A Spring of Joy

Tired.

I am tired.

I am tired of picking up my phone and crying.

I am tired of checking my email or facebook and reading heartbreak.

I am tired of the processing and grieving and the pain of loss and heartache.

I know many of you are tired, too.

But at the same time I long for it.

I long for the processing and the tears.

I long for the hours spent on the phone with friends who share in the ache.

I long for the encouraging words to read or to share.

I know many of you long for it, too.

My body and soul are weary, and with each new piece of news, I find myself covering my face with my hands and crying, “No, no, no!” over and over and over.

Some days I just want to ask what God is thinking. And some days I do.

I know many of you ask questions, too.

But it’s not for me to figure it all out–any of this: deaths and miscarriages and surgeries and cancers and panic attacks and disease and divorce and depression.

In this life we will struggle.

And so I wade through the grief. The muck and the mire of life. And I thank Him for grace.

Grace that cleanses and gives us strength to walk, some days crawl, some days only lie prostrate on this journey toward Home.

I know many of you cling to grace, too.

Yes.

I am tired.

I am tired of the battle.

I am tired of the grieving.

I know many of you are grieving, too.

But I wouldn’t give up the phone calls and the prayer times and the emails and the notes in the mail and the texts and the processing.

I wouldn’t give up the tears and the cries and the longing.

I wouldn’t give up this need for one another for anything.

We need each other so very, very much.

Yesterday was my birthday. You can probably guess in all my sentimentality I am all about birthdays. Mine or someone else’s. It’s a big deal. I mean, come on, let’s celebrate LIFE. For me, each birthday is a victory over cancer, so it’s huge, and it always will be. You can imagine then, that yesterday was a day of hoopla and celebrating and lots of activity and cake and gifts and partying.

Nope.

It wasn’t.

I didn’t get hoopla.

I didn’t get breakfast in bed for my birthday.

Instead I got to sit at the table with my three children, reading the Bible and hearing Ash-man pray for our day. I hadn’t done that in 10 days.

I didn’t get people stopping by.

Instead I got over 130 people wish me well on Facebook and a plethora of emails and messages.

I didn’t get electricity. It was out for over two hours in the morning.

Instead I got a gorgeous day of sunshine and sparkling grass still wet from the rains of Monday and porch swinging with my girl soaking it all in.

I didn’t get pictures.

Instead I made mental snapshots of the things most treasured to me.

I didn’t get a day up, out and about doing lots of fun things.

Instead I sat recovering from my surgery and snuggled with my sick Bella watching The Wizard of Oz.

I didn’t get a gift from my husband.

Instead I got what a wished for. Nothing. I asked him to spend no money on me so I could spend our budgeted money on others who need it more than I. He listened and brought me three gorgeous pink-tipped roses that brighten my windowsill and my heart.

I didn’t get any artwork to hang on my walls.

Instead I got a masterpiece created by my children full of tape and glue and toothpicks holding up drawn horses. They spent hours making it. I will spend years enjoying it.

I didn’t get a fancy birthday dinner.

Instead I went to lunch the day after with my sweet friend of 12 years, Sarah, who has spent the last three years never giving up on me or our friendship even when I couldn’t give back to her what she needed.

I didn’t have a party.

Instead I surrounded myself with people I love at our college leadership meeting (and got out of the house for the first time in almost 2 weeks). We left early and I was exhausted and asleep by 9:15, but it was so worth it.

I didn’t have a cake with lots of candles.

Instead I had a warm from the oven brownie with ice cream, chocolate syrup, and one candle to blow out while our leadership team sang raucously (and perhaps a little off key).

I didn’t get a chance to sing and dance with my Bella, worshipping together in the mornings like we do.

Instead I got to sit with friends at our meeting while my Brian played guitar and we all sang at the top of our lungs of God’s great love and mercy and grace.

I didn’t get a fancy card or gift from my parents.

Instead I got a simple note handwritten by my mother telling me of their love and two weeks of time spent with them while they cared for my family and me leaving her unable to even get out and shop for me like she wanted.

I didn’t see any of my closest friends.

Instead I heard their voices through phone calls and videos and I felt their love in my heart all day.

I didn’t get a day full of festivities.

Instead I got a day full of perspective.

I am here. I am with those I love. I am loved in return.

I didn’t get everything I might have wanted.

Instead I got the opportunity to be thankful in all things.

I didn’t get a raucous day full of hoopla.

Instead I got a day full of quiet joy.

I didn’t get the day one might dream of for their birthday.

Instead I got the perfect day.

The soul is healed by being with children
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I am home and I am surrounded by pictures that Bella brings to me endlessly. Pictures of the five of us together all with huge smiles on our faces and holding hands. The boys spend hours by my side, especially Asher. He spent all of Saturday next to me in my big bed. We read together, we napped together, we worked on my laptop together, we talked. Bear will come and say little, but he will wrap his arms around my neck and bury his face in my arm and not move for what feels like hours. It is a good feeling, having their presence with me.

