Don't Forget the Things Your Eyes Have Seen

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I was in a foreign land thirty-eight years ago when doctors discovered a sarcoma in me the size of a grapefruit. That is a big tumour for a slip of a girl about to celebrate her third birthday. My dad and grandfather rushed me to the emergency room because I had popped a penny in my mouth and swallowed it and it lodged in my esophagus.

When they scanned for the penny on the x-ray, they found more than they ever imagined. They left me in the hospital that night and carried the bad news back to my mom.

I don’t remember swallowing the penny or spending the night alone in the hospital in England. I don’t remember flying home to Canada or meeting all the doctors that poked and prodded. I don’t remember being admitted to the Hospital for SickKids on that day in September.

I don’t remember the surgery that couldn’t get all the cancer.



I do remember lying very still on a hard, cold table while the doctors blasted me with radiation. I remember months and months of chemotherapy.

No one could say if all the treatment would even kill the cancer; a type of cancer that was so rare to even be found in a child. They drew up a plan for a three year old that was as aggressive as if they were treating an adult with a sarcoma.

My mom, she refused to take me down for my first day of radiation, just weeks after my surgery. I can’t blame her. I’m not sure if I could have subjected any of my three year olds to everything my body has had to endure.

My doctor called her on the phone and told her, if she did not bring me down to Toronto, I would not live. But, she had already been warned of the horrors of all the side effects. How do parents make a heart-wrenching choice like that?

Doomed if you do, but dead if you don’t.

That first appointment was rescheduled. And every weekday for the next five weeks they put me on that cold table in a large room with a big machine killing things I knew nothing about.

I still tremble when I think about that table.

For two years, my fight with cancer continued.

For the next thirty-six years, I have pressed on and I look back lest I forget what my eyes have seen.



No one knew back in 1979 that the radiotherapy they blasted at me as a 3 year old child would send me into advanced heart failure as a 37 year old mom of three young children.

It had already destroyed a lung and so the open-heart surgery I needed was risky business.

How can a body with 30% lung capacity manage on a heart-lung machine for over six hours? No one knew if it could.

Stepping up on to that operating table was a step of faith.

Faith perseveres by seeing “Him who is invisible” we are told in Hebrews 11:27.

My eyes have never seen God. I have never stood before a burning bush or stood at the foot of a mountain and see it burn with fire or heard the voice of God. But, I have seen His wonders; I have seen His glory displayed in my life. I have known the truth He has revealed in His Word.

I will give thanks to God for the great things He has done.



In Deuteronomy, Moses exhorts the children of Israel to not forget what the Lord God has done for them. They are once again on the eastern border of the Promised Land. Moses was forbidden to enter the land and he would die in the land of Moab before God would tell Joshua to cross over the Jordan and take possession of the land He was giving the children of Israel.

They have wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. And now, before Moses dies, he urges the people, with a series of sermons and prophecies, to obey the Lord God who is faithful, unchanging, and full of grace and mercy. God had demonstrated His power and love over and over and yet, it keeps slipping from their mind that He alone is God.

What slips from our mind can never lead to gratitude in our hearts. You forget his wonders, and next you will be forgetting God.



In Deuteronomy 4:9, Moses tells this generation of Israelites: 

“Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children’s children.”

Don’t forget! Don’t forget what you have seen God do. Don’t let it slip from your memory. Tell it over and over to your children. Don’t give any room for any idols in your heart. God is good and faithful. God is just and holy. He alone is God. Do you know it?



John Calvin, in his commentary on Deuteronomy, wrote:

“the people must beware of shutting their eyes against the clear revelation of God's power, and therefore urges them to keep it in memory, because man's ingratitude is but too prone to forgetfulness."

We don’t know what we may have to face tomorrow.

We don’t know what the road will look like. It may look like the impossible. It may look like cancer or some other sickness, or a costly sacrifice, or persecution, or reproach.

It may look like the Red Sea, or the wilderness, or the Jordan River. It may part and you will step out in faith on the dry ground able to endure because you are relying on God’s promises.



Thirty-eight years ago the doctors found a sarcoma right beside my heart. Three years ago doctors rebuilt my heart, but they didn’t think I would wake up that night after the surgery.

