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

Hope for the New

So, did you make any new year’s resolutions this year? Of course I did. I mean, it’s a list. And I am such a list maker, planner, and optimist that even my mediocre lifetime success record does nothing to deter me from starting the year with a nice, fresh list of goals and hope for better things in the new year. Alas, with few exceptions, my enthusiasm has waned by this time of year.

This year’s list is very short, however, and I am all in on this one: beat breast cancer. Last year ended, literally, with a diagnosis on December 31. Not the kind of thing that puts you in the mood to celebrate on New Year’s Eve or makes you look forward to the new year. However, as I began the new year facing a long path of doctor’s appointments, tests, and treatment plans, I realized my experience provided a perfect illustration of how we become new. Really new. Not trying harder or improving or looking good on the outside, but new, and that has to be the heart and soul of any resolution we make.

So often though, I want to focus on externals or circumstances or even others. Many of my past resolutions were really nothing more than wishes--”lose weight,” “be nicer,”--wanting things to be different, but no commitment or plan to actually change. And while there is nothing wrong with personal goals, for things to change, for us to become new, we have to change from the inside (1 Samuel 16:7).

You see, my problem is me. Not my circumstances, not other people, not whatever challenges I face, but how my heart responds--and by nature, my heart is arrogant, proud, fearful, and rebellious. In order to become new, I need God to heal my heart, and the process is very similar to the steps necessary to achieve this year’s resolution.

Examine (Psalm 139:23-24)
The first step to healing is knowing there’s a problem, but looks and feelings can be deceiving. I lost 40 pounds in 2014 and started running in 2015. At 47, I look and feel healthier than I have in decades, but despite all appearances and my good “works,” a look inside me revealed a potentially deadly disease. In order to assess my spiritual health, I must prayerfully submit to an examination that measures the motivations of my heart against God’s word, and ask Him to show me what needs to change.

Diagnose (1 John 1:8)
No one wants to hear they have cancer, and it is equally unpleasant to confront the ugliness lurking in my heart. However, I have to be brave enough to confront the diagnosis to move forward. To deny or avoid the truth puts me in jeopardy.

Respond (Hebrews 6:18-19, Job 19:25)
It’s important, however, not to linger on the diagnosis. The first two doctors I talked with (one who told me it was “most likely cancer” and another who had the unfortunate duty of telling me it was definitely cancer) could only tell me there was something seriously wrong with me. The optimist in me kept asking questions, desperately looking for hope, but each question was met with a shrug and non-committal answer. I don’t want to pick on these physicians, who were only doing their (difficult) jobs (especially since I’m still working on that whole “be nicer” thing), but my encounters with them left me depressed, disheartened, and angry. If I spend too much time dwelling on my sin, I get the same result.

Thankfully, after my diagnosis, I was introduced to a nurse who serves as a patient navigator at the hospital. She still couldn’t tell me a lot of details about my disease, but her focus was on connecting me with the doctors who could do something about it. In other words, she couldn’t fix my problem, but she was going to connect me to someone who could right away. As Christians, we are never expected to know all the answers, only to turn to the God of hope who is “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20).

Surrender (Psalm 39:4-7)
Thankfully, my prognosis is good, but the shock of being diagnosed with cancer forced me to come to terms with the reality that my life is not my own, and surrender any illusions that I am in control. And while I’m thankful my doctors are talking “cure,” I am completely dependent on them to get there. The road ahead is unknown and, frankly, a little scary, but I have to submit to the treatments they prescribe if I am to have any hope of healing. I am able to do this because I trust my doctors; how much more hope we have as Christians as we submit ourselves to the Great Physician who is more than able to heal all our iniquities.

Persevere (Philippians 3:12-14)
As of this writing, I have completed three of six rounds of chemo and will have surgery and radiation in the summer. While it has not been unbearable, it has been unpleasant enough that if quitting were an option, I would. I can’t though, and the same is true as I pursue holiness. As I reflect on the times I have experienced real change, the key was continuing on, even in the midst of adversity and failure. When our focus is on our mistakes and difficulties, we will be tempted to quit, but God never quits. We also must guard against making excuses, because as long as we excuse, we won't change. The beautiful thing about grace though is that it frees us from excuses. God, who knows us and has already forgiven us, has no need of them. He is always pressing ahead, working toward the cure, and we should do the same.

Pray (Hebrews 4:16)
Our need is great, but our God is greater, and the redeemed are free to approach the throne of the sovereign God with boldness. He welcomes our petitions, but we cannot come into His presence without reflecting on His greatness and power and remembering His provision in the past. Worldly wisdom may contend that God has abandoned us in our times of distress. On the contrary, when I have nothing to bring but pain and praise, I come before Him without pretense or distractions, and I find my prayers have a depth and intimacy that is difficult to duplicate when things are going my way. I have cried my share of tears since diagnosis, but most of them have been tears of worship and awe as I am reminded that the God of the universe has taken up my cause.

Wield the Weapon of God's Word (Ephesians 6:17)
Our enemy will prey on our weaknesses to distract and discourage us. God’s Word is one of the best weapons to counter this attack, but to wield it well, we must read it, meditate on it, and memorize it. A few years ago, I wrote a post about struggling to memorize scripture, but since my diagnosis, I have literally surrounded myself with it, using bathtub crayons to write selected verses on my shower walls. I have gone from reciting them through sobs to proclaiming them like a warrior daughter of the King (most of the time). I have also managed to memorize them, relying on them to get me through times of anxiety and fear.

Share (2 Corinthians 1:3-11)
One of the first things I did after sharing my diagnosis was begin a list of breast cancer survivors. As I shared my story, others shared with me, and the list continues to grow. All the stories (even those of sisters who eventually succumbed to the disease) are encouraging because they help me remember I am not alone and that there is hope. As believers, we need to be transparent enough to share our struggles with one another and tell of God’s faithfulness and redemption in the midst of our troubles and mistakes. It’s all His story, and we glorify Him and build one another up when we tell it.

Spread Hope to a Hurting World (1 Peter 3:15)
Our world is sick with sin. It is the great cancer, and it is terminal. Man’s refusal to honor Christ as King is what causes the disease, anguish, and chaos in the world. Only a fool would deny the problems, but if we simply join the chorus of those lamenting the state of humanity, we mirror my encounter with the first two doctors who could only tell me there was something terribly wrong with me and left me frustrated, discouraged, and afraid.

As Christians, we are uniquely equipped to point those who are struggling under the weight of sin to the One who can relieve their burden. However, it takes compassion and humility to effectively communicate this message. Both sickness and sin can make us uncomfortable, even angry. Could it be that they remind us of our own vulnerability and propensity to sin? Most of us are not callous enough to respond to physical ailments with outward anger and disgust, but how often do we approach sin with such an attitude of self-righteousness? Such a prideful response is never effective. The better approach begins with love and a willingness to be transparent enough to share our struggles and failures and how God redeemed them for His glory.

The world will remain sick until every knee bows and every tongue confesses that Christ is Lord. As children of the King, we are to be about the Father's business: bringing about His Kingdom by pointing others to a real hope for this world and the next.