Today when they left for school, Asher said to me, “The first thing I’ll do when I get home is run up to your room to see you.” Bear smiled and nodded his agreement, eyes sparkling and dimples glowing.

“I’ll be waiting right here.” I told them, and their satisfied smiles still linger in my room.

Moments later Bella comes running in, giggling and laughing and sparkling, “Oh, Mommy! You are so beautiful!” She climbs up in bed with me and sighs deeply, “I don’t ever want you to go away again.” She kisses my hand, giggles again, and then rushes off to eat her breakfast with Grandma.

The surgery is over. The healing has begun and being with my family is the best part.

We are overwhelmed with gratitude. The surgery went as planned and was fairly easy. They found nothing of concern and are expecting my recovery time to be about two weeks. I am on no lifting and no driving orders until my follow-up appointment (Oct. 12th), but I can already tell my body is gaining strength. The pain is rough and at times unbearable, but I am learning how to manage it and it is lessening. My mind is becoming less fuzzy and more able to take in what is happening around me, and I am up and around more in short spurts.

The surgery is over and the news is good.

I am cared for by a man who continues to sacrifice daily for me.

I am surrounded by little ones who fill my days with joy.

I am amazed by my parents and the way they serve with such love.

I am encouraged by friends who call and write and visit, taking time for me and my heart.

I am buoyed by God’s strength which shows itself ever present in my weakness.

I am filled with good foods brought by friends who once again step up to provide.

I am one step closer to health and one step further from this cancer nightmare.

I am healing.

I am thankful.

In the midst of the Battle of Jericho that we recently read about, is the story of Rahab. She is one of my favorites.

I love to picture the rubble of the city, the walls toppling on themselves, the frantic confusion and fear inside, the joy in victory outside. But I love to picture a spire, rising above the dusty air. A piece of the wall that remains standing. A window with a red cord dangling and a family huddled inside, listening and waiting for the spies who promised safety from the Lord to come.

Rahab. I have thought much and learned much from her this week.

Rahab. An Amorite prostitute and a very unlikely heroine.

Rahab. A woman who had faith in a God she had really only heard stories about.

Rahab. A woman who acted on that faith.

I want to be a Rahab. I’ve looked at her faith over and over. She knew so little theologically. She didn’t know whether or not her rescue of the spies would mean she would be killed or not. She didn’t try to figure out what was to come. She knew her city was bound for destruction, but she believed God could save her.

She just acted on what she knew.

I want to be a Rahab. She was imperfect, yes. She was flawed, yes. But she wasn’t waiting until she was perfect to act on her faith. I so often think I have to have it together before I move forward. God loves to use us in our weakness.

She just acted on what she knew.

I want to be a Rahab. She acted immediately. As soon as she heard the Lord speak into her life, she acted. She didn’t analyze. She didn’t hold off. She acted. The spies said, “Tie a red cord in the window.” And in her faith, she immediately tied the cord in the window. A red cord. Just like the red blood the Israelites put over their doorframes. A symbol of salvation, of His extravagant grace.

She just acted on what she knew.

I want to be a Rahab. She acted and then waited. She obeyed. She gathered her family. Can you imagine what it must have been like in that house? Seeing the Israelite priests, the ark of the Covenant, the people walk around her house each day and then leave? How hopeful she must have been the first day? And then the confusion and the wondering as each day passed? But she didn’t leave the house and go demand to know what was going on. She just waited on God and believed His promise. And it was fulfilled.

She just acted on what she knew.

I want to be a Rahab. I want to act on what I know and not be always asking about what is unknown. God has promised so many things.

Yet I struggle with wonder and worry and demand answers. When my children are falling apart because of life’s circumstances, I demand to know why God is allowing this in their lives. When I open the mailbox and see another hospital bill and wonder how on earth we are ever going to pay it, I demand to know why God is tightening the belt of our finances. When I watch friends suffer over and over and over, I demand to know when God is going to give them a break. When I send my boys off to a school I love, I demand to know if we can even continue to afford it and what would we do without that school? When I am entering the hospital this afternoon, I demand to know what the outcome will be for me and Bri and the kids.

I am flawed. I am imperfect. I am sinful. I am demanding.

Yet even in my messiness I tie the red cord.

I tie it over my children and say, “You have promised to care for them.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my hospital bills and say, “You have promised to always provide for us whatever we need.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my friends and say, “They are in Your hands. Your ways are wise and You make no mistakes.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my childrens’ school and say, “This gift for this day. We will send them as long as You provide and if we can’t You will make it plain what we should do.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my husband’s heart and say, “He is Yours, not mine. Mold him in Your image, not mine.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my heart and say, “Your blood covers all sins. Make me a vessel of your extravagant grace.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I tie it over my life and say, “Thy will, not mine be done. You have never made a mistake with me yet.” And I act in faith believing His promises.

I want to be a Rahab.

And today I am tying the red cord, and I am acting in faith believing His promises.