A Spring of Joy

Two weeks ago as I left to go to the hospital for my surgery, she was there hugging me goodbye. I saw the concern in her eyes, the touch of weariness. “I love you, Mom,” I whispered thickly as we embraced.

This is how it has been for her these past years. She watches me go with Brian and waits for me to come home. She cares for my children and my home while I am gone. I put myself in her place and marvel at her great sacrifice. As a mom, I know she is dying to be with me, yet rarely has she gone to appointments or surgeries with me. When I had my first port put it, Bri was out of town, and she went with me, and when the panic attacks set in after having my poor veins brutalized, she was quick to step in and firmly and efficiently got the help I needed.

She has so often been the help I needed. Since the day I married Bri, she has never stopped being my mom, but she has stepped back to let him take the role that belonged to him. She has given us the space to leave and cleave, and I know it hasn’t always been easy. She has taken care of us every step of the way and worked hard not to overstep bounds as a mom and grandma. She has honored us well.

Mom and I have been close since I was small, and while we didn’t have a perfect relationship, we’ve had a healthy one. Even as a teen, we got along. I enjoyed her company. (Side note: this gives me hope for my children’s teenage years. I so often hear how awful those years will be, how the kids will hate their parents, etc. I know for a fact it doesn’t have to be that way. It wasn’t for me.)

She’s in that middle place. That place where her parents are declining and her daughter is fighting , and she serves constantly. I often wonder when it is her turn to get a break.

And it’s not just me she serves. She serves her friends, always ready to offer a ride to the doctor or make a meal or sit by someone’s side to just keep them company.

That’s who she is.

People tell me all the time how spoiled I am (I sometimes say it, too), because my mom is here and so amazingly helpful. The truth is I am blessed, but not spoiled (unless you consider cancer four times being spoiled). She is doing what she is called to do, and God has chosen my path, that my mother and father would live close and be able to care for us the way they do.

Today is her birthday, and I try to come up with words. But they fail me.

Words like servant, wise, hospitable, funny, kind, strong, striving for godliness, diligent, great cook, loving, faithful wife, gentle, honest, hopeful, beautiful, humble, role model come to mind. But they are just the tip of the iceberg. She is so much more.

This morning she was my first thought.

Then I thought about those who don’t have mothers whether it is because of death, divorce or dysfunction, and as I imagined my world without my mom in it, my heart stopped and I found myself weeping. So I prayed.

I prayed for you, my friends–for any of you who don’t have your mother with you… for whatever reason it is. I ache for you and I prayed that God would provide for you exactly what you need in that area. I asked for comfort and peace.

And I realized that this is exactly what my mom would have wanted me to say and do for her birthday.

Isn’t she beautiful?!

Tonight I am curled up on my yellow couch. It used to be my friend, Monica’s, and we bought it when her family downsized. I am covered in my “cancer quilt” full of amazing squares created by friends I love and who encouraged me faithfully during my chemo and radiation. I am awaiting the arrival of friends with our dinner, and they are staying to eat with us. The fire is burning and my Bear and Bella have taken turns practicing piano. It’s the only Christmas music I’ll allow in our home until the day after Thanksgiving. I am certain it’s because of my Pappy that I do this. It’s one of our traditions, and I’m a stickler for tradition for the holidays.

“Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays…” she is singing while she plays and her little voice is so sweet.

My Ash is playing some Madden on the Wii and listening to LeCrae on iPod. Every now and then I’ll hear him chant, “Waste my life? No. I gotta make it count.” He is wearing shorts and I am freezing. This is the story of my life.

I am recovering well from the surgery, although I am still impatient and want to be farther along than I am. I even went to work for a few hours yesterday… one hour too many perhaps. I slept for three hours when I got home, but it felt wonderful to be out and about. (Side note: if y’all see any mistakes in the PowerPoint for worship on Sunday morning, just shake your head and chalk it up to my percocet-induced state of mind. Oh, I kid. I wouldn’t take percocet and drive.. or work. I’m just trying to be funny, and it’s falling horribly flat.)

My parents stayed with us until last night and they are treasures. Amazing treasures. My mom keeps this house running smoothly, and Daddy plays with the kiddos and brought me flowers. The first night after my surgery they got the kids in bed and then checked in on me, and there we were, Brian in the desk chair, Mom on the foot of my bed and Daddy in the rocker by the window and the four of us talked for a couple hours. I am so thankful for them.

Tomorrow I will have a busy day. I will work for a few hours and go to Bella’s school for her class medieval feast. We will have a quiet night at home together, the five of us, and we will play a few games and just enjoy some normalcy.

It feels good.

All of this.

This reminder of friendship that covers me. These parents that rearrange their lives to make mine better. This music and the food and the warmth of home.

This healing.

