An Unlikely Answer

           I have a deep love for Israel, the Holy Land, the chosen earthen neighborhood of My Jesus. Daddy first traveled there when I was young and returned with stories upon stories of the majesty of Zion. As a young girl I remember listening with eager ears and wide eyes to these stories from Daddy, threading together the information with a childlike desire to one day dirty my own toes in the red dust of Jerusalem. This dream came true many years later in January of 2011 and ever since returning to the States my heart has been permanently imprinted with profound sensitivity towards Israel. The experience was so dear to me, as I write it is as if I can still hear the symphony of the gentle waves on the shore of the Sea of Galilee and feel the winds of the rolling wilderness brush against my cheek, taste dough’s steam from warm bread in the Jewish Quarter and smell the morning dew upon the grass in the Judean Hills. Mama followed behind Daddy and me, traveling the land last March, and now the three of us connect as a family in a new way with our shared love for this precious country. With this said, we are all grieving for the recent outbreak of war between Israel and Gaza.

                The other night I was lost in thought regarding this war. As Christmas approaches, my thoughts led me to sweet memories of walking the streets in Bethlehem, Christ’s birthplace, memories now tainted with the current raging violence and bloodshed upon those same streets. The pain and sorrow the people must be experiencing there led me to think of the Western Wall in Jerusalem, otherwise known as the Wailing Wall. This wall still standing was once part of the structure of Herod’s Temple over 2,000 years ago and it is a wall that the Jewish community set apart to retreat to for prayer and petition to Jehovah God.

                I was overcome by emotion when I visited this site. Characterized by moans and cries lifted to the heavens and men, women, and children hovered over opened Torahs and  rocking back and forth to rhythmic supplications—this wall is held together by much more than ancient stones. Between the seams of each rock lie written prayers on paper folded tightly from a questioning people desperate for an answer. This tradition has continued for hundreds of years—thousands upon thousands of aching prayers written in all languages gluing prehistoric stones together in this Wailing Wall. And yet, I couldn’t help but think that the backbone of most of these prayers questioned, “When will the Messiah come?” And the answer is confrontational—He has already come. He is here now.

                And I think upon Jesus’ statement in Luke 19:40, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." This wall is not one dedicated to mail questions into heaven, but a monument from heaven to constantly remind the people of the Answer. These stones stand year after year whispering over and over again the Name above all names who is the Answer—Immanuel. Such holy irony—questioning prayers inserted into the wall of the Answer. And I think, how many times in my life have I prayed in questions when I am standing in the midst of the Answer?

***

                It is the eve of Thanksgiving. Mama lied sick in bed with a fever, discomforting nausea, and swollen mouth sores. Thus far, it was the worst day of her cancer experience. Due to her weak condition, we canceled our holiday plans to drive to Oregon to be with family and decided to throw together a last minute feast. That night, after a busy afternoon of cooking side-by-side with Lexi (Aaron’s girlfriend), I was alone in the kitchen finishing the last of the baking. With knuckles kneading pie dough my mind unlocked and burrowed into thoughts that transformed into vulnerable prayers. I smile at this consideration—prayers buried deeply into crust soon to be birthed into hungry bellies. Prayers of questions mostly centered on my changing relationship with Aaron.

                Through the years, Aaron was as close to me as my shadow, my side kick, my playmate, my companion, my best friend. He knew what I was thinking before I uttered a word, which is remarkable given the odd nature to how I think. And what I treasured the most is how my position alone as his older sister beckoned his look of admiration towards me. And now the requisite change of growing up and falling in love with a soul mate has brought with it the pain of letting go. I want to clarify how much I adore Aaron’s girlfriend, Lexi. As I spend increasing time with her I see more and more how perfect she is for Aaron. But it does not negate the pain of, in many ways, being replaced by another. Aaron does not need me the way he once did. And this is a necessary good. But it is hard.

                I knead faster, burying my sorrow further and further into dough. Why do we have to grow up? Can’t Aaron have Lexi and everything still remain the same? This happened so quickly—can’t we have one more Thanksgiving with no change? Vulnerable questions squeezed into my Wailing Wall of pie dough. And I pause before I ask more questions and wonder if perhaps the Answer is uttering in response.

                The Holy Spirit leads my thoughts through countless memories of praying for Aaron’s future wife—curled under covers in my footy pajamas slurring child prayers, silent prayers lifted during instrumental refrains singing our Moulin Rouge duet together on our way to high school, and prayers embedded into sand on our morning walks along the Mozambique shore this summer.

                This scroll of memories ceases when Aaron and Lexi enter the kitchen as I finish the last of the lattice crust topping. I look intently at Lexi as grace invades my vision. And I no longer see her as the epitome of change but the embodiment of countless answered prayers, an extension of divine grace from the Cross just for me. A subtle laugh escapes and I realize that the answer was present before the question was raised. And I think again, how many times am I living in the wake of an answered prayer yet never receive the gift of the answer due to my preoccupation with other questions?

***

                In the Spring of 2010 Mama visited Grandpa Dick, her father, in his assisted living home. Upon her return she told me the following story that has forever made an impression upon my heart. During her time visiting Grandpa Dick she serenaded the patients within the home with a flute performance. Mama noticed a fragile elderly woman paralyzed from the neck down listening with joy to her music. This woman’s condition was so serious her head had to be supported by extension rods and a halo. Her shoulders were contorted in an unnatural position as she sank into her wheel chair. Yet this did not prevent her from releasing her spirit in loud song whenever Mama played a recognizable show tune or hymn. This woman sang aloud with a voice marked by age yet beautiful nonetheless, offering support to Mama’s hour-long recital.  

                At the end of Mama’s performance, she acknowledged this precious woman and told her what a lovely voice she had. The woman responded with a glimpse of glory from her past. She was formerly an accomplished opera singer before her handicapped condition. Mama, so intrigued, further asked, “What is your story?” And the response is one I will always remember. Her delicate voice replied not in spoken answer, but in the well-known song of praise:

                “I sing because I am happy, I sing because I am free.