For three years now my heart ticks loud like a clock in my chest. I can hear it keep time with a steady beat as if to remind me every moment of the day.

Before God had created the world, He knew my every heartbeat. He knows my days. By grace, He has brought me back to Himself and with His steadfast love will lead me all the days of my life.

I have seen God do great things. He alone is God. I will not forget.

I will tell them to my children and if it is God’s will, to their children.

Hard Pressed Between Living and Dying

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Doctors dropped the dreaded C word on my parent’s ears the month I turned three. A diagnosis like that . . . well, it’s life changing.

As a child I couldn’t comprehend how vastly it had changed my life. Before I could grasp what living meant, I faced my death. But, I didn’t really know it. I simply succumbed to the consequences of the ugly disease and then the horrific treatment and finally to the life-altering side effects. None of this was pretty. It mangled my body, my childhood, my adolescence, my family, my future. Nothing remained untouched.

Childhood cancer is an ugly cancer. You don’t ever get over childhood cancer. It changes you before you can even define who you are. But, you learn to fight, to persevere, to adapt, and to look at life through realistic lenses. If you, as they say “beat the disease” after it has thrashed you and busted you up, you live your life knowing that death is certain, yet confused because no one can tell you how much longer you have to live.

You become intimately acquainted with pain and suffering. You know what it is to be seen with curious and hurtful stares and hear insensitive and unkind words. You know what it is to ride on IV poles and scream at thumb pricks and cry out from a desperately lonely hospital bed in the middle of the night for your mom and dad who were kicked out of your room when visiting hours were over.

When the side effects of the treatment send you back to the operating table time and time again, you lay yourself down to keep on fighting to live.

When you run out of all options but one, you take that one fighting chance and you hold on to it tightly.

When the surgeon unzips you and peels back all the layers down to your failing heart and digs around all the cemented scar tissue from thirty-five years before and uses everything he knows to rebuild your heart and you barely make it off the table alive, you wake up not knowing how to go on any longer.



For my whole life I had been trying to figure out how to actively live. When my cardiologist told me to stop doing everything so I could keep on living, I faced my own mortality. Being a good doctor he didn’t give me statistics or tell me exactly how long my heart would keep on pumping because he didn’t have any statistics and he didn’t really know.

When my heart surgeon told me he would do everything he could to help me get back home to my family, I knew he wasn’t making any promises. Being a wise surgeon he didn’t give me statistics or false hope.

Being told your heart is failing and living through open-heart surgery is life-changing. Many times I was a hairbreadth away from my last exhale. I wasn’t afraid of dying. But, for the months I lived in ICU, I became terrified of living.



This world is a cruel place when you are teetering between life and death. It is hard work to live when a machine is keeping you alive. This world has nothing to offer when you are longing to be with Christ. Our living at this point is only for the benefit of those we love.

Facing mortality helps you to live more fully. Fighting to live when life is so frail entices you to welcome death. When you don’t know how to go on, there is one thing to do, keep going on.

Being healthy is prized in our society. Sickness is repulsive and for the weak. It makes people uncomfortable. I know how awkward it is for people to come sit with you in a hospital room when foul odors linger with pungent antiseptic. It is terrifying and confusing because we all know death is certain for anyone living. It is offensive and out of place when you should still have years of living.

It is even more uncomfortable to visit with someone who is broken in mind and spirit. We get frantic when left with the mere shell of the person.



We are all looking for purpose. Trying to figure out what our living is all about. Some of us are afraid of dying; some of us are terrified of living. The thing is none of us are very honest with each other or with ourselves.

I want neatly packaged answers and I keep unpacking hard to understand problems.

As joy is God’s grace recognized, living with joy is possible even in our suffering. I only see it that way if I believe in God’s sovereignty, and that His providential hand will bring all things to pass to complete the work in me that He has begun.



It appears to many as though I have recovered. I am back to my family, back to a full schedule and actively living. The reality is, you don’t ‘get over’ a diagnosis and disease—you may live through it, but you come out changed. So changed you don’t even know who you are anymore. And once you think you have it figured out, you discover you don’t, so you keep on looking to recognize God’s grace even in the pit of confusion and valleys bleak with shadows.