Thank you… your prayers, your words of encouragement, your love.

I am reveling in blessings.

On Monday, I spent some time at the cancer center–I needed some blood work to prep for my surgery yesterday. I arrived in the waiting room and sat down next to a couple that looked like they were in their late sixties. I pulled out my book and began to read, but I had only started on a paragraph or two before their conversation with the woman next to them broke in. I couldn’t concentrate as the man seethed a bitterness to her… to all of us, really, who were close.

“What?” he practically shouted, “I work hard all my life and retire for what? For this? For cancer?”

His wife put her hand on his leg, a gesture to calm him, but he continued his rant, “I was gonna enjoy my retirement. This is not the life I had planned.”

“Well,” she patted his leg, “You gotta take what comes.”

“Ha!” He pushed her hand away. “Well this ain’t the coming I wanted. What about my retirement? I’m ready to tell them to take these treatments and shove them.”

Her voice rose a bit, “I’m surprised you made it this long.”

The woman to their left asked him how long he’d been fighting cancer, and he replied, “Nine weeks of treatment and it don’t do nothing.”

His wife responded to her, “It’s in his liver and lymph nodes and lungs. They don’t know where it originated.”

“Well, I was a chewer,” he admitted, “But at my job they didn’t allow you to smoke or chew, but I chewed any way. Chewed every day I worked, and I swallowed instead of spit. That’s probably where it come from.” He sighed, “I done had open heart surgery twice. This ain’t the life I had planned. Round and around and around we go. That’s how it goes.”

His wife said quietly, “The doctor is good and all, but they just ain’t fixin’ you.”

There was an awkward silence, and I felt every gamut of emotion run over me. My internal wrestling match began as fear chilled and then indignation ran hot. I wanted to scream, “Do you NOT see me sitting here? Do you think THIS is the life any of us had planned? Cancer at 24 then 34 then 35 then…?! You want to complain… well, let me tell you…” I could have gone on and on in my mind, “And how about my friends who have lost wives, parents, children to this disease to other diseases? And what about those whose lives are hard in other ways? What about this person and that person and…” My brain seethed.

As quickly as it came, the indignation slipped away as the Spirit moved my anger to compassion. I’ve been there. It’s so easy when you are suffering to be blinded to everything around you. It’s so easy to get into our own little bubbles and think the world revolves around us. It’s easy to forget that everyone around us has their pain and struggle and suffering, too.

There are as many different types of grief and suffering in this world as there are people in it. We all carry something, and no one (no one!) has the market on suffering.

I found my heart broken for this man, for my friends, for my family. The answer rang in my mind, “Do you think this is the life any of us planned? Well, let me tell you… let me tell you about my Jesus, my suffering Savior.” That is where I need to go. Where we all need to go. I sat there and prayed for God to open up a door for me to speak, but their eyes never turned in my direction and the moment never came…

Then across the room I heard an elderly man talking to one of the cancer center volunteers, “Oh, I’ve had a lot in my life. There are things in this life that are more painful than cancer. But oh! I’ve been blessed.”

She smiled at him and said, “What are some of your blessings?”

He listed off his life, his family, his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. “Look, the sun is shining today.” He pointed out toward the parking lot. “I have so much, and I have my Jesus.”

Tears welled and I was blown away by the contrast. “If a person can be grateful,” the volunteer said, “That’s a blessing in itself.”

The nurse came and called my name. As I stood up, the man looked up at me and the familiar shock at my age registered in his eyes. He looked questioningly at me. I nodded, smiled and waved. He returned the nod and wave, but not the smile.

This life is hard. This life is full of unplanned things.

And yes, gratitude is a blessing in itself. But it’s more than that.

It’s not about the gratitude.

It’s not about the gift.

It’s about the Giver.

I am grateful because my Jesus gives me the strength to walk this suffering. To walk wondering if I am carrying, literally carrying, death in my body is hard, yes. But He carries me.

And we, my friends, we carry each other.

I have prayed for you today. If you are reading this, I’ve prayed for you. I’ve asked God to be with those of you who suffer and give you measures of strength. I’ve asked Him to show you Jesus in your sufferings. I’ve begged Him for peace for myself and for you in whatever chaos you find yourself. And I’ve thanked Him that He is worthy. He can be trusted. And that He is the Savior. Our suffering Savior.

Thank you for walking this road with me. May we suffer well together.

