no surprise, then, that when shit like this breaks out, I feel an urge to dig into the Jewish culture that I’m still intimately familiar with. I feel I’d rather spend my time with people who don’t need to go looking for reasons to feel persecuted, because we know how ugly it is – and we know it’s still happening. To be perfectly honest, it scares me to go into a church and look at the people around me, wondering who in this congregation buys into the lie that their faith is under attack. It’s beyond insulting to even suggest it to a person whose ancestors were literally chased out of Europe. I’ve completely lost my tolerance for this crap. I will literally have to walk away from anyone who peddles this nonsense before I say something like, “Try moving to Iran if you want to experience legitimate persecution, jackhole.”

I can’t fellowship with people who shell out cash for their entire bible study to see films like God’s Not Dead and make a huge stinking deal of boycotting secular coffee companies. And it’s not enough of a comfort to hear that not all Christians are like that, either. My allegiance feels like a pendulum, swinging back and forth toward whichever group is most rational, most understanding. And as much as I know in my heart that faith and culture are separate entities, it’s increasingly difficult to view the faith as something unique and beautiful when its surrounding culture is so damn ugly.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, First World Problems, Judaism, prosperity gospel, social justice, Spiritual Abuse, Starbucks

Memoirs as church

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve become a really devout agnostic – I collect theology books like Halloween candy. If one of my favorite faith bloggers has a book coming out, I want it. If there’s an apologetics book being critiqued or reviewed on Patheos, I want it. Part of me hopes that the more I immerse myself in this stuff, the more likely something will “click” again. I also own multiple biblical commentaries from Jewish and Christian scholars, because I just have to know everything from all sides. Gregory Boyd’s Across the Spectrum is scheduled to arrive on my doorstep this Wednesday, and today I stumbled upon Between Gods by Alison Pick, which I had to buy despite my to-read list being a mile long already. Like that’s ever stopped me – I’m eager for Thanksgiving break to hurry up because I am so excited to do nothing but sit in a coffee shop and read!

It’s in the pages of these books that I experience church. They don’t replace in-person community and dialogue (though as an introvert, sometimes I wish they did), but as many a bibliophile will tell you, there are times when the words of people you meet in books get lodged in your soul like no one else can.

This is a passage from Out of Sorts by Sarah Bessey that I read this morning:

Scholarship is important, but sometimes I prefer the books written by “normal people,” because most of us will never be bible scholars. Most of us are students, parents, full-time job holders, and community builders. Some truths cannot be understood in a vacuum – I think some are best understood in the context of our daily lives. For people like Bessey, the virtue of “faith like a child” is made clear when parenting her own. For people like me, sanctification – the process of being made holy – is best understood in a school called marriage.

Books like Bessey’s don’t replace the Bible, but they help bring it to life in new ways, which is refreshing for a skeptic who skips certain passages to avoid anxiety triggers. Books like these remind me to focus on the little snippets I do understand rather than try to move mountain-sized puzzle pieces with strength I have to fake in order to “make.”

The fact that my faith feels threadbare may make it seem like I’m completely unqualified to write a similar book of my own. Then again, I’d like to think that’s exactly why I’m qualified. I’ve come to believe that everyone I meet is some kind of teacher. Not all of their lessons are positive, but each of us brings something unique to the table that can’t be replicated or experienced quite the same by anybody else. It is for that reason I’ve given up the habit of determining who is “in” and who is “out” in the Christian faith. With 40,000 denominations in circulation since the early church, I am definitely one of the least qualified to make that judgment call.

I think there are going to be a lot of shocked people in heaven one day.

Filed under: Religion, Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, marriage, memoir, Writing

Why the #NotAll[blank] defense harms more than helps

Up until recently, I was one of those people who would use the Not All [blank] defense to comfort a hurting soul: “It’s okay, not all men are assholes.” “Not all Christians hate homosexuals.” ”Not all white people are racist.”

Only recently did I realize that using this line as comfort is the verbal equivalent to using a scented aerosol spray can at a garbage dump. It permeates a small space temporarily, but does nothing to remove the larger stench.

I think, when it comes down to it, rational people already know that “not everyone” shares the same negative traits. The Not All [blank] defense doesn’t do much to improve a very specific circumstance. A woman who is afraid to begin a new relationship when she still carries baggage from the previous one likely already knows Not All Men are like what’s-his-face who caused her pain, and saying Not All Men trivializes her need to heal from the hurtful experience with one specific man.

