Hard Times/Growing – Betty's Thoughts

Boundaries, Grace, Speaking Truth and Healing

Relationships, friendships (close or just acquaintances), committees, small groups and any other combination of people can be messy and sometimes painful.. These combinations can be hard to establish and even harder to maintain. I’ve seen that clearly, time and time again.

Our stories are unique combinations of high points and low points. We accomplish, live through, celebrate and grieve so many different things. Our personalities, and our giftedness, predispose us to appear a certain way to others and to ourselves – with all the good points and bad points, making certain connections naturally easier or harder. Our experiences and the things that have wounded us make us more sensitive or less sensitive to someone else’s story – and therefore can open up areas where we inadvertently cause pain or react in pain to others.

It is not an easy thing to navigate through this and form relationships that are healthy and godly. Relationships that last in healthy ways or that end – and some do need to end – in healthy ways.

It’s not as if there is only one thing to focus on and an easy formula to follow. Setting boundaries is important. So is extending grace. Speaking about things that hurt you is important. So is recognizing that you may need to help people understand. Continuing to heal from your own wounds and trauma is essential in learning how to do these things. Learning to listen to the nudge of the Holy Spirit in any given exchange cannot be underestimated.

For the last few years, I’ve grieved that the ability to have conversations – especially as brothers and sisters in Christ – seems to have eroded. There are regularly accusations delivered with harshness and an unwillingness (often for all involved) to really listen in an effort to try and understand, or to believe the best about each other, or even to “agree to disagree”. Conversations are replaced by dialogs where instead of listening we are mentally forming our next point which will provide the defense for our position. Someone’s comments are attributed to maliciousness or serve as a reason to walk away, rather than as a way to have an encounter that helps both parties grow in understanding of the other one, often learning new ways to care for each other in the process.

But here’s another wrinkle that is buried in the details of how a conversation goes. There is truth and standing for truth and justice matters. Agreeing to disagree is hard, and maybe not always appropriate, when you see a great need, a great injustice, or a situation that feels life-threatening to you.

So how do we speak the truth in love? And on the flip side, how do we listen in a loving way.

Jesus perfectly modeled grace and truth. He also balanced His pursuit of people with His willingness to honor their choices and let them walk away. But it doesn’t come easily to us.

Much of the time it is complicated. Some people may be horrified to learn that they hurt someone and will use the situation to grow in wisdom and discernment. Others may be so insensitive to another’s pain, and so entrenched in their beliefs or their own need to be right, that a conversation makes no difference. Two people might agree that something is wrong (or right) but not agree on whether there is only one way to address the issue – and be unwilling to really listen to another possibility or to sense that your hearts actually want the same thing.

Those with a background of being hurt, whose story of healing has required them to learn to draw boundaries, may or may not be able to have a conversation – when the possibility of being hurt again is real. Those who are passionate about an issue and have educated themselves about it may have no patience for others who don’t bring the same research and thought. And so instead of conversations, you have situations where someone doesn’t pass your “litmus test” and you shut them down. And distance becomes entrenched. And assumptions about “people like that” form deeper roots.

Even the extending of grace – a part of believing the best about someone and often a part of “agreeing to disagree” – can cause problems. Done begrudgingly, it can create resentment. It can also get sloppy when it’s not true grace. It can excuse bad behavior, it can allow abuse to continue, it can avoid hard conversations for the wrong reasons. Learning to self-advocate, to appropriately speak up for oneself, to be honest about things is important. So is learning to say “you cannot treat me this way”. But I also believe there is more grace available to us, and through us, than we often access.

A pastor once worked hard to convince me that “being truthful” was more Christ-like than “being nice”. It was hard for me to grasp. But it was a game changer once I did.

So – how do we navigate this? I am someone who, by nature, doesn’t get angry often. That may sound “nice” but it’s not always healthy. There are things we should be angry about. I do know how to get sad though. So my ways of navigating this may be tipped toward my personality.

Here are some thoughts.

Learn to recognize the nudge and voice of the Holy Spirit. As a starting point, that’s essential. What is right in one situation may not be what is right in the next. What we can handle on a bad day may be different from what we can handle when we aren’t in stress overload. The details of navigating this are influenced by a myriad of factors, many of which seem to change daily.

Recognize that hurts and misunderstandings are part of doing life together. I believe being in community is worth this risk. I also believe the enemy will try to use these things to get a foothold in your life. And I believe that pursuing healing for ourselves is essential to navigating them well.

Be prepared to be rebuffed, misunderstood or accused of things you did not do. Accept that you may get hurt. Do the right thing anyway but seek the Lord about what that is. Stay where you are called to be. Press through. Remember Jesus who for the joy set before Him endured the cross. At times, you may need to speak up for yourself and set boundaries. Other times you may need to lay down your desire to set the record straight – or do it in a way that requires gentleness when you just want to insist. I believe we can learn to be better at these conversations, but that’s not a guarantee you won’t get hurt.

Grieve that it may be unfair. But work hard to acknowledge that and move on. Don’t get stuck there.

Pursue direct conversations, work to keep your heart soft and avoid rumors or gossip. Honor the instruction in Scripture to go directly to the person – and to not gossip. As best you can, keep your heart soft. Being truthful or direct does not preclude being gentle or firm. We are to speak the truth in love, but also to believe the best about the other person. (However, see the point about patterns of behavior, below.) Be open to God doing something in the conversation. That happens more often when hearts are soft.