                His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.”

This angelic paralytic disguised in a halo of steel rather than heavenly gold radiated joy inexplicable that Mama has recounted ever since. And I as well.

                As Mama finished unfolding this story to me, she concluded her thoughts with a simple desire, “I hope one day I will be able to sing with such joy even in the midst of great trial.”

                And my eyes now fill with tears induced by awe of the Almighty as I embrace the moment of now. I divert my attention from mind forming written words to the melody that floats in elegance around me, Mama playing songs full of Christmas bliss on her flute. Her flute has offered an avenue to express her soul before God when words are utterly inadequate. I lean far over to see her, the back of her black cotton beanie covering bald scalp, beams of light radiating from her dancing gold instrument— prayerful breath traveling through her gold breed of Wailing Wall transcribing heart language of music into the heavens.  Holiday joy kneaded deeply into each note.

                And again, grace invades my vision, and I see past the flautist in the grips of chemo into the heavenly reality lying underneath this realm of the natural. This rare and costly flute was given to her as a gift in July 1998 from an anonymous donor touched by her song. Since then, this flute, deserving of center stage in Carnegie Hall, has not even graced a woodwind’s seat in a symphony. Mama, unreservedly devoted to her family and raising us kids, has not had the chance to make such a debut with her fine instrument. Yet I wonder if God moved upon the heart of one anonymous man to make an extreme offering of generosity in granting Mama the flute of her dreams so that fourteen years later, in the crux of cancer, she may have the means to live out the miracle she petitioned two years ago: her flute “sings with such joy in the midst of great trial.”  Within the melody of Deck the Halls, the notes seem to resound the powerful whispers, “I sing because I am happy, I sing because I am free…”

                Could this journey of cancer simply be the masquerade of an answered prayer? I do not believe God ever wishes to make us suffer through illness and disease. But I do believe His presence transforms the most ordinary circumstances and despondent situations into holy miracles and prayers answered. All creation shouts aloud the Answer—Jesus. It softly resonates from the most unlikely passages—be it ancient stones in a historic wall, or dough of a pie crust, or the gold cylinder of a flute. And this thought makes my knees quake overcome by such fierce grace that is impossible to escape. If Jesus is the Answer, and He is in us and therefore entrenched deeply into the ordinary moments of the passing day, is not all of life simply an answered prayer?

Perhaps the truest reality today is not the ugliness of cancer but the beauty of the Answer.

                Perhaps things truly are not as they seem to the natural eye. Perhaps the heads of the most joyous saints are not adorned with a ring of glory but a halo of steel or a bald scalp. Perhaps the war torn streets, and the pain in changing relationships, and  the nausea of chemo—the circumstances that cause us to question—are actually testaments from heaven ordained to lead us to the Answer. Perhaps the greatest miracle of Jesus was not the feeding of thousands or the raising of a dead man but His restraint upon the Cross.

                What appeared as the worst day of doom in history was truly God’s greatest eternal destiny for humanity. His death, while initially the cause of great suffering and unmet expectations, was the means to forever connect the gaping separation of a wicked people with a holy God so that we could forever live by His life in perfect unity with the Almighty. His death defeated forevermore the power of Satan and every principality of darkness so that we may experience divine freedom all our days. His death made a way for the Answer to dwell in the hearts of a questioning people so that we may no longer be inclined to doubt but instead rest in trust. His death paved a path for a malicious criminal to be made a royal son. His death transformed the abandoned harlot into a beloved bride. Behold the greatest miracle ever known—restraint from the Omnipotent God upon a bloody Cross. An event often scorned but full of wondrous grace. And behold an unlikely answer—supernatural joy further grasped within the apex of cancer.

                The notes from Mama’s flute dissolve soft in the dining room. She slowly rises and returns her flute to its stand. But I cannot move, caught within the weighty tension of grace. I close my eyes, sink into the cushions of the couch, and rather than question the Answer I answer the question hidden within all questions—“Jesus, You are good…”

Bare-headed Beauty

November 9^th—the day we all were anticipating in curiosity yet dreading due to the irrevocability. The day Mama would be marked obviously across her head with cancer’s ink stamp. The day her beautiful locks would be shaved and formed into a wig. Yesterday, once a hovering anxiety, now a moment of the past.

Mama has always been a woman of extraordinary physical beauty. The bite of aging has not marred her in the slightest. Wrinkles have not found their home across her brow, perhaps because she constantly tightens her facial muscles throughout the day in wild bursts of smiles and laughter. Yet, when the extraordinary is encountered with such frequency the danger is that it diminishes into the ordinary. Magnificence mixed with regularity many times turns to common. And so Mama’s beauty has become such a customary sight to my eyes often I am blinded to the rarity of her loveliness.

But not this week. This week my eyes awakened to absorb the radiance of her beauty, especially that seen in the glamor of her dark hair. For when the clock is ticking, racing, rushing towards a sudden end it urges the soul to grasp the glory of what always has been. The strands flying off her shoulder in the course of the wind. The slightest bounce of the layers with her every step. Elegant locks framing her cheeks when she bows her head in prayer. Even the adorable tousled frizz after a night upon her pillow. It is her covering. Her glory. And this week I treasured every ounce.

It is Friday morning and we set off to our destination—Anton’s Hair Company. Not the usual salon experience. A father-son business tucked away off the main road, hidden within the montage of other offices and professional services. Not to be noticed by the nearby traffic and average consumer. Its location is intentional—concealed to preserve the dignity of the hurting, the sick, the despondent that walk through the doors.

Leaving the driveway and I see Mama’s profile, eyes focused on the road before her. It is quiet. Solemn. Tense. I gently touch her shoulder and softly ask, “How are you doing, Mama?”