I strap on a breathing machine every night and power up the ventilation treatment for whenever I sleep. My body is still frail, my breath still short. The sobering thing is, this is as good as it is going to get for me on this earth.

Many days I wake up and wonder how I will go on. But, I will. I will keep on searching what living really means until one day, the day God has planned for me, when I won’t. For now, to live is Christ. That day, to die will be gain.

15 Powerful Ways to Encourage Someone {Who Lives with the Cancer that Keeps on Killing}

"Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, 

just as you are doing."

{1 Thessalonians 5:11}

Childhood cancer is the cancer that keeps on killing.

It's the disease that destroys you before you've had a chance at living your days.

Oh, kids are tough and medicine is powerful and we can actually sometimes, or hopefully, most of the time, kill the cancer, but not before it has touched the rest of the child's life.

That's why she could never even call herself a cancer survivor for over 30 years. If you have to do battle with cancer when you are a thirty pound three year old, it turns you into a fighter, but you might not always taste the victory.

It's possible to survive the cancer, and for the medicine to save the child, but the childhood cancer survivor limps along in life with scars that never let her forget the battle she fought.

She knows what a life lived with limitations in all about. She has seen doctors shake their baffled heads and not know what to say. She's had specialists tell her hard-to-hear facts like it's too risky for your heart for you to carry around another baby for nine months and the three miracle children you already have need their Mama. She knows how big-time heart surgeons search for ways to help her.

She is never free from ugly realities. The way the threat of high-risk recurrences loom like great disastrous storm clouds on the horizon is scary. The visits to hospitals and appointments with specialists and endless pokes and hard examination tables are enough to make her want to crawl in a cave or fly off to a deserted island, or even better, live a normal life.

The child who fights cancer knows what it is to do battle, to persevere, to get up after she's been knocked down again and again and again. She's not looking for medals or applause and please, don't feel sorry for her.

She needs your encouragement. All the way through life.



Every time she's conquered something the doctors didn't think possible.

Every time she's knocked down with another discouraging report from the doctor.

Every time she forgets how to face the fear and turn to trust.

She needs your loving encouragement.

She needs your tears to mingle with hers.

She needs your words.

She needs your laughter.

She needs you to remind her that God is with her.

She needs your help.

She needs you to share your time, and energy, and meals.

She doesn't need you to try to understand what it must be like. You can't, so don't feel bad about it. Don't feel sorry for her.

Just ache with her over the ugliness of it because of sin and look to Jesus with her because he suffered to conquer the sin to give us living hope.

She has this road to walk and she does not go into battle alone.

And if this is the life she has been given then she is going to let her light shine.

Survivors don't give up. Survivors take heed, take heart and take hope.

When a survivor of childhood cancer gets told that her heart can fail her, she needs something stronger to stand on.

She needs a Rock.

She needs a Refuge.

She needs a Redeemer.

When a survivor of childhood cancer is told the her heart can't handle a whole lot, she takes heed, but she doesn't lose hope.

She sees her weakness as she looks to the One who strengthens her.

She tastes her tears as she cries to the One who cups her in His hand.

She knows the frailty of life as she trusts in her Eternal Father.

He comforts her. The God of all comfort sends His body to wrap arms around this little one in love.

She knows this is not only for a season but for the rest. of. her. life. She also knows she is not alone.

That is the power of encouragement.



Speak the Gospel to her when she is fainthearted.

Pray with her when she has lost a footing.

Care for her when she needs a friend.

Hold up her arms when she is faltering.

Don't be shy when she needs you to shower love upon her family.

Remind her to look to the faithfulness of God when she forgets.

Just, please, don't feel sorry for her.

Look to Jesus with her.

Proclaim His goodness with her.

Give thanks to the Giver of all good and perfect gifts with her.

These light and momentary afflictions have nothing on eternity. They are just preparing her for a glory beyond all comparison.

So, mourn with her that she doesn't get a normal life, but celebrate even more that she gets a new eternal life.

And know how much she wants you right there with her.

Tasting the sweetest victory ever. Eternally dwelling in the presence of our God who is always good.

With songs of praise to our Saviour on our lips and the scars of this life forever healed.

Don't Mess With My Hair {Words of Life Wednesdays}

{Join us below for Words of Life Wednesdays with a link-up of your post.

