To taste honey every day

I remember the first time I checked a website from my smart phone. It was like stepping out onto a glass bridge...a step of faith, praying my data plan would catch me and save us from overuse fees.

Trying something new is always like that. The tentative stretching of the toes onto new territory, testing the ground underneath for stability before we put full weight on feet. Then we do it again, this time with more confidence, and soon what was once a leap of faith becomes the everyday mundane.

Practice makes perfect. It is so with grace. It feels so scandalous, that moment of salvation, when we take the deep breath and say in our hearts, Yes, this is what I believe. I believe I am not enough. I believe I cannot save myself. I believe Christ can do what I cannot.

With practice, there is less fear and trembling each time we accept grace. May it never feel like our right, but always the gift it is. When we stumble and fall (a million times a day), may we reach hands to sky and simply feel the love raining down instead of shying away and covering up the stain left by sin.

She is the scandalous spontaneous, the one who is still a toddler at 5 1/2. She reaches her pink tongue out to touch the stamens of the crabapple blossoms, and her grin is infectious as she urges us to try. It's sweet, like honey, she says. We all laugh - the craziness of this, tasting blossoms like honey bees - and then we, too, stretch tongues and sense sweet and dissolve into gales of giggles over our own silliness. We talk about this - faith like a little child - the child who reaches out to taste God's goodness and never stops to wonder whether it is a crazy idea or not. Trust is so simple, it terrifies and paralyzes us as adults. We ponder the consequences - what if He's not as good as He says He is? What if I should be working harder, what if I don't deserve this grace?


Just like the drops of sweet on the yellow tips of each cherry blossom, His grace just is. It exists and has already been given, whether we reach out to take the gift or not. If we don't, we will never taste the sweetness that stands waiting for us.

Practice radical acceptance. Be the little child, ready to try anything, leaning hard on the Rock of salvation. Simply believe. Simply accept. Simply trust. Throw off the weight of causality, because He undid the laws of the universe at the Cross, and begs us be free from the gravity of the world so that we can soar with Him even through these days scalded by the curse of the world.

What have you done lately to practice radical acceptance of the freedom of the Cross? What can you do today in belief of Grace?

Courage to be the expert

The white and black of the printed page is covered in red ink. I am laughing on the phone with a believer in the South, and the red ink exhilarates me instead of scaring me. It has been thousands of days since I started down this path, and finally I can see the end. I push hard, long into the dark of night, the keyboard clicking against deadlines and my eyes burning from hours in front of the computer. It takes courage to look the dragons in their eyes and say, I think I can do this! I notice every time a strange obstacle emerges, and I think about spiritual warfare. It might not feel like I'm doing something for the kingdom, writing technical papers and conducting pilot studies, but why else would I be fighting so hard against things unseen to finish this race?

It takes bravery, too, to step away from the writing, to set aside the task that looms long and large, and feel spring with my children. To praise God for the sound of bird songs in my deaf ear that still can't understand people's voices. To see rainbows in the boiling water mist at dinner time. I look at the plane ticket confirmation, and it says 30 days to departure. One month to complete this task. I sigh deep, bone tired, and ask Him to fill me up, imbue me with strength so I can finish well. Does it matter to Him, I wonder? If the hairs on my head do, certainly He cares for my dreams. So I will be brave, and push on into the unknown.

written on Lisa-Jo's prompt, Bravery

Excuse me

It's one of those things you don't talk about, normally.

Body odor.

There, I said it! When my thyroid cancer suppression gets out of balance, it comes and goes. When there's not much going on, and I'm on the hypothyroid side of things...there's not much body odor to speak of. Or body hair, for that matter! I quit wearing deodorant, I quit shaving, I only shower about once or twice a week - and I look and smell fine. It's like my inner hippie went on vacation.  I go to the doctor and report all this, and he ups my meds to get me back to normal, and whoa, baby, that inner hippie is back with a vengeance!  My leg hair has me near tears in the shower, thinking back to the stinging bite of the words flung from the preteen boys warming the bench at Little League when I went over the cliff into puberty four or five years before the rest of the girls on the team.  My usual hippie deodorant does nothing to squelch the stench and by the end of the day I'm embarrassed to crawl into bed with my husband.

Believe it or not, I'm headed toward a spiritual metaphor here.

Yes, I'm going to talk about God in the context of body odor.