9 That same night the Lord said to him, “Arise, go down against the camp, for I have given it into your hand. 10 But if you are afraid to go down, go down to the camp with Purah your servant. 11 And you shall hear what they say, and afterward your hands shall be strengthened to go down against the camp.” Then he went down with Purah his servant to the outposts of the armed men who were in the camp. 12 And the Midianites and the Amalekites and all the people of the East lay along the valley like locusts in abundance, and their camels were without number, as the sand that is on the seashore in abundance. 13 When Gideon came, behold, a man was telling a dream to his comrade. And he said, “Behold, I dreamed a dream, and behold, a cake of barley bread tumbled into the camp of Midian and came to the tent and struck it so that it fell and turned it upside down, so that the tent lay flat.” 14 And his comrade answered, “This is no other than the sword of Gideon the son of Joash, a man of Israel; God has given into his hand Midian and all the camp.”

15 As soon as Gideon heard the telling of the dream and its interpretation, he worshiped. (Judges 7:9-15

This morning over breakfast I read about Gideon to my children. “Do you see?” I asked them, “Do you see what God does for Gideon? He knows his fears and he doesn’t tell him to stop being afraid.”

With only an army of 300 men, God told Gideon to go down against the Midianites. Then he said, “But if you are afraid to go down, go down to the camp with Purah your servant. And you shall hear what they say, and afterward your hands shall be strengthened to go down against the camp.” Gideon went down with Purah because he was afraid. He went down and heard two Midianites talking about a dream and how it meant that God was going to give Midian into Gideon’s hand.

“Do you see? Do you see the mercy and kindness of God? He didn’t lambast Gideon for his fear. He walks with Gideon in his fear and gives him the comfort he needs.”

Grins and nods told me they got it, and when we listed our praises for Who God is, voices chorused, “He’s kind. He’s good. He’s true.”

Later that morning I wrote on their napkins for their lunch boxes, “If you face what feels impossible today, remember Gideon and be encouraged. God is with you. I love you.”

Oh, friends. It feels like I face the impossible today. Many of you have seen my Facebook status update. The PET scan is back and my neck is clear; however, some nodes in my chest showed something.

I don’t know what that something is. I am waiting (again) on my oncologist to return my call to see what it is and where we go from here. It could be nothing. It could be huge.

I was at work when I heard the news (side note: there is nothing like working with friends who will stop and pray with you when the battles rage). We prayed together and I told them about Gideon and I laughed through my tears, “It’s a whole lot easier to tell that to someone else than to believe it for myself.”

Sometimes the belief feels impossible, too.

But I praise Him as my children did this morning… He is true. He is with us.

Even when it feels overwhelming. I already have surgery planned for Thursday on an abdominal hernia. Now that may all change, too. It’s out. of. my. control. And I don’t like that.

It feels impossible.

I love how Gideon’s encounter down at the camp ends.

He bowed low in worship. (Then he went with his men and won a mighty battle…)

This is where it MUST go. If I do not bow low in worship, I will sit in my fear and shrink under the weight of the impossible, and I will be unable to do battle against the lies of the enemy.

He is kind. He is merciful. He is true. He is with us.

I believe. Lord, help my unbelief!

(Thank you for praying.

A few weeks ago as I made my way to work, I was stopped by a train. There were about 20 cars in front of me, and the end was in sight, so I didn’t have to wait long. After the crossing bars raised, the line of cars began to slowly move forward, and I caught sight of a beat up blue sedan waiting to turn left into a factory. I assume the driver was heading to work. She was caught. A huge line of cars were behind her, and she had to wait for a line of cars to pass before she could turn.

Cars behind her were honking their horns. She even pulled over as far as she could to the yellow lines in the middle just in case there was room for someone to pass her on her right. There really wasn’t room. But wouldn’t you know it? Someone tried anyway. Some guy was three cars behind her, and he gunned his little car and tried to pass her. But he got stuck in the mud on the side of the road. His car twisted and sunk, and it was slinging mud everywhere.

It all made me think about the church–how we can come with our ideas of what others should be doing or how our leaders should be leading. It’s easy to get impatient when things aren’t done our way or in our timing. We can be quick to honk at each other, letting others know we don’t like where they are, even when they are exactly where they need to be or doing what they need to be doing. And far too often we try to do things on our own, or move past the way we think things should be done, or complain when things aren’t done the way we want them to be… and what happens? We get stuck.

I am a firm believer that we don’t blindly follow our leaders. We are to be like the Bereans who in Acts 17 “received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so.” The Bible is our ultimate guide, the sufficient truth, but God has given us the church–our leaders and each other–to walk with us and guide us and point us to truth.

It’s so easy to get off track. To get stuck in our own little bubbles of how we think church should be…rather than digging deep into the Word to see what God says the church should be. And once we’ve made it about us, we start slinging mud all over ourselves and those around us.

And we. go. nowhere.

Watching that scene that day cut me to the heart, and I knew I needed to not look right or left and point fingers. I needed to look at me, and all I could think was how I need to re-learn…

The church’s foundation is Jesus Christ our Lord, not ME.

Just my short, little thought for the day.