Updates since December

          I apologize for the delay in updates with Mama. My last post was over two months ago. Within that time I was very eager to write, but it seemed that the inspiration within my heart that normally sweeps the tips of my fingers into a swift dance upon the computer keys was hibernating, unable to be aroused :). Little did I know that this was part of the whisper from God, the message He was cementing within on waiting (as I wrote about in the following post). With that said I want to offer a brief summary of Mama's journey since December:

• She completed her first round of chemo (Adriamycin and Cytoxan) a week before Christmas.
• She began her weekly treatment of Taxol (another form of chemotherapy) the first week in January. This treatment lasts for twelve weeks. She currently has seven remaining treatments of Taxol, scheduled for each Friday.
• Thus far the greatest side effect of chemo for Mama has been very painful and swollen mouth sores (think canker sores on steroids). At times, her mouth has been so swollen she cannot eat or talk. Two Fridays past her treatment was actually delayed due to needed recovery time for her mouth before more Taxol was injected in her system. We continued to pray and rest in the Lord (while providing Mama with the only comfortable sustenance--vanilla milk shakes) and, as to date, Mama's mouth is free of any sores. She is even talking about making crunchy tacos tomorrow night :)
• If the treatment continues as schedule, Mama should be done with chemo at the end of March, and begin daily radiation soon after.

          She is such a rock star. Thank you so much for your continued love and support. We cannot imagine walking this journey without all of you.

The Position of Waiting

              I love Valentine’s Day. This could be for a number of reasons. Vibrant flowers of pink, red, and purple seem to adorn more corners of society during this time of year, adding an extra touch of beauty. Young girls fashion the most adorable outfits of heart patterned tights and glittery hair ties that cause me to smile in simple delight. And, of course, it is another excuse to indulge in milk chocolate and heart-shaped sprinkled sugar cookies.

                Yet, it cannot be denied that Valentine’s Day is especially intended for cherishing the romantic love between two. It is a day utterly needed in our busy society where marriage many times is the lowest priority, after that of the career and the kids. A day set apart to honor the one in holy covenant with you.

                However, I can only speak so far concerning the felicity of this day given that I have never yet experienced celebrating a romantic love. Mama and I have always aimed to make the day special for celebrating familial love—decorating the kitchen in red and white streamers and cooking a fancy dinner with a lavish dessert. But part of Valentine’s Day for me, and I am sure for many other individuals who are single, is a day of longing for that future love that will one day, hopefully, come to pass.

                I want to be clear that I do not endorse the “woe is me” antagonistic response that some singles seem to voice during Valentine’s Day. I genuinely celebrate with those who are in love. And I look forward to dreaming with God every year when Valentine’s Day comes. Dreaming of the day beyond receiving my own red roses symbolic of affection, or exchanging sentimental Hallmark cards, or playfully lip sinking 90’s love duets over the car radio, or romantic moonlight strolls with fingers intertwined with another—beyond all these hoped for moments to the consecrated time when I may look into another’s eyes and know in absolute certainty that my years of waiting, dreaming, yearning for my heart’s deepest desire have finally culminated in beholding my beloved.

                Just as God renewed His promise to Abraham of one day being a father of many nations, this holiday seems to be the time of year that God also renews His promise that one day He will grant the deepest desire He has nurtured within my heart. And so Valentine’s Day is a cherished time of dreaming with God as I continue to…WAIT.

                Ah, that four letter word that adults and children alike seem to never understand. WAIT. We of course understand the “yes” from heaven as it complies with our desired answer. The ultimatum of “no” from God is harder to grasp, but we seem to move on with life in the belief that whatever we desired was not in our best interest. But wait? WAIT! “Wait” seems to usher a million questions in one tide of thought. Why not here? Why not now? If it will eventually come to pass, if it will eventually be my best, why is it not my best TODAY?  

                Waiting is a world of mystery holding an atmosphere of eagerness that can either lead to an expression of faith and supernatural contentment or doubt and despondency—either the framework “it is well with my soul” or “God is withholding this from me.” And if the latter response takes precedence, we may be inclined to take action outside the ordained time to experience a fabricated answer to heaven’s promise. The result: Ishmaels are born, the waiting continued, only now with an allotment of pain and, still, the result proves the same: God is faithful to bring forth the Isaacs.

