About Becky Dingle:
I was born a Tarheel but ended up a Sandlapper. My grandparents were cotton farmers in Laurens, South Carolina and it was in my grandmother’s house that my love of storytelling began beside an old Franklin stove. When I graduated from Laurens High School, I attended Erskine College (Due West of what?) and would later get my Masters Degree in Education/Social Studies from Charleston Southern. I am presently an adjunct professor/clinical supervisor at CSU and have also taught at the College of Charleston. For 28 years I taught Social Studies through storytelling. My philosophy matched Rudyard Kipling’s quote: “If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.” Today I still spread this message through workshops and presentations throughout the state. The secret of success in teaching social studies is always in the story. I want to keep learning and being surprised by life…it is the greatest teacher. Like Kermit said, “When you’re green you grow, when you’re ripe you rot.”
Every journey needs a starting point and every journey has a story. This is mine. Two years ago, three weeks after my daughter Mandy’s wedding, I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. Since then life has been a roller coaster ride, both emotionally and physically… but here I am entering my story on a “blog” that I didn’t even know existed two years ago. So life is good-you never know what is just around the turn in the road! I can honestly say that I have had more“wondrous” moments in the last two years than all the years leading up
to it. Life is funny that way. I think the difference is my ability to recognize these moments now.
My unexpected visit to St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope in Trust, NC is one of those wondrous moments. (Upon reflection, these miraculous undertakings have all stemmed from friends and family’s magnanimity towards me in the form of time and adventure.) In fact, I have thought that if I ever write a book about my travail through this unknown
frontier called Cancer, it should be titled:The Escapades of a One-Breasted Bandit. The title is pretty self-explanatory except perhaps for the “bandit” part. You see, I realize everyday when I wake up, I have “stolen” time once again.
On July 26, 2010, almost two weeks ago to the day, I found myself rounding a new turn in the road with my good friend, Honey Burrell. She had met me earlier in the day in Saluda, NC where I had followed her to her mountain home-only to be told that we were immediately leaving again (don’t unpack) and heading towards St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope. The skies looked pretty threatening but Honey was determined that this rendezvous was pre-destined. (Hard to shake that Presbyterian upbringing lingo or as one pastor called us, “The Frozen Chosen.” See, we do have a sense of humor!)
Two hours later, as the sun broke through the clouds, we arrived. Along the way, Honey gave me a brief overview of how the chapel came to be. It was built by a cancer patient who had been told in 1981 that there was no hope for a cure and was given a terminal prognosis. So she decided that this was not the way to go out… she took herself off
chemo, prayed hard, and decided to enjoy what life she had left fully.She should have been the pin-up girl for the upcoming movie: Eat, Pray, Love. In a prayer to God following her decision to stop treatments, she promised that if she was given time, she would repay His generosity by leaving something behind in His name for other people in need. In 1998 the chapel was completed. This remarkable woman died in 2002-twenty-three years after her terminal prognosis. (In my third entry, I will give you the complete history of this amazing woman and her gift to humanity. I warn you ahead of time, I am a history teacher so be ready for it!)
When you arrive at this little chapel, it looks like a slightly enlarged doll house. It is built beside a beautiful little stream that surrounds the entire area. If a brook can “babble”-then this one does…slow, soothing, and melodious. Wild flowers and butterflies are all in abundance. The butterflies seem to be dancing for the sheer joy of simply being alive. The fresh smell of cut green grass after a rain envelopes your senses. Is there a better smell in the world? Perhaps someone should make a perfume of it. Opposite the chapel lies a rugged wooden cross upon a large stone. A plaque reads: Fear Not Tomorrow-Jesus is already there. I found that inscription particularly
comforting.
Outside the chapel is a welcome sign. There is scripture and the words: Stop, Rest, Reflect…and that is exactly what we did. There are only four (love-seat size) wooden benches inside with a cross engraved on each one. So basically the chapel holds eight people. Mike, Honey’s husband, jokingly said that he wanted his funeral service performed there…he could fill up that church. Beautiful stained glasses reflect the afternoon’s sun. There is a
place to sign in and several news articles about the chapel and its builder. There is a place to pray, an open Bible, and an altar filled with paraphernalia. It was that altar that consumed my thoughts and imagination as I listened to Honey read some of the articles on the walls. Visitors had left trinkets behind…as a gift to the chapel and its creator. But why? Honey’s voice became a distant drone in the background as my imagination started soaring. A baseball….why a baseball? Immediately an idea came to me….”Build it and they will come”- was that the owner’s intention…was he a fan of the movie Field of Dreams (like me)? An empty pack of cigarettes? Perhaps the owner
was fighting lung cancer or simply knew he needed to give up smoking to live his life more fully? Toys, cards, pictures, flowers, jewelry…the objects on the altar seemed to multiply as I began counting them. I suddenly became consumed with the knowledge that I would walk away from here and never know the stories behind the ornaments. There was a sign-in book but I realized as I glanced back through it-no stories or comments on the left articles. I felt a sense of sadness falling over me.
I only had my pocketbook with me so what could I leave behind to explain what this experience had meant to me? What was a gift that I could leave…what was something very precious to me? My eyes fell upon a pacifier (binky) that someone had left on the altar and then I knew. I opened my pocketbook and took out a picture of myself, my daughter Mandy, and my most cherished gift of all…my new granddaughter Eva Cate. It is Eva Cate who has given me so much joy that I fight to see and spend another day with that beautiful gift of life. On the back of
the picture I wrote: “Love is the child who breathes our breath; Love is the child who scatters death.”-William Blake
It was my daughter Mandy who, upon hearing of this inspiring adventure, suggested the idea of using a blog to search for the owners of the trinkets. Immediately I knew that this was the project that I had been searching for since my diagnosis…a way to connect with other “journeymen” (and women) whose paths have crossed at this little
chapel of hope.