Ground your true identity in the Lord. A counselor once asked me “What are you most afraid of?” My response was “That people who don’t know me will believe what this person says about me.” He asked “Can you live with that?” It took a while, but I got there. And I discovered when (and how) to have the conversations that let me talk about my own perceptions of the experience – and when to just let it go.

If you are attacked or wounded, accept responsibility for pursuing your own healing. The hurt is part of living in community and relationship. Yes – it’s often unfair. But now it is your responsibility to pursue your own healing.

The person who hurt you may be operating out of wounds that were unfairly inflicted on them. You can’t force their healing but you can take responsibility for yours. And perhaps, a bit of compassion creeps in as you recognize you share the reality of being wounded unfairly.

Recognize that hurt can occur even when that was not your intention. In most cases it is right to start by acknowledging that hurt occurred. Avoid the false apology of “I’m sorry if you feel hurt” or “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Accept that you did hurt them. It wasn’t your intention. The accusation might be unfair. But it happened and acknowledging that is important to the conversion getting to the heart of things. And to the degree that you need to “own” it, do so. Ask forgiveness if you need to.

Listen well. If you have listened well to their hurt, it’s easier for them to hear “I’m so sorry. That was not my intention at all.” Don’t jump in with your defense prematurely.

Recognize the difference between convictions and preferences. It’s a variation on “choose your battles”. Decide whether or not you can remain in relationship. See if the other person is teachable. If you can’t stay, or they aren’t teachable, learn to state that in a calm way that explains your conviction and maybe expresses sorrow over the parting of ways.

Be prepared to draw appropriate boundaries, when it is the right thing to do. This is sometimes necessary and healthy. So learn to do it well. But don’t use “drawing boundaries” as an excuse to avoid conversation. Be honest with yourself. Ask trusted friends or counselors for wisdom. Spend time with the Lord asking Him for His guidance. And then stand firm in your healthy convictions.

Be humble when someone disagrees with you. It will take a willingness from both of you to “agree to disagree” but you can initiate the conversation that asks them to help you understand their viewpoint. They may not be willing. But you will have done what I believe the Lord asks of you. The goal is to grow in understanding – not necessarily to come to a complete agreement. Be open to recognizing how your assumptions affect the conversation.

Distinguish between your responsibility and their responsibility. You cannot make this happen by yourself. You can’t argue someone into loving you. And you can’t always love them into loving you. We’re still called to love – and love is powerful – but we can’t guarantee they will love (or even like) us back. They have choices and responsibilities of their own.

Be sensitive to whether you automatically took offense at something that was said or done. Being offended is different than being hurt. Taking offense can sometimes keep you entrenched in defensiveness in such a way that you miss out on the possibility of learning and growing and healing.

Consider whether this is a pattern of behavior or a random occurrence. We need to deal with patterns differently than we do individual events. A pattern of abuse or insensitivity needs boundaries. It’s shown itself over time or in various ways. A comment that hurts in the moment may be very different – perhaps a misunderstanding, a lack of understanding from a speaker who may be very teachable about why that hurt, or an issue with context.

It’s not easy. But it’s important.

Contentment and Yearning

Written in September 2019.

There’s a recurring tension I encounter. It’s the tension of living in contentment and living with unfulfilled yearning.

This isn’t unique to me. I know scripture praises learning to be content in all circumstances and sees godliness with contentment as great gain. But scripture also tells us to yearn for (hunger and thirst for) things like righteousness. We’re encouraged to be persistent in prayer. We’re not supposed to be content in the face of things like injustice or evil.

But what do we do when it feels less “invisible spiritual realm” and more “flesh and blood” realm? When it is not a spiritual desire or a crisis, but is rather a persistent desire that just doesn’t go away, with no clear word from the Lord one way or another. The things that don’t dominate your life, aren’t necessarily painful, don’t intrude daily, but are never too far beneath the surface.

How do we live in the tension between contentment and yearning?

I love my life. I love what I get to do. I love the ministry. I love making a difference. I love owning a home that lends itself to hospitality. I love getting to travel. I love that I have friends to connect with. I love that I’m cancer-free. I’m very grateful for all that.

I’m deeply content. This empty nest season of my life has been healed and redeemed in ways far beyond what I could have imagined 15 years ago. I also recognize that the depth of my contentment does not come from any of those things I mentioned above. No job, no person, no possession can fill those spaces in me that require the Lord in order to be deeply and peacefully content in a way that is not shaken by circumstances.

My ability to live in the tension between contentment and yearning stems from a rootedness that knows my needs are ultimately met by the Lord. For me, He has been a trustworthy place to take pain and abandonment and abuse and disappointment and cancer and so much more. I trust at a deep level that He is “for me” and not against me.

BUT …

I also experience yearnings that don’t go away. I don’t live in pain because of them. They don’t intrude daily. But they are there.

Some are easy to talk about. I yearn for the kind of community I experienced in Connecticut before moving to Georgia eight years ago. For a church that “did church” better than anywhere else I’ve been. For the close friends that come from walking with each other in daily life, through ups and downs, for years.

Some are harder to talk about. I yearn for someone special in my life. Not just for someone to love me, but for someone who would delight in being loved by me. A companion to share life with. Someone “there” to listen and talk to – rather than having to find someone to share with when I’m lonely or happy or just have something to share. Someone there in the going out and coming in each day.

My life is busy and full. So it is rare that I have enough time to get deeply reflective on this. But when I do, I’ll be honest – I have more questions than answers as I reflect on what I should do with this yearning.