We'd love to hear how God's Word has been nourishing you.}

"Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself,
lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds."

{Hebrews 12:2:3}

"You have the nicest hair, Rebekah." A homeschool mom with her baby boy bouncing on her hip said to me at co-op the other week. "It's so beautiful."

I was floored at her gracious words as she trailed behind me as I stomped up the stairs. "You just made my day." I tossed my head right back and laughed in reply. I didn't know what to say after that and by then we had reached the landing so I left it with a meek and quiet thank you.

When you spend most moments of your days with your own three children and compliments to their Mama are not on the tips of their tongues, your ears don't grow accustomed to this kind of flattery. I am blessed with regular outbursts of, "You're the best mom" when they sink their teeth into fresh cinnamon rolls or I laugh crazy with them over their wild imaginings and stories and I tell funny tales of my own childhood. But, when you've already hung the medal around your own neck for 'worst mom of the year award' you can somehow let the best part roll right off their lips and believe it as a lie.

You can see why I was stopped short at her random compliment as we climbed the stairway.

The irony of it didn't go unnoticed by me either. I had to laugh at her comment. I had spent a total of 6 minutes drying my hair, 2 minutes and 30 seconds putting a hot curling iron through the layers, and 10 seconds with the hairspray bottle to hold it somewhat in place, before I ran out the door to art class.

Plus, I've had the same hair style for most of my life. It's not all that glamourous. I switch between long, straight and simple when I've had my three babies and all I have to do it wash it. And then I change it to long layers with gentle waves of curls when I have an extra 8 minutes and 40 seconds to put myself together for when this stay-at-home-educating Mama actually has to leave the house.

Ever since I had control of my own hairstyle, I've had long hair, and I've kept it long. I've splurged and put highlights in three times. Three times—that's it. Sorry gals, no fancy Beth Moore hair here. But, it's my glory. My security blanket. So please don't ask me to give my hair up.

Please don't make me have to walk that journey of baldness again.

I am all too familiar with the awful taste of fear of living it all over again. I know the horrid reality that it could return at any time and put an end to my days before I reach the promised life span or even worse before I have a chance to grow old in oneness with my love or see my beautiful children live what God has destined for them. I force myself to put a lid on those fears. I fight to keep these thoughts captive or I'd go crazy with borrowed trouble.

But, that same fear boils up and threatens to overflow every time I see or hear someone else living this nightmare. I feel their ache so deep. My heart cries for them in this place. At times, I can't bear to see how brave they are.

I want to scream, rant and rave, big and ugly, go away stupid cancer and leave us all alone. You have done enough damage to so many already. Pack your bags and never return. Give us a break.

Please let us keep our hair, our lungs, our glands, our breasts, our dignity, our children, our lives. Life is too hard already to have to live without these. Why do you mock us?

Why do we have to suffer like this at all?

Why?

And we break. We weep our way along this lonely road.

In the hallowed silence we hear the soft and gentle voice whisper to our broken souls.

In the heart and soul wrenching questioning comes the hope for the heart and soul.

Don't be afraid to ask why, but be sure to stick around for the answer.

In my broken heart, I know why there's this road of suffering. I pray to have faith to fully walk it.

It's in the privilege of suffering we know real joy. Joy blooms in the dark deep depths of suffering.

I've walked it. We can bow our heads and weep together. I know what cancer does. Believe me, I know. I know our journeys are all unique and it's a lonely road, but we have to remember He will never leave us.

We can remind each other that when we descend the dark lonely valley of pain and suffering we rise up to know new heights of joy.

When we know the painful sting of death, we live in the hope of the resurrection.

Yeah, we look for hope in finding a cure for cancer. But don't hold out for finding real hope in a cure.

Suffering will never end in this life because it's turning our despairing hearts to see the cross behind us and living hope before us.

We will only find real hope in a caring Creator who holds us and sustains us in the suffering because He suffered for us in our stead. The Man of Sorrows bore our sickness and carried our sorrows.

As we study the roadmap to suffering we know we will see him as He has gone before us and joins us in the journey. He cups us in the palm of His hand.

No matter our lonely road, our suffering, our bitter cup, He offers living hope. He swallowed the bitter cup whole and offers us the sweet victory.