{feel free to get the giggles anytime, I won't mind! Or hear you, for that matter!}

Kind of like my spiritual life.  When there's not much going on, there's nothing ugly to see (or should I say, nothing to see in general?).  Everything stays well beneath the surface, and nobody notices that there's anything wrong at all.  And when I'm close to God, and I'm working up a sweat trying to stay on track with His purpose and His glory and His kingdom...well, there's a lot more to notice!  I notice it - in the angry conversations I have with God when I don't understand something, in the tears that won't stop and the hurt as the sand-paper grates on my soul and I wake up less and less me.  When I'm just going along trying to stay in my skin and not grate on anybody and stay comfortable, that's exactly what happens: I slide deeper into a spiritual stupor, and my God-connection goes dormant, and I don't grate on anybody.  I'm soft and mushy and hairless and odorless and tasteless.  The reduced fat, small-portion size version of me.  But when I'm sitting with my Bible in the mornings, and I'm deep in God's word, and I don't care what other people think, and I'm far from dormant...

I guess what I'm trying to say is my inner Christian - just like the inner hippie that shows up when my body is functioning right - can be messy, and abrasive, and maybe sometimes even seem less than pleasant.

Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another (Proverbs 27:17).  The Prosperity Gospel might have you thinking that walking with Jesus means having lots of friends, laughing all the time, having enough money to go around, an easy marriage, successful kids, or a spic-and-span perfectly decorated domicile.  What if what God really wants is a bunch of stinky hippies shaking up the world?

"Nice" isn't the same as "holy".  "God is love" doesn't mean "God is nice".  (Marilyn McIntyre writes in Christianity Today)

Just like "stinky" doesn't necessarily mean "dirty", and "smells nice" isn't the same as "clean", sometimes "holy" is a lot closer to "righteous anger" than it is to "pleasant words".  Jesus, in Matthew 23, is far from nice, and also underlines the dissection between appearances and reality with His harsh words:

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean. Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness. (v. 25-28)

Sometimes we might just have to follow the example of the table-tossing, line-in-the-sand-drawing, righteous anger Jesus instead of the calm, cool and collected man with the flowing locks and perfectly color-coordinated robe.  Be willing to be that kind of Christian.

Just something I've been thinking about...every time I put on deodorant.




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Today and tomorrow, I'm traveling by car the 18 hours to the Relevant Conference, accompanied by Jess York and Caleb.  If you wouldn't mind praying for our safety, we'd appreciate it.  And maybe I'll get some new topics at the conference and I'll never talk to you about body odor again! :-)

Life on the beach

It seems like such an odd place to make a home, yet there they are... thousands of blow holes in the rutted sand where the crabs make their homes deep.  The tides come in and go out, and leave patterns on the sand, yet the crabs hold on tight in the hole they've dug, eat what comes to them, and are perfectly suited to an environment of muck that would detest your average world citizen.

We walked a mile or so of the beach without the children one afternoon, hand in hand.  The difficulties of the week and the friction from separation washed away slowly as the waves lapped at our feet and we padded along on the granite-hard sand, packed by wave after wave.  Kind of like trials.  Those waves reduce the sand to it's minimum volume.  Wash away the dross of whatever sand refuses to be packed down.  Slowly erode the flatness of the beach with the tenacity and repetition only an ocean can boast.  We've been beaten down like that, Aaron and I.  Reduced to our minimum volume, the parts that refuse to submit slowly washed away, the weak parts eroded.  The sand of this beach used to be soft, may be soft again, I suppose...a playground for beach volleyball enthusiasts looking for a soft landing and some recreation.  But at the moment it's a hard packed road where no tracks are left behind.  It's a harsh strand of land.  Not a recreational destination.

Even on the hard-pack, He leaves little notes of beauty.  The funny curly lines between the crab's blow holes, a hash pattern of almost feminine beauty.  The straight marks in criss-crossed pattern where shells have rolled along the packed sand, leaving white trails where their sharp edges dug in as they were pulled back out to sea.  Iridescent bubbles floating along the remnants of surf in the tidal pools.  It isn't a desolate beach.  It isn't even uninteresting. 

Birds circle the beach, searching for prey.  Crabs and snails stranded, a fish if they get lucky.  From the air, their harsh calls criticize.  We've heard the birds circling our beach, the beach of marriage and love and life that has been packed hard by the relentless trials.  All kinds of harsh bird calls come our way, asking why we don't pick up and move, change something, get away from the waves.  Sometimes they even pluck things that we call treasures off our beach, carry them away, gobble them up.  Some question why the waves are so relentless here, why they come at all.  Isn't there something we can do?  If we were really devout Christians, wouldn't we be planted in a safe harbor somewhere?  As we are beat and washed and watch our treasures carried away by the waves, there is a sense of smallness, even sometimes hopelessness.  Yet there is rest, in the beat and retreat of each wave, when you truly feel the mighty hand of God.  His rest is not always peace, happiness, quietness, or assurance.  I found it, a grain of sand on an endless beach of human suffering, in finally learning who I am.  Redeemed, yes...by Him. Saved, yes...by His power.  Assured, yes...but only of heaven.  Prosperous, yes...if only in the jewels of my crown, never to be seen until that great day when we are brought home forever to heaven, where waves will never again drag away the dross, when the process  of reducing my self to minimum volume is complete.  Who am I to shake my fist at a Creator who planted me on an unprotected shore where the waves never stop coming?  Who are we, as Christian community, to say that the only logical home for Christians is in a harbor somewhere?