But I’ve learned a few things:

Don’t let lies gain a foothold. For me, this took years of work with counselors and with the Lord before it became instinctive rather than requiring intense effort. I don’t allow myself to go down the path where the “old tapes” play. Where I hear the voices saying I’m not good enough, pretty enough, special enough.

Don’t get stuck in unproductive places that feed the lies. I don’t allow myself to fixate on “Why has no one been interested in me in the 15 years since my divorce?” (And the corollary leap that says the reason must be me.) Comparison fits in here as well: “Why do other people get a second chance and I don’t?”

Ground yourself in truth even if you have to repeat it 50 times a day during the hard times. I cling to what I know is true. Five years ago the Lord asked me: “What if this (the possibility of a companion to share life with) is about My timing and not your worth?” I cling to that. I press into the assurance that I have been healed from earlier wounds, I am strong, and I have something to offer. I hang onto the truth that I am well-equipped to be a partner, whether or not that ever happens.

Be honest about what you want and courageous enough to ask for it. This is still a tough one for me. I’m not a demanding person. My identity for much of my life has been as “the compliant one”. I’m sometimes a tentative “if it’s okay and if it’s your will” kind of pray-er. I don’t want to ask Him for something until I’m sure He wants to give it to me. There’s some messed up “need to get it right” stuff in there. There’s also some healthy willingness to accept that He knows best.

What’s missing is the fullness of my identity as a beloved daughter and the trust that He knows my heart and ultimately wants His best for me. I don’t have to be afraid that I might not “get it right’. So I can ask in freedom, knowing that He delights to hear my requests. That not only is it “safe” to dream with Him, but that doing so knits our hearts together in unique ways. My heart is still catching up to my head knowledge on this one.

Be aware of where your past experiences impact your current fears, actions and desires – and figure out what that means. I am honest about the places where my past experience impacts my yearning. Some of my past treatment has created a desire in me to be pursued, rather than to be the one trying to hold things together, to keep someone close who wants to leave. Basically, when I’m really honest, my wish goes like this: “Any time Lord – but I want him to just drop out of the sky into my lap and pursue me”. I’ve worked with a counselor to unpack the healthy and the unhealthy parts of that desire to be pursued. As part of that, I’ve looked at things like whether I’ve too narrowly defined what pursuit looks like (i.e., in a way that spares me from any action or risk) and what it would mean to put myself “out there”.

Take your questions to the Lord. Spend time listening. My selfish wish is “just drop out of the sky, into my lap”. But it’s rarely how the Lord works in my life. So, in those moments, when I have time, I find myself with questions like these:

When do I wait for it to happen and when do I be persistent? What would persistence look like? How do I admit the depth of my yearning without messing with my contentment? Is it a good risk or a bad risk to mess with my contentment? Is discontentment a bad thing when it pushes us toward something important? Does “settling” for contentment mean I miss out on greater joy?

I know my thinking can get convoluted and bogged down. Time with the Lord brings clarity – and often much more quickly than I thought possible. It’s where I get the things I cling to as true.

Figure out what hope looks like for you. I have my days where I give up hope that it will happen – and where I genuinely and peacefully trust the Lord with that. But I haven’t heard Him tell me to lay down this yearning, to move past it.

So most days, if I think about it, I live with a tentative hope. Not one that requires this for a rich and full life, but one that believes my heavenly Father could still surprise me with a gift that would delight my heart and take my breath away.

Be willing to give it up if you know He is asking that. I’ve had a few unfulfilled dreams, even ones that persisted for years, where I eventually heard a “no”. Some were instantaneously easy to give up. Others weren’t. But obedience is worth it and brings freedom.

Make sure the “important thing” remains the important thing. Without that, the balance between contentment and yearning is tenuous.

So I come back to this: I have a trustworthy Father who loves me, and grounding both my contentment and my yearnings in His goodness is what makes living in the tension possible.

When the News is Good – But Not Profound

Originally written in April 2019, about 5 months after the end of cancer treatment.

It’s been 5 months since my cancer treatments (radiation) ended. You’ve walked with me in this journey and it’s right for you to be updated. But to be honest, I keep waiting for something profound to share. And it’s not there.

There are facts. I was exhausted at the end of radiation in mid-November but 5 months out my energy level has returned. (For example, at 4 months out I did a 16-day work related trip that involved three 25+ hour travel days, multiple days of 5-6 hour bus rides and more.) My first post-cancer mammogram – done 5 months after the lumpectomy and 2 months after the end of radiation – was clear. My visits with the oncologist (every 3 months) are routine and uneventful.

In just about every way, this journey with cancer is over – and with minimal disruption to my life compared to the cancer journey of so many others. Caught early. Didn’t need chemo. Successful radiation. And so on. I felt like working throughout it and doing the work I love brought life and good “distraction”. It maintained continuity and minimized the disruption.

It feels almost unfair to claim I’m a cancer survivor because my life was never really in question. I didn’t come face to face with my mortality in scary ways. There were a few weeks here and there – waiting for the surgery, waiting for test results, waiting for a treatment plan – where I waited in the unknown and my previous posts talk about how I processed that. But it’s been less than a year since it was discovered and it’s basically completely over. That feels fast to me.