He did more than shave his head to walk the desperate journey with us. He bowed His head and gave His life so we might walk with Him.

We'll look for Him in the suffering and we'll see the Saviour shining His radiant glory.

{Also linking with Coffee For Your Heart}

When You Are Not Sure How You Will Go On {Words of Life Wednesdays}

Some days I desperately need to look back on the landscape of my life and remember the lesson I learned the first day I tried cross-country skiing.

I'll never forget it. I was ten years old and excited to go on this field trip with my fifth grade classmates. The best part was my Dad came with me. I loved it when I had my Dad to myself for the day as it was a rare occurrence with five other siblings. I never could have imagined how I might have needed him that day. Perhaps my parents decided that he would come for they knew how limited I would be in such a sport, but they never told me I couldn't do it.

We strapped skis on our feet and strung poles on our wrists. We poked those poles into the white ground and our skis made strides in fresh snow. With the rest of the class, we followed marks on skeleton trees in the woods. I remember how difficult it was for me to coordinate my left and right motion. When it came to the dreaded downhill parts, I found my limbs all entangled in skis and poles and tumbled down most of the way.

I was giving it an honest effort, but as we wound ourselves deeper into the bush, we were left far behind from the rest of the skiers. It was just my Dad and me finding our way through the forest. About the time this escapade on trails in the winter wonderland became more like a trial to test one's endurance when there's no blessed end in sight, blisters burst open and my feet began to throb. It was cold and I was worn out from trying to learn a new skill, weary from so many falls, discouraged that I was so far behind from all my classmates, and distressed from pain that was very real.

I wanted to give up. My Dad encouraged me to press on.

I groped along with unsteady strides for a wee while longer, but in the end you know what he did?

When I could go no longer on my own, he picked me up and skied with me on his shoulders. Now, granted, I was a petite ten year old, but I was still at least 60 pounds. Plus, my skis were still attached to my feet and tucked under his armpits.

Yeah, that's what my Dad did. He picked up sixtyish pounds, skis, poles and carried me on his shoulders and propelled both of us forward.

Some times I look back and think I should never have given up. I should have endured to the end. I shake my finger in my own face and rebuke myself: why did I give up so easily?

But, the reality is, I was living with a significant disadvantage with only one functioning lung and that kind of exercise is a cardiovascular challenge even for the fittest. I had recovered from a two year fight against cancer five years earlier, but was dealing with side effects that made some things in life difficult.

Cross-country skiing proved to be one of those things that would be a challenge for a childhood cancer survivor living with half her lung capacity.

None of my classmates ever knew that I was carried on my father's shoulders. My Dad put my feet on the ground as that glorious chalet came into view and I skied the final stretch with him by my side.

I look back to that day as one on which I learned a very real limitation, as well as this vital life lesson: I was never alone.

There will be trials. They will distress us. But the One who goes before us, carries us as a father carries his child when life winds through the wild woods and your strength is dried up and you simply can't go on.

Sometimes the demanding trails we journey in life lead to difficult trials and we are desperate for a way out of the woods.

Turn to this truth when you're worn out from trying to live this life in your own strength.

Hold on to this hope when you're weary from falling down so many times,

Rest in His strength when you are discouraged that you seem to be so far behind from so many others who are making a real difference in the world.

Cling to His tender care when the pain in this life is very real.

Embrace His steadfast love when your heart is distressed and full of sorrow.

What does the Father of Heavenly Lights do when life is more than we can handle?

He picks up and carries His children to the place of refuge.

He lovingly leads His children home.

"And you saw how the LORD your God cared for you 

all along the way as you traveled through the wilderness, 

just as a father cares for his child.

Now he has brought you to this place."

{Deuteronomy 1:31}

(email subscribers can watch the video by clicking here)

(also linking with Coffee For Your Heart)

"I'll Fly Away" on A Friday Morning {#Morevember}

I wake with the words of this hymn on my mind.

"I'll fly away, oh glory

I'll fly away

When I die, Hallelujah

By and by, I'll fly away.

Some bright morning
When this life is over, I'll fly away
To a land on
God's celestial shore, I'll fly away.

When the shadows
Of this life have grown, I'll fly away
Like a bird from
These prison walls, I'll fly, I'll fly away."