In my case, Not All Christians trivializes my need to heal from the hurtful words of a few specific Christians, a few specific church groups. When I say I’m taking a sabbatical from church, I mean I’m too burned out to keep going right now.

I got the Not All Christians defense during one of the last times I explained this to an acquaintance. My response was to blink a few times and say, Yeah, I get that. But I’m not talking about all Christians and all churches here. I’m only talking about me.

A statement can be both true and unhelpful, and Not All [blank] is exactly that. It’s hard to imagine that a well-intentioned statement can cause division, but it does. The truth of the matter is, whenever someone tells me Not All [blank], it makes me feel “othered.” It makes me feel even more isolated; that my situation is so unusual and so “out there” that it doesn’t deserve a thorough reflection. Furthermore, if you’re one of those people that the Not All [blank] line applies to, then you have no reason to feel threatened.

When you show people you are “not like that” through your actions, you make more of an impact than simply insisting you are different.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, self-care, Spiritual Abuse

The stories on my skin

I’m probably not the only writer with this problem, but I sometimes have trouble keeping my words on the page (physical or digital). Over the last few years, some of them ended up on my body. Some were planned for months, others more spontaneous, but nevertheless, they all have meaning.

My first tattoo was done during my senior year of college. Admittedly, it’s not my best; I drew the Hebrew “life” symbol for the artist, and it’s definitely the tattoo I spent the least amount of money on. But it’s special to me because it was my way of co-opting the Caplin male tradition of wearing the chai symbol on a chain. It was my way of proving to my father that Judaism still meant something to me. As a man who didn’t understand the appeal of body ink, this choice seemed okay with him. More than okay, in fact.

And since they’re so close together, I’ll just skip ahead to my most recent tattoo, done on September 25th, the one-year anniversary of my father’s death. I was cleaning out my closet and discovered a letter from Dad when he mailed the social security card I left behind in Ohio. He ended it with, “Love, you Sassy!” His special nickname for me for as long as I can remember. I forgot I had that note once before, and I wouldn’t let myself do it again. Now I have his words in his handwriting with me forever.

Tattoo #2 was done in Estes Park, Colorado, during a church retreat after college in 2011. That was a summer of serious grieving for me: grieving for the relationship that I lost, and accepting that it was abusive. “Choose Joy” was not some silly moniker, but as it says, a choice: one that does not have to rely on circumstances. That was the last time I dealt with grief in a semi-responsible way, but I’m so grateful I have that tattoo now, because back then, I didn’t think there was any way that life could get more difficult. That reminder gets more important every day.

That year had a happy ending, though. I started dating my future husband: a man who eagerly held my hand when we walked in public, which I’d never experienced before. Every “normal” boyfriend-like thing he did, from holding doors open to giving me his jacket if I was cold, astounded me. I honestly didn’t think I deserved such treatment, and refused to let go of my breath, always expecting a catch. And there was a catch, but not one I expected: he’d keep doing those things for me for the rest of my life, if I agreed to be his wife. That was a no-brainer.

When I think of the early stages of our relationship, I think of the song “These Old Wings” by Anna Nalick, my favorite singer in the entire world, which was released during the summer I was in Estes Park. It’s about a woman starting over after escaping a situation not too unlike my previous one: He raised his hand/for the last time she could stand/and their room was a grave at night/She left a note/Said I’m not coming home/He could courage, she took flight/And these old wings/Been a long time, been a long time coming/These old wings just gotta be good for something/Burn this strings, so I can see/What these old wings, these old wings can do. And that song is the reason I have a butterfly on my shoulder.

Two years later, I found myself contemplating leaving seminary, which turned out to be a toxic environment for my faith. Really, the biggest reason I felt I should stay was so I could get my money’s worth, but I realized that leaving seminary was the only way I could save the faith that meant so much to me. A month before I quit, I inked C.S. Lewis’ words from Mere Christianity, which is part of a larger quote: “If there’s a desire in me that the world cannot satisfy, the most likely explanation is I was made for another world.”

Because it’s behind me, I often forget it’s there until a stranger asks me about it. It serves as a helpful reminder of why faith mattered to me in the first place, for that quote is one compelling reason I still believe in God even if everything else is shaky.