So, I conclude, dear readers, with a request for you to share your story if you have been to St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope or if you decide to do so in the future (have included directions). A Gullah expression says: “When a person dies, a story goes up in flames.”
So let’s “heat” up the blog line with your stories and comments. Remember “Good beginnings make for good endings.” (And I am all about good ending.)
to it. Life is funny that way. I think the difference is my ability to recognize these moments now.
My unexpected visit to St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope in Trust, NC is one of those wondrous moments. (Upon reflection, these miraculous undertakings have all stemmed from friends and family’s magnanimity towards me in the form of time and adventure.) In fact, I have thought that if I ever write a book about my travail through this unknown
frontier called Cancer, it should be titled:The Escapades of a One-Breasted Bandit. The title is pretty self-explanatory except perhaps for the “bandit” part. You see, I realize everyday when I wake up, I have “stolen” time once again.
On July 26, 2010, almost two weeks ago to the day, I found myself rounding a new turn in the road with my good friend, Honey Burrell. She had met me earlier in the day in Saluda, NC where I had followed her to her mountain home-only to be told that we were immediately leaving again (don’t unpack) and heading towards St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope. The skies looked pretty threatening but Honey was determined that this rendezvous was pre-destined. (Hard to shake that Presbyterian upbringing lingo or as one pastor called us, “The Frozen Chosen.” See, we do have a sense of humor!)
Two hours later, as the sun broke through the clouds, we arrived. Along the way, Honey gave me a brief overview of how the chapel came to be. It was built by a cancer patient who had been told in 1981 that there was no hope for a cure and was given a terminal prognosis. So she decided that this was not the way to go out… she took herself off
chemo, prayed hard, and decided to enjoy what life she had left fully.She should have been the pin-up girl for the upcoming movie: Eat, Pray, Love. In a prayer to God following her decision to stop treatments, she promised that if she was given time, she would repay His generosity by leaving something behind in His name for other people in need. In 1998 the chapel was completed. This remarkable woman died in 2002-twenty-three years after her terminal prognosis. (In my third entry, I will give you the complete history of this amazing woman and her gift to humanity. I warn you ahead of time, I am a history teacher so be ready for it!)
When you arrive at this little chapel, it looks like a slightly enlarged doll house. It is built beside a beautiful little stream that surrounds the entire area. If a brook can “babble”-then this one does…slow, soothing, and melodious. Wild flowers and butterflies are all in abundance. The butterflies seem to be dancing for the sheer joy of simply being alive. The fresh smell of cut green grass after a rain envelopes your senses. Is there a better smell in the world? Perhaps someone should make a perfume of it. Opposite the chapel lies a rugged wooden cross upon a large stone. A plaque reads: Fear Not Tomorrow-Jesus is already there. I found that inscription particularly
comforting.
Outside the chapel is a welcome sign. There is scripture and the words: Stop, Rest, Reflect…and that is exactly what we did. There are only four (love-seat size) wooden benches inside with a cross engraved on each one. So basically the chapel holds eight people. Mike, Honey’s husband, jokingly said that he wanted his funeral service performed there…he could fill up that church. Beautiful stained glasses reflect the afternoon’s sun. There is a
place to sign in and several news articles about the chapel and its builder. There is a place to pray, an open Bible, and an altar filled with paraphernalia. It was that altar that consumed my thoughts and imagination as I listened to Honey read some of the articles on the walls. Visitors had left trinkets behind…as a gift to the chapel and its creator. But why? Honey’s voice became a distant drone in the background as my imagination started soaring. A baseball….why a baseball? Immediately an idea came to me….”Build it and they will come”- was that the owner’s intention…was he a fan of the movie Field of Dreams (like me)? An empty pack of cigarettes? Perhaps the owner
was fighting lung cancer or simply knew he needed to give up smoking to live his life more fully? Toys, cards, pictures, flowers, jewelry…the objects on the altar seemed to multiply as I began counting them. I suddenly became consumed with the knowledge that I would walk away from here and never know the stories behind the ornaments. There was a sign-in book but I realized as I glanced back through it-no stories or comments on the left articles. I felt a sense of sadness falling over me.
I only had my pocketbook with me so what could I leave behind to explain what this experience had meant to me? What was a gift that I could leave…what was something very precious to me? My eyes fell upon a pacifier (binky) that someone had left on the altar and then I knew. I opened my pocketbook and took out a picture of myself, my daughter Mandy, and my most cherished gift of all…my new granddaughter Eva Cate. It is Eva Cate who has given me so much joy that I fight to see and spend another day with that beautiful gift of life. On the back of
the picture I wrote: “Love is the child who breathes our breath; Love is the child who scatters death.”-William Blake
It was my daughter Mandy who, upon hearing of this inspiring adventure, suggested the idea of using a blog to search for the owners of the trinkets. Immediately I knew that this was the project that I had been searching for since my diagnosis…a way to connect with other “journeymen” (and women) whose paths have crossed at this little
chapel of hope.
So, I conclude, dear readers, with a request for you to share your story if you have been to St. Jude’s Chapel of Hope or if you decide to do so in the future (have included directions). A Gullah expression says: “When a person dies, a story goes up in flames.”
So let’s “heat” up the blog line with your stories and comments. Remember “Good beginnings make for good endings.” (And I am all about good ending.)