I rest beneath the waves.  I let go of my tight fists and let Satan pull away those parts of self and mind and body that will not submit to the forces condensing me.  Somewhere above, beyond the crash of the never-ending surf and the cackle of the birds, I hear the deep bass of a rotor beat.  The God of the universe is on patrol. While I lie beneath the waves, I may be bruised, perplexed, persecuted, struck down.  But He will never let me be crushed, abandoned, destroyed or in despair.  (II Corinthians 4)

Only a child

The month of May: 25,112 visits to my blog from 71 countries.  I am deep in Jeremiah again and as I shrink back in abject terror from the numbers pouring in, I remember God's words there...

"Ah, Sovereign Lord," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child."


But the Lord said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the Lord. (1:6-7)

This is way bigger than my cancer, or Amelia's illness, or my faltering faith. I've prayed for weeks that God would give some sign that something big is going on, to comfort my aching heart.  Trust Him to speak through statistics, my favorite language.

The disappearing "country kid"

I remember them - us - vividly: dust-covered, clothes worn for 3 or 4 days at a time, no shoes, white teeth flashing in smiles cracking through the brown skin, grass stains and scratches like sunlight in the garden. I remember long days with only moments spent indoors. I remember baseball games attended in your play clothes so you could get dirty. I remember a distinct notion of difference between "good clothes" and "play clothes", and I remember the list of activities we had sorted in our childish brains...with all the "fun" stuff in the column under "play clothes".

I remember the way the metal playground slide burned your thighs in the brief moment before you went whizzing down. I remember the rust on the bolts, and the creak of the swings, and the worn dirt tracks around the equipment where a thousand pairs of feet had worn the grass and plowed a rock hard groove into the dirt beneath. No wood chips, no rubber tires ground up, not even sand. I didn't grow up in a cushioned world that anticipated my every fall.

I realize now how my mother may have felt, watching us scale slides several stories high, imagining the tumble back down the 20 foot ladder, or worse - over the side at the top, with the thump as body smacked bare ground. But I also now understand the choice to let us keep climbing.

I have always fought against the tide, even as a "country kid" amongst other country kids. But it wasn't my clothes or my attitude that made me stick out back then - it was my height, my brown eyes, my dark hair. The fact that we were home schooled in the pioneer days of home schooling. I still stick out today: cancer has made me throw caution to the wind and embrace things in life that are less than conventional. I don't just climb up the ladder and go down the slide once, a quick remembrance of a bygone day. I go again and again, my laughter joining the children's in the hollow in the pine forest playground.

We take our kids to t-ball in the country. But there are no country kids to be seen. These kids are scrubbed bright, and there isn't a well-worn shirt in sight. I spot more Prada and Gucci than Lee and Wrangler, and every car in the lot is spotless and new. Apparently no one else drives a beater, chasing down the curves of the country roads with the windows open wide and the kids giggling on the bench seat.

Most of the tall trees have been cut down, and the old metal slides were sold as scrap a few years back. All to make way for the plastic play center with all it's pseudo-activity accompaniments: plastic climbing wall instead of the knotted rope, plastic swing seats that promise never to creak, a twisty slide with bumps to slow you down, and warnings on every post that children must always be accompanied by a watchful adult.

A few of the old playgrounds still exist. The dirt divots under the swings, the pine needles the only carpet to cushion their falls. When we visit them, we are the only ones on the playground. Doubtless they will soon be replaced with something newer, better and safer.

I find that even harder than being a country kid is growing up to be a country mom. Gucci and Prada aren't my style. The new car doesn't fit in a one-income budget. The laundry is already piled high in the queue, even though my kids sometimes (*gasp!) wear their clothes for more than a day at a time. I've had to alter the country lifestyle a bit so that we aren't on the receiving end of too many sideways glances. The kids only play on the dirt pile on bath day. We keep a stack of "good clothes" for town trips. We try to make the kids wear shoes at least some of the time.

So here's to the country kids, who revel in the life they find waiting outdoors. The kids who don't worry about wrecking their jeans when they go about their play. And here's to the country moms, who wear their "play clothes" to t-ball games and let their kids get dirty and let them spread their wings on the playground every now and then. I wish there were a few less magazine articles touting "the simple life", plastered with photographs of picnic tables dressed out in full linen and iced drinks and dainty finger foods that take hours to prepare. I vote for a little more of what really constitutes "the simple life" - the dirt-under-the-nails, gravel road, sandy, sweaty kind of simple life where you're too busy working and playing to worry about appearances.