Finally, there’s the tattoo from earlier this summer to commemorate my first book becoming a six-day Amazon bestseller. Granted, it was when I made the book free, so I earned no money from it (at least not during the sale itself, but I did from the 50 downloads that occurred after it ended). But money isn’t the point: it’s the recognition and knowledge that my words reached so many people. This piece is inspired by the quote “The pen is mightier than the sword,” which I would have gotten done eventually, but the unexpected success of that book seemed like the perfect excuse.

So that’s half a dozen tattoos total – I wish I could say I’m done, but I’ve said that before, so now I know better. People have asked me how I’ll feel about them by the time I’m 80, but I can’t answer that because 1) I’m nowhere near 80, and 2) if I do live to that age, I think I’ll have far bigger concerns on my mind. Like death.

Do you have ink that tells a story? Tell me about it!

Filed under: Other stuff, Religion Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, Judaism, self-care, Writing

Spreading awareness of mesothelioma

The following post is inspired by Heather Von St. James to spread awareness about mesothelioma. As the daughter of a parent who succumbed to cancer, I’m happy to share this space to help others take preventative care of themselves.

In 2005, at the age of 36, and only three months after giving birth to her daughter Lily Rose, Heather was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma. Upon learning of this life-altering diagnosis, she and her husband Cameron embarked upon a search to find the best mesothelioma treatment care available. Their search eventually led them to Dr. David Sugarbaker, a renowned mesothelioma surgeon at the Boston based Brigham and Women’s hospital.

Today, Heather is a nine-year mesothelioma cancer survivor and has made it her mission to help other mesothelioma victims around the globe. Heather was diagnosed November of 2006 and was given just 15 months to live. She shares her personal story to help spread hope and awareness for others going through this, in hopes that one day no one else will have to.

Mesothelioma is a word that we don’t hear very often.  Usually, it’s only when we’re half listening and we hear a snippet of a commercial on TV.  What we really don’t know and aren’t able to give more thought to is the fact that mesothelioma is caused by asbestos; a substance that still continues to be used in the United States today.

While there have been great strides in treatment for this disease, such as heated chemotherapy and pleurectomy, the disease often claims the lives of their victims.  After a diagnosis, most victims will lose their lives in about 2 years.

If your home was built before 1980, the chances are very high that it contains some form of asbestos material.  Mesothelioma is a rare and aggressive form of cancer that is caused by exposure to asbestos that has been disturbed and is air bound.  There are three types of mesothelioma: pleural, peritoneal, and pericardial.  Pleural mesothelioma is the most occurring type, accounting for 70% of total mesothelioma cases.

For more information, check out Heather’s informational blog.

Filed under: Other stuff Tagged: cancer, self-care

Guest post: spreading awareness of mesothelioma

The following is a guest post by Heather Von St. James to spread awareness about mesothelioma. As the daughter of a parent who succumbed to cancer, I’m happy to share this space to help others take preventative care of themselves.

In 2005, at the age of 36, and only three months after giving birth to her daughter Lily Rose, Heather was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma. Upon learning of this life-altering diagnosis, she and her husband Cameron embarked upon a search to find the best mesothelioma treatment care available. Their search eventually led them to Dr. David Sugarbaker, a renowned mesothelioma surgeon at the Boston based Brigham and Women’s hospital.

Today, Heather is a nine-year mesothelioma cancer survivor and has made it her mission to help other mesothelioma victims around the globe. Heather was diagnosed November of 2006 and was given just 15 months to live. She shares her personal story to help spread hope and awareness for others going through this, in hopes that one day no one else will have to.

***

Mesothelioma is a word that we don’t hear very often.  Usually, it’s only when we’re half listening and we hear a snippet of a commercial on TV.  What we really don’t know and aren’t able to give more thought to is the fact that mesothelioma is caused by asbestos; a substance that still continues to be used in the United States today.

While there have been great strides in treatment for this disease, such as heated chemotherapy and pleurectomy, the disease often claims the lives of their victims.  After a diagnosis, most victims will lose their lives in about 2 years.

If your home was built before 1980, the chances are very high that it contains some form of asbestos material.  Mesothelioma is a rare and aggressive form of cancer that is caused by exposure to asbestos that has been disturbed and is air bound.  There are three types of mesothelioma: pleural, peritoneal, and pericardial.  Pleural mesothelioma is the most occurring type, accounting for 70% of total mesothelioma cases.

For more information, check out Heather’s informational blog.

Filed under: Other stuff Tagged: cancer, self-care