He is good. All the time. No matter what my life may or may not look like on the outside. No matter how great things are or how horrible they may seem. He is good! That is an absolute truth I have been learning to believe. Really believe, embrace, accept and appreciate and fully know, especially over the past 14 years.
Fall just so happens to be my most favorite time of the year and it always has been, likely always will be, except for one teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, little thing. To say I often dread and struggle with the month of October would be a mild understatement. Certainly has nothing to do with the change of seasons from summer to fall. That event brings all the feels to my life. Naturally, I adore all the things fall represents. Such things as layered fall apparel, hot drinks in pretty mugs, mums in the flowerbed and pumpkins carved by our kids, crisp mornings when it's hard to get out of warm beds and fireplaces lighting up the room at night. Additionally, I love the anticipation of a month we focus on all we have to be thankful, followed by a season of celebrating the birth of the greatest gift ever given.
Unfortunately, all the things I love about fall seem to be
Over the past several days, weeks and months even, God has been at work in my heart. But, He has started with my thoughts. So much begins there. The bible tells me that fear (reverence) of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. He has more for me, but fear and dread get in the way. Transforming me into the best version of me I should be is what He's concerned. My heart. Made by Him and for Him.
Realizing I have failed to deal with some pretty monumental things in a real and healthy way is a stark slap in my face. However, I'm learning to walk through and work through my feelings rather than push them down, eat them away, transfer them to something else or ignore them all together. More often than not, I have found myself white knuckling my way right through every one of the thirty-one days in October. Holding my breath until it's over. But, not now. Whatever the memories bring to my mind and heart I
Breast cancer awareness. Gracious, I am so fully aware of it and not because pink ribbons are plastered on everything from eggs to NFL cleats. No, I see reminders every day. I cannot possibly forget, but it hasn't stopped me from trying. My body bears the scars and not a day goes by when I do not relive, at least in part, that season of life in 2003 and 2004. It can be tormenting and until now, one I've barely spoken.
You may have noticed that some people in our country are trying to erase history by removing statues, words and even changing the events to be more palatable. I've done that, too. Thinking I could change my history if I ignored it and glossed over it. But, in doing that I've failed to share God and I've kept all He has been to me, all He has done in and for me a secret. And HIS-tory in me is nothing short of miraculous and I'm not talking of a physical healing. He has made me new. Beauty from ashes!
The enemy came to kill, steal and destroy. He likes to make me hide and keep things hidden. He works in the dark. But God! He is light and the light pierces the darkness! Hallelujah. I believe God wants me to speak, or write as the case may be. As just one step in my healing. Because part of the healing is in the facing. The very simple, yet not easy, saying out loud what I've felt or tried to deny feeling. All the while knowing that my feelings are unreliable when put up against truth!!! What I've feared. What I've lost. What I've grieved. What I haven't. The emotions I've pushed away and covered up and believed if I ignored would eventually go away. They do not. I cannot tear down the statues of my history and ignoring and denying my truth does not change their existence.
When it comes to these personal and private battles, I've lived in isolation. Isn't that just exactly what the enemy wants for us?!I don't even own anything pink for heavens sake! I have not wanted to be known as a cancer survivor. Of course I'm thankful I am, but it's just easier to not have that be a part of my story. Wanting much more for my identity to be in anything else. I've spent the better part of the past 14 years trying to keep that from being what I'm associated. Thinking if I never spoke of it, acknowledged that part of my life, swept it away that somehow it wasn't real and could be kept in a tidy little box high up on a shelf somewhere. Then, not audibly, but certainly in my spirit, I know God spoke to me about some realities.
What if someone needs Him and I'm a part of that? To know in whole or in part, my story. What if it's not just about me! What if someone needs to have someone to walk through something difficult with instead of feeling alone and isolated. God uses people! What if I'm part of someone's answer and that somehow, in some small or big way, I can be a part of the healing. What if I will never be fully healed until I face and accept this part of my journey. So, I may be the only one helped and healed through this, but I'm okay with that. God needs to be highlighted because He is the real MVP! Honestly, what He has done in and through me over the past 14 years, I pray will pale in comparison to what He still plans and wants to do in and through me. Someone needs to know He loves them, will never leave or forsake and HE is the answer to it all. I am to testify of His goodness and to let others know His story of redemption. It's all over the pages of His word and it's all over my very life.
Honestly, it's 2017 and I still find myself reeling from 2001 which held some of it's own rather traumatic times. In late August, Rick and I had found out we were expecting our 4th baby due the following April. Hunter was 9, Kyleigh was 4 and Addi was 15 months old and she quite suddenly became very sick. Tests were run to determine the cause and the we were forced to hand her over to doctors to have a spinal tap done. Our baby was all alone and scared and her screaming couldn't be drowned out by my own and I stood helpless while she endured the pain without my arms to comfort her. They assured me she'd never remember it. I'd never forget. When I got her back I didn't put her down and we slept in that hospital bed together. But, what I did not fully understand then is a truth that has changed me and leaves me undone.
He held her and was with her just as He held and was with me. He alone is God. I am not.
Fortunately, the tap was negative and it was determined she had pneumonia. Thank you Jesus for sparing her!
The following week Rick and I excitedly went for our 10 week ultrasound. The doctor didn't push record even though we saw the baby. Saw the heartbeat. But, still no recording. Push record I remember thinking! He looked at us and said the baby didn't appear to have a healthy heartbeat for some reason. One we'd never know this side of Heaven, anyway. He expected in the days or weeks ahead that heart would stop beating completely and we would lose our child before we could ever hold them in our arms. We drove home in silence and shock. And sadness. Suddenly, as we traveled down the road we saw a sparrow that had just been hit and was dying in the street. That lowly sparrow right before us and the truth came flooding my thoughts as a reminder and personal message from God. Not a sparrow falls to the ground apart from our Father (Matt 10:29). He saw us. He bottled up each and every tear and He would faithfully take care of our baby. And us.