“I knew it wouldn’t hit me until today.” And tears replete slowly meander down her face stitching together in a tight bond the aching of her heart to mine. If pictures speak a thousand words, tears speak a thousand more. I look out the window to the maple leaves and back to Mama’s hair dark maple. And I watch autumn colors of red-orange fall and flutter from the branch of which they once adorned. Soon Mama’s locks will follow suit abandoning the head of which they graced. Leaves of glory and locks of beauty, gone in an instant.

And I search for a remedy to halt my choking thoughts—a prayer aloud not of crying, supplication, intercession, but…thanksgiving. Really? Is this my voice uttering words of thanksgiving minutes before Mama’s hair is chopped off? From where is this prayer coming? But before I have time to analyze its origin, a tangible presence of peace invades the vehicle and we all utter “amen” in agreement. In my head I rewind and play the words of the simple prayer.

“Thank you Jesus for residing within and going with us today. Thank you for your blood that covers every moment in perfect grace. Thank you…” So it continued. And it seemed as if the clock ruthlessly counting down the seconds to this day stopped. Time stood still in the melody of thanks. And all inner turmoil and disorder previously experienced vanished in the awareness that He is here, deeply embedded within, never to escape.

And I see the majesty of thanksgiving that slows time to see the microscopic blood stains of grace, His presence now, within the crevices of each second. And I think upon the mass and matter of life, composed of much more than just closely packed atoms and molecules. Life’s billions upon billions of particles burst with excessive, preposterous, stunning grace. Grace is life, life abundant, today. We inhale sweet, intoxicating grace in each breath and exhale joy-filled thanksgiving. And now my eyes are oriented on the reality of the Cross, more than just the center of our faith, but the lens of our vision through which we see everything else as it truly is—blood stained and beautiful.

And my anxiety for the day transforms into eager vigilance to see grace in the razor cutting away.

We arrive to Anton’s Hair and flood the father-son office with an entourage of estrogen—Mama, Grandma Lou, Cheryl (Mama’s bosom friend and pastor’s wife) and myself. Kurt, the son of the company, guides us to a small back room where Mama’s makeover will take place. We find our seats, Mama’s centered across from the mirror. We warmly encompass her as Cheryl offers another prayer. And I soak in the words spoken as I gently twirl Mama’s long coffee-strands around my index finger.

Memories swell inside. I am five again and run into Mama’s arms after falling off my bike and wounding my right knee. As I nuzzle my face into her shoulder she holds me close with one hand, and with the other she strokes my blonde locks. A touch of consolation. A gesture of tender sympathy. And seventeen years later, roles reverse. And I hope Mama senses the same comfort as her hair passes between my fingers now as I felt then as a child.

The prayer ends all too soon, Kurt sections Mama’s hair into numerous clips, holds one strand lightly between his thumb and four fingers, and the ring of the razor echoes throughout the room. It has begun. My heart skips a beat as the first strand on the back of her head is quickly freed from her scalp. Such frailty, threads thinly growing for years and then abruptly cut away in the blink of an eye. Like the fragility of life. Yet I was captivated, amazed, by the hands that worked so meticulously upon my Mama’s head.

Strand after strand Kurt delicately grasped, gently twisting the lock before the razor touched, and carrying it in both hands as if it was fine glass. He carefully laid each section of hair in a precise place upon a wire rack and made a note of where the specific section should be assembled in the wig. Every thread mattered to him. So methodical and intentional was his work. Such complexity yet his fingers danced in ease from years of experience in the trade.

Working from the back towards the front of her head, Kurt was deliberate in allowing the front strands to remain until the end of the process. He gradually eased Mama into her new look. For the majority of the procedure, Mama appeared the same from her vantage point while in the back the contour of her scalp progressively was being unveiled.

He understood; he knew the delight a woman’s hair provided her and therefore the decorum it needed in being removed. I initially thought Mama may experience shame from the loss of hair. Yet, Kurt seemed to crown her with dignity through his sensitivity and Mama’s self-esteem was not at all dampened.

The last of the strands was removed and Mama’s eyes focused on her altered reflection. She smiled sunshine; without her hair her grin appeared even more massive. She was perfectly beautiful.

After a fascinating method of developing a mold of Mama’s scalp, she positioned an adorable hat over a synthetic hair piece and we left the shop, allowing the master hands to resume his long day’s work of assembling the freed hair into a wig.

And so the party began…a brunch feast, an afternoon shopping, board game fun…and eight hours later we returned to Anton’s to collect the final product.

Kurt uncovered the wig and we were all left speechless. And this state of awe deepened as Mama secured the wig upon her head for the first time. It looked just like her, so natural and perfect, framing her face just right and falling upon her shoulders in the same place as before. Mama was overwhelmed with gratitude as she hugged Kurt goodbye walking out the doors for the second time that day.

In the car driving home I could not manage diverting my stare from soaking in the perfection of Mama’s wig. But I saw so much more than just hair fastened in place. I saw Divine Love redeem the smallest of concerns. Indeed He cares for the minutest details. He cares for each thread of hair, for He numbers them all; not one escapes His knowledge. He cares to position us down the road from a brilliant wig maker. He cares to provide the funds to preserve a treasured piece of Mama through His Body at Eastridge.

And perhaps this wig that I had once dreaded actually contains a bundle of blessings. In five years perhaps it will serve as an altar to which we return and reminisce of God’s faithfulness through the breast cancer journey. In ten years perhaps it is a preservation of time, freezing the effects of aging and greying to forever hold beauty from more youthful days. And in years I hope never arrive, perhaps it will offer comfort to my own future daughters who can forever remember their grandma by stroking her locks of glory as I once did.

And in this wig, I taste it again—grace outrageous. And I give thanks.

Blood Clots and Chemo Update

Much has happened within this past week and a half. Last week Mama thought she had a reaction to the contrast dye used for the CT-scan. Her veins were prominent and blue in her left arm and she thought there was a swollen lymph node in her armpit as well. This caused some discomfort for a few days, but after a while it subsided and, therefore, Mama thought it was improving. However, on October 24^th she decided to go in for an appointment to ensure everything was fine before chemo. While there, they discovered two large blood clots, one under her port and another in her basilic vein near her armpit. This caused some concern, especially due to its proximity to her heart. They immediately began daily Fragmin injections into her abdomen and Coumadin doses. She is improving and they have ceased the injections of Fragmin. She will continue with Coumadin as long as her port is in place.