I've been fighting a weight of darkness. Swimming upstream in a torrent of emotions, with joy set before me, considering Him who endured, that I may not grow fainthearted.

You know that saying that goes something like, "Don't be so heavenly minded that you are no earthly good." I don't know who said it or what he/she thought she was saying, but somehow the saying stuck. The problem is, it's not true. I grow fainthearted when I am not heavenly minded; when I do not have my mind set on things above.

How on earth do you suppose that you could be too heavenly minded? Why not long for the day that John tells us about when he got a sneak peak behind a door standing open in heaven? Why not linger on the hope that I will meet our Saviour face to face, dwell with Him in perfect unity, to sit at His feet, fall down before Him, singing a new song? 

Sickness has a way of giving you a more heavenly perspective. 

The specialist shared his most educated guess that I'd have about two years for my severely narrowed aortic valve to hold up, but he doesn't really know. It could be less time or more. I'll just need to keep toughing it out and when I faint call him and he'll sit down with the surgeon again and see if anything could be done. It's not hopeful, but nothing can be down to reverse the damage, so we will keep pressing on. Maybe, pray for a miracle.

I leave the clinic on Monday thinking of the woman who reached out in faith, touched only the hem of Jesus's garment and was made well. Is my faith too small? 

Do I want to be made well?

Like Paul said, "For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain."

What's so bad about this heavenly longing?

It actually gives me a peace and an inexpressible joy as I endure various trials. It's the good news that gives hope, the accomplished work of Christ that the angels long to fully understand, and we, as believers, get to experience and believe, and rejoice with this unspeakable joy.

Now on Friday, a young woman, far too young for death to claim her according to human standards, was called home. 

She knows this joy fully now. A few weeks ago, she proclaimed these words of hope as she fought the cancer in her body. The words made an impact on me when I listened the first time weeks ago, but this morning as I watched again after a friend posted the news that she was now FREE, her words reverberated hope in deep crevices:

"We are never alone, and don't have to fear the unknown. I try to live day to day, as everyday as truly a blessing from God because you never know when God may want you to come home. I try to just live through each day and to praise Him for every breath I have because you never know when it will be your last."

As her story closes here on this earth, tears slip down my cheeks. When we pause to bow and praise God for this young woman we've never met and for calling her to Himself, and now home to Him, my little one bores her eyes into mine and asks why. 

I have no words, just this deep rumbling in my soul that whispers of the mingling of pain and joy, trials and trust, an unseeing love that only a heavenly mind would dare to cling to.




God at Work - Jacqueline Li from Harvest Bible Chapel York Region on Vimeo. {email subscribers, please click here to watch this powerful testimony of a young woman called Home today.}

***

Hunting for more of God's Grace,Steadfast love and His Mercies that are new every morning in 'Morevember'.

3 gifts grateful:
~You love him even though you have never seen him.
~Though you do not see him now, you trust him
~and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory

I invite you to hunt along with me for more of His mercy and grace in #Morevember on Facebook and Twitter.

Enter your email address to subscribe to A Soft Gentle Voice and have this series delivered to your inbox.   

***

Also linking with Five Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo's place. This week the prompt is: Fly

Officially, the rules are:

1. Write for 5 minutes  {Full disclosure: I spent a little more time on this post}

2. Link up at Lisa-Jo's  and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community...

The Unfortunate Lady called by His Unfathomable Love

Six months have gone by since my last visit. We've driven an hour and a half down into the city to the cardiology clinic for a check-up. After more than thirty minutes we find a suitable parking spot with a view of the top of the CN Tower in the not-too-distant horizon. We walk back to the hospital and take the elevator up to the eighth floor. 


The nurse calls my name incorrectly; she calls me 'Anne'. Without correcting her, I smile and follow her down the hall. She tells me to change and now I'm sitting in the exam room all dressed up in my blue striped hospital gown. Why is it that this particular article of clothing always makes you feel so . . . humbled?

I see this poster on the wall as soon as we enter the exam room. Yes, I have heart issues and, yes, perhaps exercise will help. Let's hope.

Then again, I know of greater heart issues. Ones unseen. My own heart burdened the whole way down to the city over sin and dysfunction.