A few things pop up here and there. There’s a daily pill to take. Those medical forms that you have to fill out for doctor visits – I have to add “cancer” and “radiation” to the list of medical situations I put a check mark by. The night before my first mammogram, for the first time, the thought of “what if it’s back” popped into my mind – but wasn’t able to gain a foothold based in fear. I noticed some puffy tissue under my arm and had to decide whether or not this is something I call the oncologist about (I did call, she checked it, and it was nothing to worry about).

But overall this has been an easier journey than some of the other journeys in my life. I don’t yet see profound lessons from this. And maybe that is because so many of the potential lessons – overcoming fear, absolute trust in the Lord, and so on – are already built into the foundations of my life. I’m not sure.

So I rest in a season of gratitude.

In the midst of scary news I’ve experienced deep gratitude. Gratitude for the results of my particular medical situation. For relatives and friends who came to be with me in the midst of the unknown and who were there for all of my doctor visits. For meals provided when radiation created extreme fatigue. For the notes and texts and cards and gifts that let me know people cared. For the prayers that were prayed on my behalf.

I don’t take it for granted that this journey has played out the way it has. I look at it with great gratitude.

The Impact of “Just 15 Minutes a Day”

Written in October 2018 during radiation treatment for cancer.

At this point I am somewhere between halfway and two-thirds of the way through my radiation treatments. And everyone was correct – I’m in and out of there in 15 minutes. Every day, Monday through Friday.

This is by far easier than chemo would have been. I have nothing to complain about – and everything to be grateful for. I am constantly aware that my cancer journey is minimally disruptive. My life – and full recovery – has never been in question. I can’t say that I’ve really had to wrestle with my mortality. It’s been easy to be hopeful and positive. So it is hard to say what I am about to say.

I’m tired of this.

When I am brutally honest, I’ve realized in the past week that it’s true. I need to learn to say this and to know I can say this without it being a complaint. It’s just a statement of fact.

It’s also a statement of fact that I really am “doing well”. Being tired of something doesn’t have to mean my life is awful – or even particularly hard.

There’s the physical tiredness – which I was told would likely happen. It’s an odd feeling to not be exerting myself, to physically feel nothing during the treatment and still feel the fatigue growing week by week. I’ve kept it at a manageable level by doing some wise things. I blocked my work calendar off from 2-5 every day. So I go home right after my 2:45 radiation appointment. No afternoon commitments. And I take a nap if I need to before finishing up my emails or other work for the day. I’m gratefully accepting meals and offers to walk the dogs so that about half of my days I don’t have to think about that in the evening. I’m asleep a couple of hours earlier than normal every night. All of these things are keeping the tiredness at a manageable level and allowing me to continue to do most of the things that matter to me.

But I’ve hit a stage where there’s another kind of tiredness as well. I’m tired of the routine of the treatments. I’m tired of having to slather Aquaphor on the treatment site 3 times a day – and think through my wardrobe choices with the filter of “what won’t be ruined by the Aquaphor”. I’m tired of energy level being a bigger factor in my plans. Along with that tiredness, I’m afraid of sounding petty – after all, this is minor (compared to many treatment protocols), this is really no big deal (and I know that), and so on.

So what is the Father teaching me in this?

Rest is a gift. Not only for the physical healing, but for the way it opens up my soul and spirit to peace.

Community is a gift. Not just the meals and the dog walks, but the prayers and encouragement in other ways. While there is no real need for anyone to go with me to daily radiation, I’m incredibly grateful for the friends who accompanied me to all the appointments from the biopsy through the start of radiation. The Body of Christ, functioning well, is irreplaceable.

In the Mr. Rogers documentary that came out this summer (Won’t You Be My Neighbor?), they talked about how there was a lot of silent air time on the show. For example, the time he watched a second hand go all the way around – without talking as it was happening – to see how long a minute was. One of the producers of the show said this about the show:

“There was a lot of slow time. But there was no wasted time.”

I like that, and I think it fits here even though the context is very different.

This is a season of imposed slowness for me. My heart is choosing to not let it be wasted time.

Good News, Gifts and Desires of the Heart

September 2018 – original post. For those of you who know “cancer land” you’ll understand that I’m at the 5-year mark – past the diagnosis 5-year mark and getting close to the 5-year mark from the end of treatment.

What is “just” good news and what makes something a gift? How do the desires of our hearts fit into the mix?

I received good news a few days ago. Testing has determined that chemotherapy adds no benefit – at all – to the treatment of my cancer. So it will be six weeks of radiation (5 days per week) followed by a daily pill for 5-10 years.

That’s good news! And I immediately felt a release of the tension that I hadn’t realized I had been carrying as I waited to hear. There’s a lightness now that had been on hold. I can make plans for the fall (taking into account just the increasing level of fatigue caused by the radiation). The holidays will be after the treatment, not in the middle of it. I won’t lose my hair!. The list of good results goes on and on.

To be honest, it wasn’t the news I was expecting. So the relief was immense.

But it’s more than good news. It feels like a gift. My heart’s desire was to not have to go through chemo. Suddenly, that desire is a reality. And it’s stirring some musings deep in my spirit.

Because if there is a gift, there is a giver.

Had the results been different, that would have been okay. My faith would not have been shaken. I would not have felt “let down” by anyone. I would have gotten through chemo the same way my friends have – the same way countless other women do every year. There’s nothing in me – or in my relationship with the Lord – that makes me feel entitled to being spared “the hard stuff”. His companionship through the hard times is enough.

The truth is I know how to do “hard” with the Lord. I have a steadfast trust in His love and His faithfulness toward me. So much growth has occurred in those seasons. So much good work has been done. And the gifts embedded in those hard times have been deep and lasting and solid.