Chemotherapy went as well as to be expected. We left for the hospital around 7:30 this morning. After completing her new daily routine at the Anticoagulation Clinic, we continued onto the Cascade Cancer Center where she eventually started the infusion. We tried to pass the time lightheartedly with board games, cards, jokes, and reading aloud to one another. We left the hospital around 1:30 and at this time Mama was experiencing some dizziness. She has been resting at the home, taking short naps, hydrating, and eating minimal amounts of applesauce and crackers. She is such a champion, and we are so proud of her.

I will further update as time passes. Her next chemo appointment is scheduled for two weeks from today, November 14^th.  Thank you all for your prayers and continued support, especially with meals and care packages. Mama feels so surrounded by love. It has truly been a blessing.

Thoughts from my journal

Summer has certainly ended for Washington and in its place the customary rains of fall have inaugurated the season. Driving to work this morning I was accompanied by the forceful beat of raindrop after raindrop upon my windshield in a relentless downpour. Each falling drop seemed to add an extra weight upon my shoulders, an increasing gravity that I couldn’t detect until walking through the door at work. This gravity dislocated a pillar within my soul, causing everything inside to shift off balance. I could feel it. The feeling that at any moment this pillar may give way causing the entire structure of composure to tumble into a crumble of emotional disaster.

God, what is going on inside me today?

Looking back on my morning, little things that usually paint my face with a smile caused my eyes to roll in annoyance. The drip of the coffee maker brewing. Copper (our dog) running into my legs in excitement for his breakfast.  Mama asking me how my morning was and the schedule for my day…Moment after moment of precious holiness and still my soul was congested, incapable of inhaling the rich scent of joy.

But why, God?

“These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full”(John 15:11 ESV).

I turn on the lights of the classroom and squint my eyes as the bright rainbow colors of the toddler room greet me. I try to remain busy, sweeping and wiping down the tables before the little ones arrive for the day. I am annoyed at how fast my mind seems to be running before daylight. And I preach the above verse to God, frozen in a moment of vulnerability with my Beloved and forgetting the obvious that He penned the promise to me.

Joy. Full Joy. More-than-human Joy. God-joy residing in me. Glorious-divine-joy whose perfection removes the essence of lack.

Okay, God, where is that joy now? Jesus paid so that I could have it always and forever and I want it NOW!

 Silence. I wait in a moment of expectation, staring at the pile of crumbs my broom’s movement accumulated. And in an ordinary second void of the spectacular, I feel the truth. It was one I was not to be received with the sight of my eyes or the listening of my ears, but with the senses of my heart.

Immediately, before I had time to object, raw tears swell in my eyes. And these tears seem to escort with them the majesty of understanding. And I hear His familiar gentle voice echo in the quarries of my being, “Your tears are safe in my hands.”  

A sweet release. A needed unlocking. And the drops from my eyes inundate my cheeks. I take a prolonged sigh, treasuring the cool of oxygen into my lungs. My tears cease, only leaving the evidence of swollen eyes and a warm damp-streaked face.

Breathing seems to be easier now, and the secret buried deep rises to the surface.

Chemo. Tomorrow.

Ah, this was the cause of my unrest. The culprit of my distress. The enemy that threatened to bring the one thing I dreaded the most…change. More change. Since returning from Mozambique this summer I have been overdosed with change. Change in community. Change in school plans. Change with a potential romance. Change in my relationship with my brother.

And through all this change I have clung tightly to the one avenue of security, my best friend, my kindred spirit, the one who completes my sentences, who has stood by my side through every type of loss—from losing my first tooth to experiencing my first death—whose arms welcomed me into this world and continue to cradle me through the unexpected, and now even this relationship is threatened by change brought on by chemo. So much change.

Of course Mama will still be Mama. She will still possess every quirk of her personality—the way she twirls her head, squints her eyes, and rapidly blinks when she smiles, or the manner in which she purses her lips when she is in deep thought. She will still contain her profound love for beauty and life found in the smallest of daily wonders. She will still nurture the remarkable dreams nestled snugly within her heart.

But she is a woman of incredible energy and enthusiasm. She seems to be constantly satiated on optimism. Her voice characterized by authentic perkiness. Her hugs are marked by such intentionality and tight squeezes minutely shy of cutting off the circulation in one’s arms. Her laughs are so voluminous they shroud the atmosphere in life and bliss. This, this consecrated grain of Mama’s nature that so many times I overlooked because of its constancy, it is this grain that may be temporarily frozen by the frost of nausea and exhaustion through the winter of chemotherapy.  

And I feel helpless. I can no longer delay the effects of cancer as I can the coming of winter. The last of my tears, the castaway of the morning’s emotion, slowly moistens my eye.

The smallest glimpse of fresh sunlight shines through the window and twinkles in dotted patterns on the wooden floor, a portion of the pattern landing atop my broom’s dust pile. I dispose of the crumbs and stare at the light. For some reason it brings me comfort, hope, peace. To think that such clear light gleamed upon unwanted trash, the rejected remains from the ground. There is beauty in the ashes.

And perhaps this is where His subtle answer to my question is to be found. Perhaps joy is too powerful a force to be limited to smiles and laughter. Perhaps its existence is the most glorious when oozing forth from groaning cries and salty tears. Perhaps rainbow beams glitter more awe through stormy skies.  Perhaps light can better reflect off teardrops. Perhaps it is here where amazing grace is inhaled.

Because two thousand years past He penetrated the threshold from heavenly to dust, that He might be called Immanuel, God with us. With us through the laughter. With us through the sorrow. With us in the fruitfulness. With us in the barrenness. With us in the constancy. With us in the change.