                I think about my own peculiar position in life—lofty dreams of marriage, family, and the mission field placed on hold for who-knows-how-long as I transfer to another university to finish my degree while caring for precious babies at a childcare center in a very hidden corner of Sammamish, Washington. And my mind speeds me down the highway of my family’s journey, one much more replete with waiting than with answered questions…

                …my parents waiting after the death of their firstborn for another child to call their own…

                …Daddy transitioning our family to Colorado in the pursuit of becoming a church pastor, a pursuit fulfilled six years later in Washington after faithfully managing a wholesale florist company…

                …Austin miraculously earning a perfect GPA after persevering through the lifelong struggle of autism and the doubts of specialists…

                …and now Mama, placing her ministry and her flute aside as she waits to fully recover from chemo treatment and radiation.

                And I think, “What is it about waiting that is so necessary and ordained?” Abraham waited twenty- five years after receiving the promise of a future son before he held Isaac in his arms. The Israelites waited forty years in the desert before entering the Promised Land. David waited over twenty years before he was crowned King. Simeon waited his entire life to look upon the face of the expected Messiah. And Jesus waited thirty years before beginning his ministry on earth. But why?

                Why does waiting seem to be the chosen currency of heaven?

***

                Friday of this past week came with the same tip-toe gentle grace that it is known to possess—a canopy of shade through the last hours of labor into a weekend of rest. I was squatting low next to toddler tables scrubbing away the last of the crusted marinara pasta remains from lunch, the flesh of my knees protruding through the newly formed holes in my jeans. My mind spiraled from deep contemplation to the lullaby of the worship music to the dreaming little darlings before me that the music lulled to sleep. I smile at the holiness of this daily ritual in the classroom—babies resting midday in heaven’s embrace. I imagine wind from angels’ wings synchronizing the rhythm of steady breathing as their petite backs slowly rise and fall. Goosebumps race down my spine as I am overcome with tenderness for these little ones.

                I gain composure and hastily work to restore order to the room. I hesitate in my task when I hear sheets rustle and sustained groans; a baby bottom rises upon bent knees. Her head pops up abruptly, accompanied with a loud sequence of coos. I inhale and hold my breath, hoping the others do not awake. An exhale of relief, and I chuckle in my throat—the first of the early birds has sung her song.

                Her lips spread wide exposing six tiny teeth and her arms extend up to me with wiggled fingers. I lift Baby Girl and rest her upon my right hip, sweeping blonde hair out of her eyes that escaped from her loose pigtails. I brush her soft cheek with my finger, ripe with the rosiness from sleep. I gather my paperwork and sit her at the table with her cup of water. She grunts noisily with burrowed eye brows. I quickly sit her on my thighs in an attempt to sustain a quiet atmosphere of sleep for the others. I place my index finger over my lips—“sh, sh, sh”. I grin again as Baby Girl mimics the gesture but not the volume. I attempted to fill out daily paperwork with her on my lap but eventually place it aside when she discovered the true function of my clipboard as a drum.

                This seems to appease Baby Girl as she rests her head upon my chest. She now has all my attention.  She pointed to the tambourines in the instrument bucket. I shook my head. “That is too loud to play right now. We have to wait until more of our friends wake up.” She gave me her famous pouting face, but soon became intrigued pointing to my different facial features.

                Her finger landed on the corner of my eye lid—“Eye,” (pronounced more like a pirate’s “aye” from Baby Girl.) I nod in encouragement. Next, my nose—“Nuh.” Another nod. My ear followed—“Eee.” And lastly my mouth—“Mah.” This continued for another five minutes, as she recognized the details of my face, delighting in my undivided gaze resting solely upon her.

                Without warning Baby Boy starts crying, awaking the rest of the early birds. I kiss Baby Girl on the forehead and sit her down by the instruments. “Now you may play with the tambourine.” She giggles in surprise, as if I just offered the most treasured gift, as if she forgot all the while that she was waiting for anything;

                                                attention diverted

                                                                from the delay in her waiting

                                                                                to the full enjoyment of her location where she waited—

ON me, upon my lap, within my presence, enwrapped in the fullness of my love.

                I go over to sooth Baby Boy with one hand while folding his sheets with the other. But my mind continues to grip the simplicity of the previous moment with Baby Girl, replaying the seconds, squeezing them so tightly that profundity is bound to ooze forth and birth enlightenment.

***

“Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”

–Psalm 27:14—

                Driving home and this verse strikes my heart almost as abruptly as lightening upon the earth, transforming the interior of my car into a sanctuary of praise. How many times have I read this cry of David, transcribed it into my journal, only now it seems to be written upon my heart in color rather than black and white.