But a gift that aligns with the desires of my heart – I’m less sure how to receive that. There’s a level of delight that comes naturally and easily. There’s a nagging dilemma as well. I don’t expect “special treatment”. I’m not doom and gloom, expecting the worst, but I didn’t do anything that would explain why I get good news and someone else gets bad news. I didn’t pray harder, believe more, declare more boldly or anything else along those lines.

I’ve always struggled more with understanding the “why me” when I’m on the “good news” or easy side than when I’m on the “bad news” or hard side. I’m much more likely to ask “Why is my life easier than most?” rather than “Why is this happening to me?” And I can get tangled up in trying to figure out that “why”.

So here’s what is stirring deep in my spirit. How do I fit all the pieces together? And I keep coming back to …

If there’s a gift, there’s a Giver.

It doesn’t explain everything, but it feels like the place I need to return to, the central truth.

Scripture tells us that every good gift is from above. This good news is also a good gift. Can I acknowledge that it comes from Him – without getting bogged down in the ‘why me and not others”?

I believe deeply that I have a heavenly Father who loves me and we’re told that if we know how to give good gifts to our children, He does it even better than we do. Can I draw on the delight I feel giving gifts to my kids and believe that my heavenly Father feels that way (and more) toward me? Can I allow myself to relax into that love without having it all figured out?

As a believer and as a daughter of the King, I do have a spiritual authority and I’m told to approach the throne with boldness and confidence. I’m told to bring all of my cares to Him. That doesn’t mean I have a magic formula for getting everything I want. Can I fully embrace my identity as a beloved daughter – without being afraid I’ll be perceived as having an inappropriate “sense of entitlement”?

All of these musings stem from the great joy of receiving good news and a good gift. They don’t distract from the joy. They point me back to the heart of God and they challenge me to believe in fresh ways – deep down – that I’m “beloved”. I’m grateful for that as much as I’m grateful to be spared chemo.

And there’s something else that is stirring – quite unexpectedly. It has to do with how much this aligns with the desire of my heart. This news wasn’t a need. It wasn’t an expectation. It was just a wish to be spared chemo – a desire to not have to go through that. And it happened anyway.

To my surprise, I find my thoughts turning to other desires of my heart and I find hope rising in new ways. Maybe there will be someone to share my life. Maybe there are more times in great and deep community. Maybe there will be times at the beach and times of travel.

Maybe …

We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand—out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.

There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit! (Romans 5:2-5, The Message)

So the journey continues. And hope is stirring in some new ways.

Shifting Gears – When Circumstances Change But God Doesn’t

Written in August 2018 as my cancer journey and treatment plan were still in the early stages.

Recently I wrote about having a pantry full of resources to use when I face hard times. What I didn’t specifically spell out was that I had just received a diagnosis of breast cancer. My update to close friends had a subject line of “A little bit of bad news, a whole lot of good news”. And that is what it was. Bad news – cancer. Good news – it’s small, contained, doesn’t appear to have spread, clear path was a lumpectomy and not a mastectomy and so on. The appointment with the surgeon confirmed this. It was described by various doctors as “run of the mill cancer” or “routine cancer”.

Surgery was a week ago. I was home by noon. No nausea from the anesthesia. Essentially no pain or soreness. I felt great. The surgeon was sure she’d gotten it all and didn’t see any indication it had spread to the lymph node she took just to be sure.

The followup surgeon’s visit on Friday was supposed to be a breeze – a quick checkup on the way to lunch with a couple of people who mean a lot to me. The incision was declared good and healing. My arm movement was great.

And then the “but”.

But the cancer has spread to the lymph node. It was a surprise to the surgeon. And it was a shock to me.

So once again I’m waiting. When I wrote about my pantry, I was waiting for the appointment with the surgeon. This time I’m waiting for the appointment with the oncologist.

There’s still a lot of good news. This doesn’t change the final result – but it does potentially change the path to get there because it puts chemo on the table as a likely treatment protocol.

And here’s what I know so far.

The tears that were a gift before are a gift again. God is still answering my prayer to restore my tears to me, to give me back that particular expression of emotion. It’s still primarily a tender, private thing between me and the Lord – but it may grow.

I am not afraid. I am calm. I’m sleeping well at night. There’s a peace that does pass understanding and I am in the middle of it.

I am being knit to my Georgia community in new ways – and the deeper community I’ve yearned for here is showing up and pouring out love and care in all sorts of ways. A desire of my heart is happening (even if I wouldn’t have chosen this particular way for it to happen).

The God who I know loved me and cared for me before the news of the spread is the same God who loves and cares for me after the news. He didn’t change – and this is not a surprise to Him. I may be shifting gears, but He is not.

I can decide – and cling to – what is true even before I know how the circumstances will turn out. There’s a chance this won’t involve chemo, but whether it does or doesn’t, it does not change the truth about God’s character. If God is good, then He’s good whatever news comes next, whatever treatment is right, whatever side effects it may bring. It’s not a naive need to say the right thing. It’s a conviction based on years of deep relationship.

I’m going to have to develop my voice in new ways. I will have to learn to say “I need help”, but also be able to say the harder version – “I’d like help”. Or “I don’t want to be alone.”

I’ll need to learn to graciously receive the care (and potential wisdom) behind the unsolicited offers of medical advice, while still protecting myself from being overwhelmed. I desire to be open to wisdom – and I know there are new and non-traditional protocols that may be worth considering. There are options and great stories and things that have worked well for others. But there will also need to be boundaries to protect myself from too many voices.