The resident doctor, with his white smooth gown over his nicely creased black pants and wearing shiny black shoes, walks in with my file neatly tucked in the crook of his arm. He briefly introduces himself to my husband and me and sits down at the desk in the corner and pours over the details of my file.

I sit on the exam table with my knees tucked up toward my chest.  I adjust my gown. I watch him as he thoughtfully rests his finger on his chin, then his lip. He clicks his pen and underlines as he turns pages. My eyes lock with my husband's. I can hear the fan in the ceiling, footsteps in the hallway. I look down at my black, dusty birks.

I really have no idea how many minutes have passed when he looks up at me.

"Nice," he says.

He leans back in his chair.

"So you are the unfortunately lady. I remember being in discussions about you. I finally get to meet you."

Wow! I've been called all kinds in the medical world, but I've never heard it put quite this way before. He meant well. It is quite a story; a lot to take in all at once.

Briefly, I agree with him. I am unfortunate to have to live with life-long side effects from the treatments that killed the cancer but saved the child; to now be in this position, thirty-three years later, with a heart valve that is damaged but not easily fixed because of all the other complications.

But, that is not the case! I regret that I was so caught off guard I couldn't make a reply. How I wish I could have made sure he knew that I am not unfortunate.

Instead, I am undeservedly favoured!!

That a sinner, such as me, has received abundant grace and mercy and been pardoned and set free!

"He was wounded because of our rebellious deeds, crushed because of our sins; he endured punishment that made us well; because of his wounds we have been healed."

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved-- and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast." ~ (Eph 2:4-9)

I used to pray for complete healing and promised that if God did heal me, I would proclaim this amazing miracle in my life, tell others what He did for me. Just like the blind and lame men that shouted and leaped when they were healed.

How have I been so short-sighted all these years? He has healed me!! He has taken the heart of stone and given me a heart of flesh. 

We are working on Romans 8 now, committing these beautiful truths to head and heart, and I've been repeating the second verse this week.

"For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death."

The Spirit of life has set me free. I've been healed. I've been delivered from sin and death, never to fear it, for I am a part of the greatest love story ever! I know the words to come: "nothing will be able to separate [me] from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Why did I think I should have to wait for physical healing before I had something worth proclaiming?

As Spurgeon writes:

"He who on earth walked the hospitals, still dispenses His grace, and works wonders among the sons of men, let me go to Him at once in right earnest.""Let me praise Him this morning, as I remember how He wrought His spiritual cures, which bring Him most renown. It was by taking upon our sicknesses. "By His stripes we are healed." The Church on earth is full of souls healed by our beloved Physician; and the inhabitants of heaven itself confess that "He healed them all." Come, then, my soul, publish abroad the virtue of His grace . . . "

The doctors gather to briefly discuss me once again. My cardiologist and the resident return to our room. They tell me I am to carry on, watch my own symptoms, and call if I notice them getting worse. If not, I return in another six months. There's nothing else that really can be done. 

I'm fine with that. I will carry on. With my hope in the Great Physician. The One who calls me beloved, favoured, set apart, by His grace, to his own glory and excellence. Not at all unfortunate!

The Doctor may call me the unfortunately lady, but the Great Physician calls me by His Unfathomable love.

Five Minute Friday: Jump

The very word, I admit, makes me want to sit down. Play it safe. 

You say: "Jump."

I say, "Do I have to? I don't want to!"

I was led to the deep end of the pool during swimming lessons.

I was told to jump in.

I couldn't!

I refused. I'm pretty sure my face was wet and it wasn't from the water in the pool.

Authority won and I had to jump. The instructor had promised me that if I needed it, she would stick out a pole that I could grab hold of. Of course as soon as I jumped in, and there was nothing solid under my feet, I felt like I needed rescuing. When I reached up, the pole was not there! 

Panic struck, I flailed! 

I suppose that instructor thought she was doing me a favour, thinking it would make me be brave. Sometimes our fears may seem irrational, but sometimes we have reason to fear and we need to work through those monsters before we can jump. We need to know there is someone there we can trust.

If we are not prepared to jump, deeper fear will settle in.

For a child who had survived cancer, but was left with half of her lung capacity and atrophied muscles, swimming for me was like the empty bottle in water, bobbling around briefly on the surface and then sinking fast. To be told to jump into the deep end, while extremely terrified, without a sure hope in the end, was not beneficial.