And this answer resonates within. Joy is not subject to the laughter. The fruitfulness. The constancy. It is found prior, in the miracle of the “with us.” In the existence of light dwelling upon broom’s crumbs. Of heavenly resting on dust. Of beauty among the ashes. Of Immanuel with us.

Driving home hours later and the raindrops persist. My mind flashes back to the heaviness of this morning brought on by the weight of the precipitation. But now, I see a hidden splendor within these drops. Rather than park my car in its usual abode within the garage, I park just outside under the drizzle canopy. I open my door and feel the rain gently caress my exposed face. I raise my gaze to the thick clouds and allow the downpour to soak into my cotton shirt and jeans. He is here now. Immanuel. Tears from heaven mixed with the saltiness of my own. He is with us in the weeping. And a thin smile creeps its way across my lips. Joy.

 

Reflections From a Daughter

(Much of this next entry may not seem applicable to Mama’s journey of cancer. It may not be a post you would be interested in reading. But this blog has become a space for me to release the tension of pent up thoughts in my soul. It is an escape for me, another quiet place for me to meet with God. I recognize it as another gift to me from Him. Thank you for indulging me.)

Lately, my thoughts have been fixated upon the life Jesus came to give. Specifically, I have been focusing on John 10:10:

“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly" (NASB).

“I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows)” (Amplified).

“I came so that they could have life—indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest”  (Common English Bible).

Life to the fullest. Each day overflowing with abundance. Hours passed in pure enjoyment and delight. That is our lot. This is the nature of the life He came to give. He didn’t suffer on the Cross, bearing all sin, sorrow, depression, poverty, captivity, depravity, and disease so that I can live a life of drudgery, passing boring days in mundane ritual in my attempt to survive until the weekend. No! He came to give life! And not just ordinary life. It is a life filled with the riches of Himself, expressed in the height of ecstatic joy, relishing in the freedom of today, savoring the beauty of each moment. This is my portion and I am determined to accept nothing less.

But what does abundant life look like in a world dictated by systems and injustices where work schedules and taxes are a must and where cancer and disease play their course? Indeed, I use to limit abundant life to the rare moments I fulfilled something on my bucket list, be it parachuting or crossing another state border. Or possibly after visiting the Seven Wonders of the World then, just maybe, my life would be abundant. No. Something in the pit of my stomach stirs causing my heart to faintly believe that it is here, it is available to me now.

Perhaps it is not a destination to be reached but a reality to be enjoyed, an invitation to stop anticipating for the future and begin drinking in the adventure of the moment. Perhaps it is not an abstract thing but a very tangible Person who is the "resurrection and the life" and who chooses to indwell the hearts of men to offer them such rich existence all of their days. Thousands of precious moments, each a gift, an extended reminder of grace, yet many times masked by the stress of tomorrow, the busyness of today, or the criticism of yesterday. Simple. Brief. Easily overlooked, yet when seen properly these moments contain the fullness of heaven, the breath of joy, the scent of Calvary. He died so that I might live. And oh, I long to live. I want to be fully alive each passing minute, drinking in the fragrance of the air into my lungs, whether I am doing something impressive in the world’s eyes or living another habitual day hidden away in our suburban neighborhood. Life is life and it is in essence abundant and present in each temporal moment because of what He paid. It is here now because He is Immanuel, God with us.

And maybe this is the key that unlocks the answer to my question, “What is abundant life?” It is not to be found in the grandiosity of the superb but the commonness of the everyday, the regularity of each minute. It is hidden in the ordinariness of each hour because that is life! Life does not constitute the moments I will live, but rather the moments I have already lived. And I begin to ponder and get lost in the flashes of the many ordinary occurrences that I seem to pass by as common yet contain the palpitation of abundant life because He is there. The dimples of a smile, bubbles, and balloons. Milk mustaches and belly button tickles. Gargling morning cups of coffee and mouths wide open catching snowflakes. Jumping in mud puddles and slurping spaghetti. Fingerprints in play dough and lipstick stains on windows.

Fleeting moments. Hundreds upon hundreds each day. Yet each full of grace, another ephemeral reminder that He died that I might have LIFE. A transient encouragement to laugh, to see the joy in the now, the residue of His blood that shadows the moment with beauty.

And my mind drifts off to think of the precious moments of abundant life Mama and I have shared this past week. Spending rainy Sunday afternoons at Starbucks playing speed scrabble. Fixing Mama’s hair in a fancy updo one last time before chemotherapy. Passing hours laughing at quotes, reading children’s books, and smelling candles in our favorite doodad store. And yesterday embarking on a road trip, the hours flying by as we laughed at random town names, enjoyed the sunshine on a forecasted rainy day, finished each other sentences, completed our makeup parked at a gas station, and  talked about how God sounds like Tigger rather than Eeyore. We met up in Portland with our dear friends, another mother-daughter duo, enjoying the time talking and laughing, olive oil tasting, driving under double rainbows, and contemplating the many choices of toppings at frozen yogurt.

And I am in awe. Are these not moments of abundant life experienced in the midst of the difficult circumstances of cancer? In light of chemotherapy around the corner, it is comforting to know that the regularity of these normal happenstances will continue to come and go carrying with them the essence of abundant life. We don’t have to wait to experience life to the full until Mama has completed her treatment. No, we get to LIVE LIFE, abundant life, through it all, drinking in the sweet wine of the Cross each day, soaking in the moment of His presence here with us now. Mama is a woman who will choose nothing less than her portion offered her at the Cross—an inheritance of blissful joy, constant laughter, endless smiles, wild freedom…abundant life.

She has chosen not to accept this as a lot of warfare from the Enemy, but rather happily sing praise. Every pore in her skin is accustomed to absorbing the rich treasure each moment excretes. She is the walking illustration of 1 Peter 1:8, “even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.”