Fortunately, we would go on to have Preslie in January 2003 and I hang on to the truth that one day, we will know this child and he or she is with Jesus now. And we never forget and the pain never leaves even if I never speak of it. In a moment, I am right back there in my mind. Feeling, reliving and grieving. Maybe that's the dealing. Maybe there's healing in that.
Life was good despite the valleys we faced and 2003 did indeed come bringing a precious new child into our lives. But not long afterward, my body showed me something was wrong. Very wrong. Yet, nothing could prepare me and Rick for what was to be in the days, weeks, months and years ahead. There was a stage 2 breast cancer diagnosis, surgery to remove it along with part of what defined, in part, my womanhood It was traumatic and scary. Chemotherapy flowing through my veins to extend my life, at the loss of my hair - my crowning glory as Dad would refer to it often, was not easy. I would later have an 8+ hour reconstruction surgery while many of the people who loved and cared for me waiting together. Every single thing about me was changed and try as I might, I could not deny it. But, it didn't keep me from trying.
Every day I got up and showered, put on make-up and my wig so not to look sick. I had four babies who needed me to look and act like the mama they had always known. Or did they? Maybe I just needed that most of all. Desperate to push it aside, get through it with as little interruption as possible and move on. I remember coming home from surgery and defying orders to take it easy. A few days after, I cleaned the house, ran the vaccum and took care of our children- I did the things I always did and when asked, I was good. Just pressing on and pushing through. There were lunches to fix, games to attend, pony-tails to braid, babies to be rocked, books to be read, bath times and plenty of memories to be made.
But at night, when the wig came off, the make-up was removed and my body was no longer symmetrical, I had to face it. Nowhere to hide. My protection was taken off and my armor was put on. That armor was for fighting, but it sure did not protect me from my own thoughts and feelings. I would feel every feeling and emotion~ and fear was always the first thing to wash over me. I would fight it every night. The house was quiet, the kids and Rick slept and I fought. I mean I know I had countless people praying for me, supporting me, bringing meals, helping with the kids and dozens of other wonderful acts of service. But, at night - that's when I met Jesus. For real and in a way I never imagined. And many nights, I could do nothing but be still as He fought for me. Proving to me that in my weakness, He is strong. I'd been saved as a teen, but I never really knew Him. Until 2003.
Raw thoughts and feelings poured out to the only safe refuge I had and the only one I needed. I dug into scripture with resolve and I fought. Fought through every fear, feeling, worry, concern, potential dream I feared dream, every day I feared I'd not see and every event my children would experience - potentially without me. I made myself live future events while I pictured them at times with me and at times without me. I laid them at His feet and received comfort and mercy that only He can give. My relationship with my Father, my Savior, redeemer, healer and absolute sustainer became my anchor. My rock. My everything. And during that 16 month battle that was chalk full of doctor appointments, blood draws, chemo treatments, wigs and drawn on eyebrows and a body I hardly recognized, my faith was strengthened and I saw His faithfulness and mercy. And many, many times I've praised Him for being gracious to me. Merciful. Far beyond what I deserved or could ever repay. Realizing now, He didn't expect me to. I couldn't if I tried. He paid it. He redeemed me and He is restoring me. He makes beauty from ashes and He makes all things new. Including me.
I never asked Him 'why me' because if I were being honest, I believed the lie that I deserved it. But, I was going to prove to Him that He did not make a mistake in saving me, healing me and extending my life. I would make sure He wasn't sorry He saved me. But, the truth is my very best is like filthy rags to Him. Like Paul, I'm the worst of all sinners. I'm like Isaiah - a (wo)man of unclean lips. I deserved death. But, God is merciful and as a wise woman said to me last week - when we believe the lie that God is waiting to drop the other shoe on our lives, we must know that God does not work that way with His children! I cannot save myself through good works and I can not deserve His blessings because I do good works. His grace is a gift and I cannot boast!
I have often wondered if it wasn't even me He was being merciful. Maybe my mom and dad were being spared burying their only daughter. Certainly, no parent should ever have to endure that. Yet, many do and God loves them just as He loves me. I know God knows that pain. He gave His one and only Son - to die. For me. For you. And, what child should ever have to endure losing a mama and growing up without her? Many do. Maybe my husband just was spared a life alone. I knew many others were not as fortunate and I struggled, I struggle even now at times, with some survivors guilt of receiving what many did not. He does not love me more than He loves the ones who did not get this answer. I'm not a better person than some that have not been healed. I am not worthy or deserving more than others. I've lost three friends to this horrid disease, so I am fully aware it happens.
The thing I have to believe is simply this...He is not finished with His work in me, yet. I have already gotten to live and experience so many things I feared I never would when my 37 year old body endured and eventually overcame cancer. What a great God!
This truth hit me between the eyes and I'm working through it. Surrendering to Him. His ways and thoughts are greater and He has graciously extended my life. Not because of my goodness, because of His. And even had this not been my outcome, He is still great and He is still good. And how dare I, for one second of a day, not fully embrace and live this life He has given me, rather than entertain the fears, doubts, guilt and quite frankly the what ifs that far too often visit my thoughts! That is simply a waste of His goodness to me.
My God has been gracious to me. I am more than an overcomer and it's all because of Him. I am simply grateful.
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