Last week, I was at Starbucks with my mother, I saw a girl with a giant smile and a shining bald head. My mom asked me, “would you ever shave your head for a cause?” I said right away I would. The next thought was, “why don’t I?” I started googling different foundations and charities that I could shave my head for. When I came across St. Baldrick's, I started to laugh. And then cry. And laugh again. I loved their humor and simplicity and mission. The fact that two guys made up a saint out of shaving their heads bald on St. Patrick's Day sold me in a major way. So, I signed on for this local event, just a matter of days away. I don’t think there is anyone I know who hasn’t been touched by the long, cold, ugly fingers of cancer. The beautiful aunt, cut down before she ever held me, her sister’s child. I have her hands. My childhood friend who fought and won his right to live, but still paid a hefty price. My mother’s best friend, her own right to have children and right to live to old age, stolen. My other mother and mentor, battled this darkness over and over, and strives to live without it, in the light. My own father-in-law, cancers cut away. My high school boyfriend and the other boys in his youth group shaved their heads in support of their young lady friend who had leukemia. I loved him even more for his act of support and wished that I was the girl’s friend, so I could shave my head in solidarity. These are the ways cancer has touched me closely. There are others, too many others, who have been scared, scarred, harmed, broken, beaten up, and leveled by every form of this vicious disease. My observances are not at all uncommon. My friend Jody taught me to honor and look forward to Lent. I’m not Catholic, but I deeply admire certain disciplines and reverence and see the value in adopting goodness from whatever faith I encounter. She gave me a little book of devotions to use during the Holy Lenten Season years ago. I love this little book. I keep in in my Easter decorations and read it faithfully every year. Instead of giving up something for Lent, I try to take something on instead. This year, I asked for compassion to invade my heart. The kind of compassion that continually moved the Lord to ACT. I asked to see the world with eyes that care and a heart that chooses to act. Here is a chance for me to act, bring help to others, and prove to myself that my heart can change and continually make my life one of worth. The physical bit doesn’t seem daunting…. yet. I’ve always liked changing my appearance and I do like to be as low maintenance as much as possible. I’m curious to see what my actual hair color is after 15 + years of coloring my hair. I don’t know what Julian will think. I don’t know if my husband will think I am pretty. I don’t know if I will get a reaction from people who don’t know me. I’m pretty sure I will cry when it actually happens. I have a lot of pretty scarves from my grandma and some cute hats and really good earrings. Will I feel liberated? Will I feel light and new? I really hope so. When I saw the tally of the donations that you have given in my name and in support of my act and this amazing cause, I cried. My heart is beyond moved. You have dunked me deep in a cool, clear well of gratitude. Your support and ACTION fill me up. Thank you. Thank you. I had a modest intention to raise a few hundred dollars. When that line was blasted across in a matter of days, I was highly encouraged to raise my goal. I did. And you surpassed it again. I was crying and laughing in a parking lot when I saw it. Is it possible to think that we could reach $1000.00 by Thursday? Hope is high in me, because of you. If you can ACT, please do. If you said you would, DO IT. I want to fight pediatric cancer with research, with preventions and treatments and cures. This is a way to choose to help. Choose to act.