                So many times I tripped over the word “wait”, choking down the exhortation, and then demanding my portion of courage and strength the promise seemed to offer. Yet, I failed to see the position of waiting that is the source of all courage and strength—on the LORD. Curled upon the lap of Abba, Daddy, reveling in the sublimity of Perfect Love, mesmerized as I memorize the radiance of His countenance, as Baby Girl once did with me, lost in the thick presence of His Shekinah glory.

                On the Lord—this is indeed different than waiting for the Lord. Waiting for the Lord seems to be more of an old covenant concept implying lack. It was appropriate for the Israelites to wait in faith for deliverance, salvation, sanctification, wisdom, and healing. The Messiah had not yet come. But we walk in the ecstatic blessing of living on the other side of the Cross. Jesus delivered us from every power of evil. He saved us from the grips of sin and death. He became our sanctification through the transfusion of His righteousness. He filled us with His Spirit who is the embodiment of all Wisdom. And He absorbed our every infirmity and injury so that we may experience His divine health. Christ accomplished all of that through one bloody sacrifice, a sacrifice brimming with the full condemnation of God’s wrath towards humanity so that we might stand free. How drastically different was the ticking second before Jesus drew His last breath and the second that immediately followed death. In one instant, humanity was transferred from the pit of “awaiting the promise” to the heights of “IT IS FINISHED!”  And now we stand free of all condemnation, forever reconciled into the deepest place of God’s bosom, intoxicated by the sweet wine of freedom, possessed by Holiness Himself.

                The Israelites were waiting for the fulfillment. But we now stand fulfilled.

                The only mention I find of waiting for the Lord in the New Testament is in reference to Jesus’ return, and this waiting is completely void of lack. “Therefore you do not lack any spiritual gift as you eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed” (1 Corinthians 1:7).

                Pre-Cross: humanity’s eternal state was one of waiting for separation from God to forever be eradicated. Post-Cross: humanity’s eternal state is one of resting in the joy and peace of perfect union with God. Yes, I wait for the sacred dreams in my heart to come to pass. But my eternal position is not one of waiting for but resting on. Perhaps this is the joy of abiding.

                I arrive at the house, eager to begin my weekend. Ascending the stairs I see Mama, knees bent to stomach, curled upon the couch asleep. Bald head covered by beanie, face paled with exhaustion, body weakened with the surge of Benadryl and drugs of treatment from chemo earlier that afternoon. A smile crosses my lips as I observe her bent position, so still and childlike, as if His hands cupped under her back and cradled her close to His heart. Ah, she is waiting on Him.

                Waiting on Him through the taste of salty tears caused by the pain of swollen mouth sores. Waiting through the multiple weekly hospital visits and the habitual blood tests. Waiting through the consumption of Coumadin pills and doses of amino acids. Waiting. On. Him. It is here that she has learned to rest because there is nowhere else to go.  And indeed she has discovered there is nowhere else she would rather be. What location in life, even if it were full of riches and prosperity but void of being experienced on Him and with Him and in Him, could offer the depth of ecstasy she exudes in her present position curled upon His lap?

                It is here she has been exposed to a new reflection of the Kingdom of God—a kingdom tucked within the crevices of waiting. Waiting has provided her time—time to be a surrogate mother to many young women who have traveled to our home from the distances of Colorado and Texas to the nearness of the Sammamish neighborhoods, time to share life with her mother who has visited extensively, time to thrill in the pleasures of being a homemaker once again after placing the extent of that desired role on hold for the responsibility of the Colorado flower shop, time to speak life into other cancer patients within the church, and first and foremost, time to be loved by Him, for she is His Beloved. Here she waits, under the ever flowing fountain of His jealous love, soaking in the beauty of her identity and the bliss of her location ON Him.

                Mama inspires me. And I think about the beauty of the Kingdom radiating from my waiting experience. No, I may not yet have the opportunity to pray for the dead to be raised in the slums of India, but I have the privilege of praying for diaper rashes and runny noses day after day. I may not yet have the platform to sing praise among the hopelessness of poverty, but I can daily sing Jesus Loves Me to eager baby spirits. I may not have a hand of a romantic love to hold, but my thumbs are grasped by sweaty toddler fingers and my hands cling with pride to my cancer-conquering Mama. This is a life rich in supernatural glory not because of what I am doing, but from where I am doing—On Him.

                And I think back to Baby Girl and her reception of the tambourine. Perhaps this is the only appropriate manner in which to wait, completely occupied by the splendor of the One on which we sit that when the dream arrives we embrace it for what it truly is—not the fulfillment…but a gift.