Ending Well

It was one year ago, on Christmas Day, when I first felt this weird tingling sensation in my neck, which quickly turned into a lump, and then several lumps, which tests and scans and biopsies subsequently confirmed as being Stage 4 metastatic cancer.  It has been a year of fighting hard for my health.  Fighting hard for my life.

The thing about cancer is that it is a vicious, aggressive, ruthless enemy.  But unlike other enemies, when you are fighting cancer, you can never, ever, not for one second, retreat.  There is no withdrawing from the battle, no R&R weekends where you can just be a normal person for a few days before putting your armor back on to fight another day.  No, cancer is in you, and if you have any hope of winning the battle, you can never stop fighting.

But I have discovered, surprisingly, that there is an even bigger enemy inside me, one that is even more brutal and unrelenting: the enemy of fear.  Not just fear of dying or fear of the unknown future, which is huge, but fear in every decision that I make. 

When I have time in the afternoon, should I fight my fatigue by taking a nap?  After all, sleep is restorative, the only time when cells regenerate.  Or should I use that time to go outside?  I mean, I need that oxygen-rich air and vitamin D from the sun to help fight this cancer.  

Should I press fresh organic fruits and vegetables through a juicer for those essential nutrients that my body needs, or should I stay away from fruit altogether, since cancer cells thrive on glucose?  

When the pain becomes unbearable, should I apply a heat pack, since cancer cells cannot survive heat, or should I go for the cold pack, which may reduce some of the inflammation?  

Every day, with every decision, I fight the enemy of fear, knowing that my very life depends on choosing wisely.  Always aware of the lethal consequences I will face if I don’t.

We Do

Before the church service began, we could tell by the muted noises up front that it would be a special one.  Little ones dressed up in their best outfits, parents doing their best to shush them and keep them calm for just a few more minutes.  Little girls with pink bows in their hair. Baby boys with miniature suits. 

Several times a year, our church has a Child Dedication ceremony – an opportunity for parents to commit to raising their children in a godly, Bible-focused, Christ-centered home.  It’s a sweet, tender moment, a solemn vow that these parents are taking.  And for some of us, it’s a poignant reminder of our own children, and our own commitment not too long ago to raise them to know and love the Lord.

This brief ceremony is also for us, the Church Family.  The pastor asks us if we will commit to walking beside these moms and dads on their parenting journey.  If we will encourage them when the days get hard.  If we will mentor them and counsel them as they seek wisdom.  If we will pray for them and support them and partner with them along the way, doing everything within our power to help their children come to a personal relationship with Jesus.

Yes, we say, with enthusiastic agreement.  Yes, we commit to stand with these families and their beautiful young children in the days and years to come.  Yes, we promise to help them keep the vows that they have made today.  Yes, we do!

Grief

At one time I may have imagined that love at first sight was a preposterous idea, a result of the wishful thinking of hopeless romantics.  But now that it has happened to me, I no longer doubt its possibility.  She made a believer out of me.

From the moment I first met that girl, our spirits connected.  It was almost like magic, the way she reached down deeply into my heart, tapping into emotions I didn’t realize I was capable of.  A powerful sadness for her lost childhood and stolen innocence.  A fierce desire to protect her.   A pervasive sense that we belong together.  She gave me the courage to say yes to something I had never thought possible: giving my heart to a teenage foster child.  She taught me how to dream.