I’m going to have to decide who I listen to – which advice-givers, which doctors. My discernment will need to be sharpened to learn to hear the Holy Spirit’s nudge not just in spiritual matters but in medical ones as well.

Do I play out worst case or “what if” scenarios in my mind? To be honest, I don’t – with one exception. Will I lose my hair? What will that be like? Would my Connecticut friends – those long standing friends who are also my rock and my lifeline – be able to come be with me at that point if I needed them? What is going to be my safe place to get used to that? Will it become a reality?

It’s not an all consuming thought process, but it’s the one I wonder about most right now. That may change. I don’t really know what to expect.

This is the beginning of a story I would never have chosen. But I’ve learned – even in the times that have involved real and deep and damaging pain – that the stories I allow God to write in my life are full of gifts, redemption, new understanding of who He is and who I am. I grow. Opportunities arise to care for others as a result of my experience. I end up fuller, not emptier.

So I’m shifting gears. My circumstances have changed. God has not. And in the midst of the uncertainty and waiting, I still cling to my verse: I know and rely on the love God has for me. (1 John 4:16)

A Full Pantry

The start of my cancer journey. Posted in late June 2018, a few days after my diagnosis. In the original post I didn’t name the “new situation” as cancer. But that’s what it was.

Then Abigail made haste and took two hundred loaves and two skins of wine and five sheep already prepared and five seahs of parched grain and a hundred clusters of raisins and two hundred cakes of figs, and laid them on donkeys. (1 Samuel 25:18)

This is an obscure little verse in the middle of the story of the interaction between David, Nabal and Abigail. David and his troops are on the run from King Saul and low on supplies. He sends some of his men to ask Nabal for food. Nabal sends back a rude and insulting reply. And David tells his men to prepare to attack Nabal’s home.

Abigail (Nabal’s wife) gets wind of what is happening, takes the action in the verse above, and sends provisions to David and his men. She averts the attack and it’s the beginning of the unfolding of an unexpected story.

What catches my eye here is not just how Abigail was used in a mighty way. It’s that she had those provisions ready to go in a crisis situation. She was solidly prepared for an unanticipated event. She had reserves to quickly tap into.

What if this image of a stocked pantry applies in ways other than feeding hundreds of people?

The things I’ve learned, the things I’ve experienced, the things I’ve chosen to make foundations in my life – all of these provide reserves to draw on. They are available to bring to a new situation. My pantry is stocked. It’s partly just decades of walking with Jesus. But a pantry doesn’t get filled up without some degree of intentionality. Without taking what is outside the pantry (but available) and moving it into the pantry. So in addition to the years involved, it’s also, at least in part, an intentional lifestyle of choosing to grow and to learn and to press in deeper. A willingness to seek counsel and wisdom from others. A willingness to “count it all joy” when I encounter hardships. A willingness to cling tighter during the rough times, to run toward Him instead of away from Him. A willingness to accept correction in a way that creates intimacy instead of distance.

Once again, I am facing a situation where my pantry supplies are game-changers. Once again I’m part of a club that I would never have chosen, on my own, to be part of. The exact details of what that is don’t matter. What matters is that I have resources which allow me to face this with confidence and hope and peace.

So what are some of the things in my pantry?

An absolute belief that God is trustworthy. “For we know and rely on the love God has for us.” It’s my “cling to” verse (1 John 4:16) The Amplified version is even better: “We have come to know [by personal observation and experience], and have believed [with deep, consistent faith] the love which God has for us.” I believe this because it has been true in my life, not just because I’m “supposed” to say it. I know for sure that my heart is safe with Him.
The “peace that passes understanding”. It is real and available to me. I don’t have to work hard to get there. It does not mean there are no tears or no grieving. It doesn’t eliminate emotional fluctuations but it provides a solid base from which to deal with them. And a place to return to so that I can sleep at night.
A courageous approach to hard things. The realization that not only can I endure hard things but I can thrive in the midst of them. They are survivable. And not just in a barely make it kind of way. Sometimes in the middle of it and sometimes looking back after the immediate pain or trauma or hardship, I see that an abundance was built into that season. And I can endure far harder things than I would have imagined I could. That knowledge is now rock solid in my life.
Freedom and joy. I know at a core level that freedom and joy come on the other side of hard things and they are worth the pain of getting there.
Healing that is deep, solid and lasting. The fruit of the excruciatingly hard work I did years ago has carried forward and I do not have to do that hard work all over again. New situations do not require me to battle the same old tapes or the same old fears.
A fun sense of amazement. I’ve reached a point where, for the most part, the old fears and insecurities are no longer able to get a foothold in my life. I’m amazed and delighted. Not only do I not have to struggle against them or work hard to separate truth from lie, it’s just fun to realize what God has done in my life.
A relationship with my Father that is pretty free of any sense of entitlement. When I face tough things, it’s largely because we live in a fallen world. As a daughter of the King I have authority to boldly approach His throne and make my requests known. And I’m learning to do that more readily. But that is different than feeling I’m entitled to being spared the tough things. “Why me?” has never been a consuming question for me, and I’m grateful for the grace that spares me that temptation.

Full pantries are good things! “Oh, how abundant is Your goodness, which you have stored up for those who [reverently] fear You. Which you have prepared for those who take refuge in You.” (Psalm 31:19)

Jesus and Poverty and Dwelling Among Us

Once again, the repost to the new platform doesn’t coincide with the season. Originally written December 2015.