I invite you to join me in following Mama’s example. Enjoy the ransom of the Cross today. Whatever that looks like (such as driving bear-footed, eating olives around each finger, watching feathers loosely float through the wind, etc.) drink in another day of His perfect grace, His presence in you transforming the normal into holy. He died that we might live. Let’s LIVE ABUNDANTLY.

Post-Surgery Results and Scheduled Chemo Treatment

It has been about two and a half weeks since our last post. Since then there has been quite a summation of follow up appointments and results. Much of it is very medical, so I will let Mama explain it all in her words (since she understands it better than I do!).

I’m all healed up from surgery and feel great! Pathology reports came back with the best outcome – Praise the Lord! No cancer was found in the lymph nodes. They got the entire tumor with good margins all around.

 This past Monday (Oct. 15^th) was another long day at the hospital. We (Pete and I) started with a post-op appointment with the surgeon. Then we had a chemo consult with the oncology nurse. For those of you who want to know, I start Chemotherapy on Oct. 31^st. My first 4 rounds will be every 2 weeks (totaling 8 weeks-) of Adriamycin and Cytoxan. (Those are the big guns!) I then will have a 3 week break before I start the next round. If all goes as scheduled, I will have a break over Christmas/New Year’s – another “Praise the Lord”! When Chemo starts again in January, I will have once a week treatments for 12 weeks (3 more months) and be given Taxal. This drug is much easier to tolerate, although it does cause fatigue. Then there is another short break before radiation begins. Right now, radiation is scheduled every day for 7 weeks. As you can see it is a long 7 months to go.

The Lord brought encouragement to my heart Wednesday night when I ran into a breast cancer survivor at church. She’s been cancer-free for 2 years. She was sharing how the fog sets in and treatment can feel like it will never end. She now looks back at it all, and it wasn’t so bad. Jesus was near walking her through it, and it’s now a testimony of His grace and Presence with her…

 After the Chemo consult, I had a CT-scan. Those results are back and there is nothing suspicious in the liver or lungs. God keeps giving me reasons to rejoice! J After my CT-scan, we headed to cardiology and I had an echo-cardiogram done on my heart. For those of you who do not know what that is, it is an in-depth ultrasound of the heart. The “echo-techs”(that is what they are called!) were the most adorable young gals (like 24 years old) and they were having so much fun with their new imaging screen they took 75 minutes of playing around watching every chamber and valve of the heart from a number of different angles. They can even track rate and direction of blood flow. As the patient, you get to lie there and just watch your heart do its work. It’s fascinating! Those heart-results are not in yet, but this was just a base-line test to track my heart now and make sure it does not get damaged with the Chemo drugs.

 Pete was the faithful guy that he always is and was by my side for the whole day – what a trooper! I love him so much and am so thankful he’s there smiling at me and making jokes “on the fly” to make me laugh.

Pete flew the next day to Asia to do his training work over there. He returns on Oct. 30^th, so he will be with me for my 1^st Chemo treatment. My Mom flies back out to visit on Friday, Oct. 26^th so she will be here as well. I am so blessed to be surrounded by my dear family and friends as I proceed down this road. They brighten my path along the way.

The last few mornings, while spending time with God in His word, I’ve been pondering Romans 4 and 5. Particularly the following verses:

 Rom. 4:17b, 20 –
“…the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were. He (referring to Abraham) did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what He had promised.”

 Rom. 5:2-5 –
“…we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because WE KNOW that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” (NIV)

 God’s Word brings so much life, encouragement and counsel when facing tough trials. He always strengthens and builds our hope and faith to believe Him and trust Him. He knows what He’s doing! God waited until Abraham was too old and powerless in himself to produce an heir. Not only that, his wife Sarah was 90 years old and “her womb was dead”. (5:19) God wanted it known that He is never powerless! He is a wonder-working, miracle-making, healing-handling God. He loves to show up and do what no man can do. It gives Him great pleasure and glory!!

 He’s up to something in my life as I face cancer. He is my Strength, my Joy and my Song.

 “He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry here, none other has ever known…” (“The Garden” Hymn)

Surgery and Recovery

Hello all! I am so sorry I am just getting this post out! I know many of you have been asking how the surgery went and how Mama is recovering. I will let her tell you in her own words (marked by the italics):

Surgery – done!  Check that off the list!

We headed to the hospital around 8:45am.  At 9:45 in the Breast Center unit, they injected radioactive solution into the Breast tissue.  The solution works its way through and the Doctors watch for how the solution drains into the Lymph system.  This is how they determine the Sentinel node for the region of the Breast where the tumor would naturally drain. This step can literally take hours since every person’s lymph system responds differently  (based on circulation of blood, etc.).

Next, a small wire gets inserted into the tumor from under the armpit.  Once they confirm it is at the exact spot, there is a way to open up a hook at the end of the wire and have it catch on tumor tissue.  Amazing!  This wire serves as a guide for the surgeon to follow.

We had some wait time at this point and I was instructed to walk the halls to help move the solution along in my system. All of us were completely covered in liquid peace!  A handicapped patient was playing worship music on a grand piano out in the hallway.  As I walked back and forth, it seemed as if the Lord was tangibly singing over me as I got serenaded by the pianist.  My spirit was so full with the goodness of the Lord.  Half the nurses and imaging techs who were prepping me for surgery were Breast Cancer survivors themselves.  Such tenderness and camaraderie surrounded me the whole time – praise Jesus! 

After a while, we headed to nuclear medicine for more imaging and to watch which nodes light up with radioactive dye.  Those nodes get removed in surgery, so they can be biopsied.  Based on the pathology report of the tumor and nodes, my medical oncologist will determine the most specific chemo treatment for me and the type of Cancer that I have.  We will have that report back next Tuesday, (10/09). 

Highlights from the morning include having Pastor Steve and Cheryl and Pastor Larry meet us in the waiting area for hugs and prayers.  And all the texts, voicemails, facebook posts (on Pete’s facebook) and emails that kept coming through from friends all over the country letting me know they were lifting me up in prayer.  The Body of Christ is such an uplifting gift.  I’m so grateful to each of you and the way you have blessed me and are willing to take this journey with me.