::

Thirty years later, on a hot summer day, I ran right off the end of the dock. Jumped right into the dark water, celebrating a call from the hospital with test results just returned. All clear! As a woman now at high risk for a secondary cancer, each summer I am to return and have an MRI scan to make sure cancer stays away.

Sometimes the bigger fear is not the jumping, but fearing the possibilities.

But whatever our possible reality might be, we never have to jump alone. No one hovers over us with a pole purposefully out of our reach.

Whatever we may face, we can call out to a powerful God who loves us with arms stretched out wide desiring us to jump right up and into His loving and tender embrace.

::

Something in your life that it is so terrifying that you can hardly move? Can't jump? And you have every reason not to? But you have no choice? You have to! 

Jump. But, before you do, know that you are being held and strengthened by the God of hope.

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."

 ***

Reflecting and writing on the word prompt given here for Five Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo's place. 

This week the prompt is: Jump

Officially, the rules are:

1. Write for 5 minutes (A number of weeks ago, I made this confession that I don't always exactly keep to the five minutes. )

2. Link up at Lisa-Jo's  and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community...

Five Minute Friday: What Mama Did

It's Friday!! And I am linking up with Five Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo's place. 

Last week, I made this confession that I don't always exactly keep to the five minutes. And this week we sort of had a heads up of what was to come, as she has had a series of guest posts this week from a number of people reflecting on 'what mama did', so I a stole few more than five minutes and I suppose you won't really mind! I just feel better confessing once again.

Do you want to join me in reflecting on what your Mama did. Join us at Lisa-Jo's:

Officially, the rules are:

1. Write for 5 minutes 

2. Link up at Lisa-Jo's  and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community...

And the Five Minute Friday prompt for this week is : What Mama Did

I loved coming home from school to the smell of roast beef cooking in the oven, or speghetti sauce bubbling on the stove or even better a lasagna being layered up for dinner. I thought she was the best cook ever, except when she made liver for dinner. Of course, she always made strawberry shortcake--a white cake with sweet, mashed strawberries and whipping cream loaded on top--for desert on those nights! And yes, those were the days you had to eat everything on your plate before you got desert! I am pretty sure I confessed to her that I used to throw bits of liver on the floor so I didn't have to eat it all and I knew that it would be vacuumed after dinner.

She always said she doesn't do pies because her mama made crust by the feel and she didn't have a recipe to pass down and I think she felt like it was cheating to do it any other way. But, that didn't stop her from trying it anyway on occasion--and who really cares if the pie crust has to be pieced together when it is filled with cinnaminny apples and determination to make it anyway.

But, she found this recipe for warm milk and suet with nutmeg for a homemade remedy to chase away chest coughs. She made me drink this stuff and I still say that suet should be just for the birds. She was always making sure I was eating enough and trying to build my immune system.

She trained and worked as a nurse. She went right to the other side of the world and way up north and, I'm sure, nursed many sick people, but she never would have dreamed in a million years that she would have to nurse her own child, other than the common cold and flu bugs and such childhood ailments.

But, halfway through her thirties, that is exactly what she was doing. She always told us that she could administer a good needle, but did she ever think that she would have to give intramuscular injections every four hours to keep her daughter from vomiting after being hooked up on IV with chomo drugs being pushed directly into her bloodstream. Part of her died during those two years; she still can't talk of that time without salty tears welling up. But she helped me fight those years. When your child's life is on the line, you fight and she did, even those times, when she couldn't see the end of the road and wondered what the future would hold.

She loved to hang laundry on the line in the summer time. A chance for a some fresh air and sun and to be sure there was always laundry! I loved when she hung the sheets on the line and smoothed them out and neatly made the beds with hospital corners and made sure we had a bath that night because you can't get into a clean bed without a bath. Now, with a family of my own, I love to hang the laundry outside too and I realize how therapeutic hanging laundry really can be.


She still comes and helps do my laundry and she still tells me of home remedies like onion and sugar to fight off  a nagging cough--now, it's something she heard on the Dr. Oz or some cooking show she watched while running on her eliptical so she have a good shot of endorphins and  can stay fit for years to come--and tells me to please just try it.

My Mama loved. She still does.