The Power of a Survivor

I really, really...seriously...really love the color pink. More than half the items in my closet are pink, including clothes, shoes, scarves, bags, gloves, coats...and running gear. I even made myself a pink race tutu, and I never worry whether it will match my outfit on race day because it's a sure bet I'll wear pink. This has often caused people to ask if I was racing in support of breast cancer or as a survivor, to which I would have to reply, "no, I just really like pink."

It wasn't that I was numb to the plight of breast cancer, It was just something outside my experience, and it would have felt kind of odd identifying with something I really couldn't relate to. And though I admired the women I spotted along the route sporting their "survivor" paraphernalia, my mental response was generally along the lines of "that's nice."

That is, until I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself. Suddenly, I remembered all those "pink ladies" along the race routes, and they took on a new significance. Here was proof positive that there was hope, and it was a powerful message. Those women had faced the same dreaded diagnosis I was facing, and they were living examples that it was possible to overcome, even thrive.

This November, I am looking forward to putting on my pink for the Richmond Half Marathon again, with the added touch of distinguishing myself as a breast cancer survivor this year. I want to celebrate and rejoice out in the open, and I want to spread the message that there is hope because I know how heavy the weight of hopelessness can be.

As Christians, we have a similar opportunity to spread hope on a larger scale, but I think it's one we often miss (at least I know I have). The people we encounter may have different backgrounds, experiences, and views, but if there is one thing we can all agree on, it's that our world is broken, and real hope is scarce.

But fellow Christians, we are survivors. We face the same troubles, have the same fears, and struggle with the same sins as our unbelieving friends and neighbors, but we have Christ. So our hope rests not in fleeting possessions, temporal achievements, momentary happiness, or even our well-intentioned good deeds, but in Him.

Because we have this "firm and secure hope" as an anchor for our souls (Hebrews 6:19), we can exude joy, even in the midst of trouble. We can exhibit peace in a world marked by turmoil. We can express contentment in a culture that tells us we never have enough. We can be open and honest about our failures and shortcomings because we know Christ is at work in us.

We aren't called to pretend to be untouched by the brokenness of this world, but are instead instructed to always be prepared to explain why we have hope in spite of it. In Christ, we are free to be transparent and authentic, and we have every reason to celebrate and rejoice out in the open. Do not underestimate the power of a survivor. The world is watching, and the world desperately needs hope.

Real Life, Part 2

Continued From Real Life, Part I

My experience described in Part I left me pondering one question: when had my soul suffered? The answer was an easy one: my soul has been pained during those times I stubbornly rebelled against God.

The most obvious example I can recall is when I struggled with debt (and the dishonesty with my husband it fueled). At some point I realized I was holding debt as an idol, but it was so hard to let it go. I had done such a great job of convincing myself how much I needed it, that there was a time I didn't even want to give it up. During those few weeks of willful disobedience, my soul was in anguish.

This makes sense because sin puts us at odds with a righteous God, and there is no peace for our souls when we live in conflict with our Creator (Psalm 32:3-4).

While painful, this is never a permanent predicament for the Christian. We may wrestle with our rebellious hearts, but our souls are irrevocably tethered to Christ. Though we still struggle, He is faithful to give us victory over sin as we repent and yield to His Spirit, restoring our souls and bringing us peace (Romans 7:18-25, 1 John 1:9)

However, those who attempt to treat or mitigate sin with mere morality and good deeds--or worse deny the existence of the problem altogether--there is no rest, and there is no peace (Isaiah 57:21). Sin is the great sickness of our souls, and left untreated, the implications are eternal (Matthew 7:21-23, Galatians 6:7-8). Denial of this truth is as perilous as ignoring a fatal disease, and we are as powerless to solve the problem as I was to rid myself of cancer (Romans 2:9-19, 1 John 1:8, Ephesians 2:8-9).

But there is a great Physician who provided the only remedy. It is a powerful prescription accomplished by His perfect obedience (Philippians 2:6-8, Romans 5:19), purchased by His blood (Hebrews 9:14), secured by His resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:20-26), and sealed by His Spirit (Ephesians 4:30). It is offered freely to all who come to Him in humble repentance (Romans 3:23-24).

There is a part of you, your real life, that will continue on when everything else passes away. Do you have eternal life in the Son, or will you contend with Him, and face His wrath in eternity (Romans 2:4-8)?

"Whoever believes in the Son of God accepts this testimony. Whoever does not believe God has made Him out to be a liar, because they have not believed the testimony God has given about His Son. And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life." -1 John 5:10-12

Real Life, Part 1

"When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,

My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine."

You will probably only recognize the verse above if you're a "hymns person" (spoiler alert: I am a "hymns person"), but it's from one of my favorites: "How Firm a Foundation." It was especially comforting to me when I was dealing with cancer, and when things got particularly rough, I would sing through that particular verse, and jokingly tell myself, "you are going to be so shiny after this!"