I have a pet peeve. It’s North American children (and adults) picturing Jesus as blond and blue-eyed because that’s the way He looks in their Nativity set. Never mind that the historical record tells us differently.

For years I’ve collected international Nativity sets. A few from my own travels. Most from places such as Ten Thousand Villages. They become part of my Advent meditation. Part of my contemplation of what it means that Jesus became flesh and dwelt among us.

In my Children’s Ministry days I took a different Nativity into class each week during Advent – even when I was teaching 4 year olds. I’d ask them to look at the Nativity and we’d talk about these questions:

What does this Nativity tell us about the people who live in that country?

Why do you think Jesus looks the way He does here? Mary? Joseph?

What does this tell us about who Jesus came to earth for?

I have a favorite Nativity – and it’s been my favorite since I first laid eyes on it decades ago. It’s from Cameroon and there’s a weightiness to the metal it’s made from. You see the distended bellies of malnourishment, and the gaunt frames where skin hangs on bones. The poverty is front and center and for some people, it’s jarring to see Jesus that way.

It’s not stately and elegant like the one from Tanzania (right).

Or interestingly rustic like the one from Indonesia (left).

But it grips me. And it touches something deep in me.

Jesus dwelt among us. He didn’t just come to us as someone who will never completely understand what it’s like to live in this world. He became poor in our midst. He comes to us where we are. He understands what we live in the midst of. Even if it’s messy. Even if the poverty – or the hurt, or the shame, or the dreariness of life – overwhelms us. Even if we see no way out.

My poverty is not a physical one. My life, by any standard, is a good one. But my heart still yearns for the One who will come to me, who will dwell with me.

Jesus became flesh and dwelt among us. And through the Spirit, dwells in us today. We have a companion, an advocate, a comforter, a Savior. And it’s good news. For all people.

I’ll admit. I read about what our World Racers are doing to serve Syrian refugees in Greece. I hear the stories of the women forced by their poverty into the sex trade around the world. I see abandoned children – here in the States and in third world countries. Is it really possible that Jesus is good news for them? That we have the ability to proclaim ‘good news to all people’?

I believe we do. I also believe it can’t be just empty words and a pat on the head. I believe we must act. I believe we must learn to lay aside privilege and become poor in order to dwell among others with compassion and integrity. But it needs to be good news for me before I can proclaim it as good news for anyone else. And when I recognize my own kind of poverty, when I am so grateful for Jesus’ presence in the midst of that poverty, then I begin to understand what it means to be incarnational. To dwell among those who are not like me.

I want to be overwhelmed, not by my circumstances, but by the love that would come to me in the midst of them. And this year, I find myself wanting to grow in my ability to be more incarnational in my daily life. To look for places to bring good news.

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich. (2 Cor. 8:9)

Discovering Strength (and Becoming Dangerous?)

I wrote this in August 2015. And, like so many things I am revisiting as I move posts to a new platform, I love that what was once new and scary has now become more deeply embedded into my “normal”.

For most of my life I didn’t see myself as “strong”. Growing up, I was “compliant”, not “strong-willed”. I was shy – and it’s hard to see yourself as strong if you are too afraid to speak up. I was fearful – again, not a great underpinning for strength (or so I thought). My identity was wrapped up in being “nice” and “understanding” (in some good ways and in some unhealthy ways) – not in being strong. I was a people-pleaser and craved approval – which meant I didn’t tend to take stands that were my own. I was told more than once that being strong made me undesirable and that “meekness and gentleness” disappeared if I was strong. And on and on.

There’s a somewhat clichéd quote, usually attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, that says “A woman is like a tea bag. You never know how strong she is until she’s in hot water.” As much as I don’t like clichés there’s something about this that has been true in my life. I discovered my strength during the hard times. I don’t think I became strong during them. At least a core of strength had to have been there all along. It didn’t magically appear when things got hard. But it emerged and it became visible.

I didn’t see it at first. My friends and counselors saw it before I did. In my mind, even now looking back, I was just doing what had to be done. It didn’t feel as if I made a deliberate choice to be strong. I didn’t even feel like I was making choices. It felt like a constant slogging through pain and fear, taking the next step and then the next one. “Of course I throw myself into all that counseling provides.” “Of course I keep going.” “Of course I cling to the possibility that grace will get me through.” “Of course I try to be wise about what I say and do.” “Of course I run to the Lord.”

It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like survival. In hindsight I see a pattern and I do see choices that I made out of strength. I did choose to embrace counseling and let the Lord work through that. I did choose to cling to the Lord rather than run away from Him. I did choose my words and actions carefully. But in the moment, I didn’t see choice and I didn’t see strength.

So what does strength – which may have emerged during hard times – look like during other seasons of life, the ones that aren’t necessarily difficult times? For me, an intriguing concept began to surface. Does it mean I can be “dangerous”? An odd word for a shy, introverted, quiet person to resonate with. But it came from different places and it always stirred something in me. Even before I could believe it, I could feel the stirring, the twinge of hope that would come even when it didn’t yet make sense or seem possible. Even before I had the courage to think that it could describe someone like me.