After the node tests were complete we headed up to Surgical Services.  We then had about a 4 hour wait.  I rested while the family headed to a Café for a delicious lunch.  Around 4:15 pm they began surgery.  I honestly do not remember a thing!  When I awoke, I was in recovery and it was around 6pm.  My family was still in the waiting area and My surgeon (Dr. Marion Johnson) came out to visit with them and stated the surgery could not have gone any better!  She felt like she got really good margins, removed the isolated nodes and was able to insert the port for chemo. 

I have very little pain at this time and I have complete peace. I’ve been resting and worshipping since surgery and trying to be very specific in my thankfulness to the Lord.  He took care of so many little details it’s hard to remember them all.

Oh Mama! I just love her! She was an absolute champ on the day of surgery. She couldn’t eat or drink anything before the surgery, yet her spirits were high. Daddy and I laughed at our pathetic state because we were SO hungry only after 4 hours of waiting with Mama. She had more energy than we did!

Through this journey, I have been contemplating what exactly is expected and required of us in response to God. As a daughter who deeply loves my mama, I want to be responsible to do what needs to be done in regards to Mama’s healing. Yet, I am at a loss before that sweet Cross of My Beloved. If Jesus accomplished everything upon the Cross, what else is left for me to do? Must I pray long hours throughout each day to show my Daddy God that I really am earnest in my belief that He can heal Mama? Must I strenuously fast to demonstrate that I am hungry for our Healer to receive the glory? (I should mention that we believe in prayer and other disciplines of the church but not as means of assisting God or achieving our sanctification. We don’t believe they are methods of appeasing God, but rather means of enjoying Him.) What is it that God wants from us? “Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the one He has sent” (John 6:29 NLT). It is a response of faith, crazy trust in an invisible God.

And yet, lately I have been thinking that it is impossible for me to make myself believe God. I cannot generate my faith through my own willpower, because even that would become a “work” that takes away from the finished work of the Cross. Therefore, even our faith comes by grace from God.

Sometimes I think the Gospel is too good to be true—Jesus died so that there would not be an ounce of separation between humanity and the Holy Trinity, that we might be perfectly unified for eternity with a Good God. Yet perhaps that is why it is called the Good News. And perhaps that is where faith is imparted: “So faith comes from hearing, that is, hearing the Good News about Christ” (Rom. 10:17 NLT). Wow! Our faith comes from the continual exploration of how good the Good News truly is! We can leave our striving and “good works” at the Cross because Christ accomplished it all! This truth is what allows Mama to rest through the journey in sweet celebration and joy as she drinks deeply of this Good News! Halleluiah!

“We know very well that we are not set right with God by rule-keeping but only through personal faith in Jesus Christ” (Gal. 2:16 MSG).

Giving Thanks Before the Surgery

Dear friends and family,

Tonight I asked Mama how she was feeling about tomorrow’s surgery (scheduled between 1 and 3 tomorrow afternoon). Instead of tell me in spoken words, she decided to journal her thoughts in writing. The following italics are her precious thoughts:

Here are my thoughts as I go into surgery tomorrow morning…

***I’m so glad God let Mom and Ken and I have our big international trip this past March. (Mama, Uncle Ken, and Grandma Lou had the opportunity to travel to Turkey, Rome, and Israel last March for three weeks. It was a dream come true for them!) Next March I will be in chemo/radiation and would not have been able to travel to the other side of the world. Thank you, Jesus!

***Sunday our church body surrounded me second service to pray for me. What a powerful time. When I closed my eyes people were still making their way to the front of the sanctuary to join in the prayer. When I opened my eyes, I literally was surrounded by hundreds of people encompassing me on all sides praying and showing their support. It absolutely overwhelmed my heart. My only response was “WOW!” God is so good to let us journey trials joined to one another as His body. I can’t imagine walking this path alone.

***On Sunday at church I had 5 breast cancer survivors come to me just to share their story, their victory and their support for me. Their radiance and love for Jesus blessed me to tears! I felt so honored that God would choose me to join their ranks. I want to come out of this with so much joy and hope it is unexplainable. I want to shine Jesus the way those beautiful women shone Jesus to me! One survivor gave me a beautiful “survivor” bracelet. It’s a sterling silver pendant bracelet with hope-filled phrases on charms and the breast cancer ribbon charm displayed. She let me know that many, many survivors have worn this bracelet before me and now it’s my turn to wear it. When I’m diagnosed as “cancer free” I get to pass this beautiful keepsake onto a precious woman who is beginning her own journey battling breast cancer. What an honor to wear it and know it represents the suffering, hope, tears and joy of so many women who have gone before me…

***On last thought, when I woke up this morning I thought about the journey ahead of me. I thanked the Lord that He didn’t reveal this tumor to me until after we were mostly settled into our home and lives here in the Northwest. I think if I would have discovered this lump back in June during the move I would have completely broke. He knew it was there. But it did not become “revealed” until we were connected and surround by an entire church body loving us and holding us up. Thank you, Father for your lovingkindness and tenderness in overseeing every detail of our lives! Not only that, but He has orchestrated an amazing team (surgeon, oncologists, doctors, etc.) to oversee my care and treatment. God will be glorified…

Isn’t she amazing?! My jaw continues to drop encountering Mama’s constant thanksgiving. I was also pondering the Lord’s perfection in this journey thus far and I have a few more points to add.

***Grandma Lou planned to visit long before any news of the tumor was revealed. She was here for the biopsy, the verdict of breast cancer, and she decided to delay her return flight until next Tuesday so that she can be with us tomorrow during the surgery and a few days after for the recovery. God knew that Mama would want her mother/close companion for the start of this journey and that Grandma Lou would want to comfort her baby girl as well.