That is, when I had the energy and clarity to joke. There was no part of cancer that was fun, and everybody's experience is different, but the severe and incessant nausea with the last two rounds of chemo were the worst for me. I will spare you the details, but just imagine several consecutive days of the worst stomach virus you've ever had...times ten...or a hundred...I don't know, I'm bad at math. Anyway, it was enough that I couldn't keep anything down--not a bite of food, not a sip of water, not even the medication my doctor prescribed to counter the nausea. While I don't recommend it, I even tried not eating or drinking anything for days at a time, but that didn't help either.

Those experiences, compounded with the other side effects of chemo, left my body weak and shaky, my brain foggy, and my outlook bleak. In short, I was completely drained--physically, emotionally, and mentally. A few days after coming home from my second hospital stay however, I gratefully noted the gradual signs of recovery--and when you have felt your worst, feeling even a little bit better feels great!

In response, I began a prayer of thanksgiving for each little sign of improvement.

"Thank you, God, for strengthening my body. Thank you that my mind can find the words to praise you. Thank you that my appetite is coming back. Thank you that I am able to get out of bed. Thank you for restoring me emotionally..."

As I ticked through all the parts of me that had suffered through chemo, I suddenly realized there was one part of me that did not need healing: my soul. In spite of all the suffering, fear, and despair I experienced in my temporal being, my soul had remained untouched (Isaiah 43:2).

My prayer ended with tears of thankfulness and joy that the part of me that lasts, the part of me that will be with Him forever, the part of me that's really me--that part of me had not been hurt by the fiery trial of cancer or chemo. It could not be because that part of me, my real life, is hidden in Christ (Colossians 3:3) even as it waits for His return and the promise of an incorruptible body (Colossians 3:4).

While I have sung "How Firm a Foundation" countless times and given an intellectual nod to the truth expressed in its lyrics, sometimes we have to walk through "fire" to understand how truly secure we are in Him. Our frail human bodies are vulnerable to the flames of this world, but the souls of those who are in Christ cannot be burned. They belong forever to the One who purchased them at the great price of His own blood, and, as the hymn writer reminds us, He will never forsake His own.

"The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to its foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never forsake."

"For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life appears, then you will also appear with Him in glory." -Colossians 3:3-4

Reflections of a Reluctant Warrior

As I have transitioned to my 2017 calendars, I have had the opportunity to look back over 2016, and it was a doozy. This time last year, I had just finished the first of six doses of chemotherapy. My last two rounds, in April and May, landed me in the hospital for severe nausea and dehydration. I returned to the hospital in less than a month for a lymphadenectomy and mastectomy on my left side.

It was a pretty crummy six months, but I am delighted to report I was declared cancer-free in June. I do not have enough words to express my gratitude to God, and also my doctors, nurses, family, friends, and so many others who prayed for and supported me and my family. I have even been cheered on by perfect strangers encouraging me to "kick cancer's butt" and "keep fighting."

The thing is though, I don't really feel like much of a warrior.

Certainly not as I sat sobbing on the edge of my tub shortly after my diagnosis. At that point, the only thing I had been told was that I had a potentially fatal disease that had progressed beyond the point of an easy fix. While there were still tests to be run and specialists to consult, it was pretty clear there was a battle ahead, one I did not ask for and was reluctant to enter into...and one I was not equipped to fight.

However, amidst this uncertainty and sorrow, I was certain of one thing: my heavenly Father was sovereign over all of it. This God who loved me, saved me, and personally secured my place with Him for eternity had never failed me in the past. Surely He could handle my future and would not abandon me now. Though my tearful surrender lacked the eloquence of Deuteronomy 31:8, it was rooted in the truth of the verse: "Okay God, I don't want this, but I trust You. So as long as you're with me, let's go."

Whoa, slow down, sister, that makes it sound so easy, and it was not easy. It's one thing to pray, say, write, and yes, even believe those words, but to live them puts faith to the test, and my faith is a fragile thing.

In addition to cancer, our family's adventures in 2016 included my son being diagnosed with a broken neck (yes, really, but he's okay), our heat pump going out (the day of my surgery, no less), a drunk driver crashing into the back of our car at a stoplight, a spinning ceiling fan just missing my son as it crashed onto his bed in the middle of the night, the front tire of our truck falling off as my husband and son pulled out of our driveway, and several of the most stressful months of my husband's career. That's just our immediate family and just what I can recall at the moment. But as I reflect on what was easily the worst year of my life, it's also easy to see God's provision, care, and yes, blessings, even when it is difficult to understand His plan.

And yet, despite my own testimony, my faith still routinely falters. I am predisposed to trust my proud, deceitful, fearful heart over God's word and my own experience. Too often, my heart is inclined to suffer the lies of the enemy. The voice that says God isn't in control, doesn't love me, can't help me, won't help me, and that I should look elsewhere. Most often this leads me to my own feeble resources, which is the path to despair.

The simple truth is I was utterly helpless to face cancer.  Extraordinary "fight" and faith would not have been enough, and I am ordinary, at best. In this battle, like all others, it was Christ who led the charge. And as I surrendered to His will and warily followed Him across the battlefield, it was not my faith that sustained me, but the object of my faith: my Savior whose faithfulness never fails.

"The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." --Deuteronomy 31:8