Erwin McManus wrote and spoke things that brought a perspective to my life in the midst of pain and struggle – I’m part of a bigger picture and I’m made to be dangerous in the spiritual realm. My counselor urged me to consider the possibility that the enemy was trying to derail my ministry because it was significant in the Kingdom and important enough to be attacked. An in-depth profile of how I’m wired surprisingly revealed there’s a bit of “rebel” in me – a quiet and subtle rebel, but someone who had changed how things were done. Lynne Hybels wrote a book called “Nice Girls Don’t Change the World” and provided a picture of a Christian woman that was not limited to the “nice Christian girl”. Much of her journey, many of her assumptions about herself in the early years of her life, lined up with my own.

So here I am. Fairly content to describe myself as “strong” these days. Still not at a point where I would put “dangerous” on a top 5 list of personal descriptors – but wanting to grow in that.

Lynne Hybels has a prayer, a “creed”, in her book and online. I return to it time and time again, asking the Lord to make this more and more true of me:

Dear God, please make us dangerous women.

May we be women who acknowledge our power to change, and grow, and be radically alive for God.

May we be healers of wounds and righters of wrongs.

May we weep with those who weep and speak for those who cannot speak for themselves.

May we cherish children, embrace the elderly, and empower the poor.

May we pray deeply and teach wisely.

May we be strong and gentle leaders.

May we sing songs of joy and talk down fear.

May we never hesitate to let passion push us, conviction compel us, and righteous anger energize us.

May we strike fear into all that is unjust and evil in the world.

May we dismantle abusive systems and silence lies with truth.

May we shine like stars in a darkened generation.

May we overflow with goodness in the name of God and by the power of Jesus.

And in that name and by that power, may we change the world.

Dear God, please make us dangerous women. Amen.

Finding a Voice

So grateful that all these years later, the Lord continues to teach me how to use my voice.

Intro when originally posted in April 2015: This is the second part of a discussion. Part 1 was Sorting out Shyness, Fear and Introversion. Coming soon in other posts – thoughts on being a strong (dangerous?) woman and thoughts on being an introverted leader.)

This second installment in the series has proven troublesome. In part, it’s because something keeps intruding into the story that I hadn’t intended to talk about. After two weeks of being stuck, I’ve concluded that it’s not going away. I can’t talk about being a strong woman without talking about the need to find my voice.

Remember the 1999 movie Runaway Bride? Maggie Carpenter (Julia Robert’s character) has left several fiancés at the altar and a reporter does a story about her. As he talks individually to each former fiancé, the interviews often take place over breakfast at the local diner. Each guy orders his eggs in a different style. In the course of conversation, every one of them mentions that Maggie likes her eggs the same way he likes his.

That’s a woman who didn’t know how to use her voice. That was me.

I mentioned last time that part of the process of letting go of fear was that I discovered I had a “voice” and that I wanted to use it. I also said God did the deepest work on my fear during a scary stage of my life. What I didn’t say is that it was as my marriage was ending after 25 years. I was a stay at home mom. I’d never been driven by career aspirations. I really just wanted to be a wife and mom. I loved volunteering. But suddenly I was looking at re-entering the paid workforce, being more completely on my own, facing an “empty nest” without a companion and all the other things that go along with that.

(Just a side note – there is a danger in oversimplifying any divorce and I don’t want to do that. And this isn’t the place to share details. This is about a profound work the Lord did in me during that time frame.)

The person who should have been my biggest cheerleader no longer played that role. When you live with someone who doesn’t treasure or value your voice, you get confused. You wonder if you are really what the other person says. When you are put together the way I am, you keep trying to prove that you’re good enough – but it never makes a difference. You ask counselors if your thoughts are normal and they try to help you see that even asking that question indicates there is distortion in your marriage and in your thinking.

It was in this context that God was working on my fear and shyness. But He was also telling me I had a voice – one that it was okay to use. Over the years, I had grown in confidence in certain areas. I knew my stuff when it came to heading up Children’s Ministry. I was competent in a number of other areas. But at my core, the part that was most intimately connected to my hopes and dreams, my likes and dislikes, the things that made me laugh and the things that made me cry, I didn’t know how to use my voice. There was a tentativeness around most people.

Some of the most tender moments in my journals came as the Lord told me that not only was it okay to have a voice, it was important to use it. He told me I had value and He gently encouraged me to believe that. He, the Lord of the universe, showed me His delight in my voice.

Some steps were big. Some were small. I grew enormously through the years of counseling before the marriage finally ended. And in the midst of the intense pain that was my life for those years, this growth felt like a gift – the hidden gem. It felt like weight being lifted off my shoulders. It felt like fresh air. I was coming alive in ways that were exciting to me. But to my husband it seemed as if the ground rules were changing and he could not rejoice in the things that felt like freedom to me.

Eventually, I was the one who filed for divorce. I had begged God that if my marriage was going to end, please have my husband be the one to file. In the end, for a number of reasons, I had no choice but to do it. And in doing so, I found a new piece of my voice – one that I believe the Lord knew was important for me to use. Admittedly, it was a piece I had never wanted to use, a piece that initiated me into a club I had never wanted to be part of (divorced). But it was a voice that came from a place of realizing I had value and importance and a call on my life. Perhaps most importantly, that there were lines it was appropriate for me to draw and there were things that were important for me to say.

Toward the end of Runaway Bride, Maggie Carpenter has figured out more of who she really is. She’s an artist, among other things. She’s built a successful following in the city. She’s found her voice. She’s eaten every style of cooked eggs and she announces to the reporter: “Benedict. I love Eggs Benedict. I hate every other kind.”

Finding your voice matters. And egg preference is just one of the fun parts.