***I was planning on attending University of Washington this fall. However, due to a delay in the processing of my transfer credits I decided to wait to enroll until the winter quarter. A week later we were informed of Mama’s diagnosis. God knew that I would need to be more available for Mama and the home during this time without the added responsibility and time commitment of classes.

***Aaron and his girlfriend planned to come visit this past weekend also long before any news of cancer. Mama is the core of our home and family. Therefore, having the entire family together for a few days helped to refresh and enliven her spirit even more! Going into this week of surgery she said, “Ah! My cup is so full!” God planned far in advance for Mama to celebrate before a physically exhausting week. It is another reminder that the Gospel allows us to dance through the rain!

I have to echo Mama’s appreciation for all of you! The perfect union with Christ that was granted us at His death upon the cross has allowed our family to no longer “evaluate others from a human point of view” (2 Cor. 5:16). “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). When we believe in Christ’s reconciliation to us,  He indwells our very being to live in and through us! Mama sees the beautiful face of Jesus clearly when she beholds the radiance of your smiles in the lobby of the church. She melts in His arms when your arms extend to her in a warm embrace. She feasts upon His goodness through the meals you bring her. She delights in His gifts when you offer her a thoughtful present. She soaks in heaven’s promises through the encouraging words you speak. Why? Because He is in you! Jesus is manifest to her through you—a member of His Body! It is beautiful for me to see every expression of love towards Mama so different yet entirely pure—a gift portraying elegance, a hug encompassing tenderness, a joke manifesting laughter, a card radiating creativity… each expression a unique portrayal of His very heart! We are captivated by the very entity that captivates the heart of God—His beautiful Bride, the Body of Christ, a great congregation that is not complete without YOU! So thank you for all your thoughtfulness towards Mama and our family! The indwelling presence of Jesus expressed through you  has expanded our admiration for our Beloved Christ! You are greatly honored and appreciated by our family!

New Results and Scheduled Surgery

Today Mama met with the surgeon and the medical oncologist. After examining the results from the MRI, from what they could determine they did not see cancer anywhere else in the lymph nodes. Praise God for this positive news. This will be further confirmed as the verdict when the surgeon takes a biopsy of the lymph nodes at the time of the surgery.

The oncologist gave Mama a further report regarding the HER2neu results. HER2neu is a pathology report that tests the aggressiveness of the cancer. These results came back negative. Prior to this, we already knew that this cancer was not hormone receptive—specifically concerning estrogen and progesterone. If it was hormone receptive, estrogen suppressants or progesterone suppressants could be offered with chemotherapy to slow the growth of the cancer (in accordance with the type of cancer.) Since we now know the results of Her2neu, Mama’s type of breast cancer is considered triple negative, and the Her2neu drug called “Herceptin” will not benefit her in treatment.

This news was a little disappointing for Mama simply because the chemotherapy stage is more extensive than we thought. It will include 18-20 weeks of drug-heavy chemotherapy, followed by two months of radiation. It was difficult for Mama, as well as us, to hear that this process may last until May of next year.

As I write this post, I am breathing in the savory aroma of a delicious home-made dinner that Mama is fixing. After a long day at the doctor hearing news that will dictate her life for the next eight months, she decided to come home and bless her family with a wonderful meal! All I would want to do after the day she just faced is curl up in a corner in my fuzzy socks and wallow with a gallon of ice cream in hand. Yet Mama continues to be the glue of our family, drawing us together with good food, laughter, and fun. In fact, when I talked to her over the phone after her appointment, the first thing I heard from her was not a downcast voice, but eager excitement (mixed with adorable motherly bossiness) for me to immediately go to the store to rent The Avengers for tonight. Haha, that’s my Mama. We fondly call her the playful otter of our family.

The factor that appears to be causing the most discouragement for Mama right now in regards to the future is not necessarily the battle of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation, but the side effects of hair loss. I think I would also feel the same way. This cancer is attacking the two parts of her body that most physically portray her beautiful femininity—her breasts and her hair. 1 Corinthians 11 refers to a woman’s hair as her glory. There is a deep God-given attachment between a woman and her hair that builds up and affirms her identity as a woman. With this in mind, loosing hair for a woman can cause shame. We strongly believe that Jesus came to absorb all condemnation and shame into his body on the cross so that we could live in freedom and glory. Therefore, we believe that either Mama won’t lose her hair or that God will provide the funds for her to enjoy a beautiful wig that adds to the glory of her physical God-given beauty. GOOD is a life form, the very person of God, and He loves to manifest in acts of goodness to reveal who He is to his children. I am excited to see his goodness in blessing Mama with hair!

Mama’s surgery is scheduled for all-day next Wednesday, October 3^rd. We are so thankful for all the love and support from family and friends and welcome your continued prayer support, especially as Mama prepares for the surgery.

I will close this post with another look at the mysterious, wonderful finished work of the Cross. I just finished reading Benjamin Dunn’s book The Happy Gospel and was so encouraged at the simplicity of abundant living made possible purely through the way of Jesus Christ’s Cross. Dunn writes:

            Our claim to healing and health is that we belong to Christ and to His righteousness, and this      produces life in our bodies. Our spirits, souls, and even our bodies are subject to newness. We        have been “recreated in Christ Jesus” (Eph. 2:10). We are to yield our bodies as though we have     been raised from the dead (Rom. 6:13). Our bodies are now sharing in Christ’s life, the same Life    that raised Christ’s (physical) body from the dead. That same (physical) body resurrecting power      is now dwelling inside of us believers. It is part of our new reality as new creations. Life is our       portion.

Praise God that we can rest in the life of Jesus living in us to meet our every need and equip us to encounter every circumstance with abundant life! Halleluiah, our healing is not dependent upon striving self-effort that contends for the supernatural health, but our divine health is secure in the finished work of what Christ already accomplished on the Cross—the Supernatural One Himself now dwells within us. Even in the face of the “unknown, yet to come”, we are compelled to effortlessly rejoice because of the ultimate reality that “It is finished.” Partner with Mama and our family today in another day of celebrating Jesus!