The Golden Ticket

The devil, who has for the most part ignored you up to that point since you weren't a threat, starts to take notice. And so do other people. Believers and unbelievers alike may become your adversaries. Remember what happened to the boy David when he decided to fight Goliath? His brother attacked him angrily. Then Saul, the king, challenged him, "You're just a boy." Then Goliath himself mocked David. In that moment, David had no supporters except the Lord. Get in the battle and see what happens. ~Tim Haring, April 30th devotional for Faithwalkers journal, available in it's entirety here

This has definitely been my experience. At certain points along this difficult road, as I follow God like a blind woman down a path I didn't choose that leads to a destination I am totally unsure of, I have felt overwhelming support and love from my community. At other points, that support has fallen away and I have been forced to wonder, "Am I even on the right road any more? Did I slip up somewhere?" I have to re-examine everything - my motives, the reasons I have faith I am on the right path, the signs God provided along the way, and most of all, my relationship status with God. Cancer, initially, was a huge wake-up call. All my priorities were shaken up like papers in a raffle basket, and, since the dust settled, nothing has ever been the same again. What I knew in my heart has become what I do with my hands: 1. God; 2. Aaron; 3. children; 4. blood family; 5. church family; 6. the lost. The challenge has been to sort through the various activities that fill my days and put them in their correct slot on the priority list. School, for instance, is particularly challenging. I believe it fits somewhere between church family and the lost - my reasons for going to school are to witness to the lost and to build the church family by going on mission as a nursing professor and being a voice of the church in the broader community. Adoption is another challenge - is that up there with children, blood family, church family, or is it an edict from God and something that should take top billing as Aaron and I pursue it together? These are the two activities that have undoubtedly drawn the most "heat" in the battle surrounding my life and my time and my service to Christ. School and adoption are two aspects of my life many people do not understand. Yet they are part of what Christ has called me to do, and I must "enter the battle and see what happens". I cannot, in good faith, table these things because it doesn't make human sense to pursue them. Aaron and I are in agreement, after long, hard examination, that these two things stay in our lives. We have to keep stepping forward on that, even if brothers, kings, and enemies oppose us and question our sanity.

A little book of collected writings on suffering, edited by Nancy Guthrie (who definitely knows her subject), has been a comfort through the latest onslaught. Corrie ten Boom recalls a conversation she had with her father when she was a child:

When I was a little girl, I went to my father and said, "Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ." "Tell me", Father said, "when you take a train trip from Haarlem to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?" "No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train." "That is right," my father said, "and so it is with God's strength. Our wise Father in heaven knows when you are going to need things too. Today you do not need the strength to be a martyr; but as soon as you are called upon for the honor of facing death for Jesus, He will supply the strength you need - just in time."

God has called me to face cancer, various other health difficulties, a child with special needs, graduate school, homeschooling my children, homemaking for my family, and pursuing adoption - all at the same time. He has given me the money for the ticket. Only He know how much strength I need to survive this - nay, to shine for His glory while doing these tasks. From the outside looking in, to friends and family and strangers who don't have the ticket for this train in their pockets, it seems impossible, improbable, unwise, fool-hardy even. But I have the ticket in my pocket - my Father has given it to me just in time to board the train. Now that I am on the train, jumping off would be the fool-hardy action! God is holding my hand and we are steaming along just fine.

I plan to type up an entire article by D.A. Carson titled "Dying Well". The verses he opens the essay with remind me to number my days and resolutely press on if I am sure of what God has called me to do. The entire passage is Psalm 90:3-4, 9-12, but verse 12 is what gets my attention: So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom. The wisdom and strength God is pouring into me is probably very different from the wisdom and strength He is pouring into you. We have different tasks for which He is preparing us!

Having your faith tested is not all sorrow, misery, tears, torment, agony! Charles Spurgeon states, "It is as great a mercy to have your salvation proved to you under trial as it is to have it sustained in you by the consolations of the Spirit of God." The old adage, what doesn't kill you will make you stronger, comes to mind. It's true in our marriages, isn't it? When our vows are tested by sin in our spouse, or sin in ourselves, we walk through that fire begging for the trial to be over, only to emerge on the other side realizing we can now trust those vows. We know now that they stand up under fire! So is faith that has been tested by suffering - I know now that I will not lose my faith, that I can walk bravely (albeit with tears and sweat and begging for grace and mercy) toward the day He has fixed for my death. I will not crumble. His strength holds me up. I have tested it now, and so I can believe all the more.

Finally, the story of Manoah and his wife - Samson's mother and father - keeps coming up in various conversations and books. I think God is teaching me immensely through that story, found in the book of Judges. God speaks to them, and their reactions are polar opposite. They hear from God, and develop a set of expectations. When life fails to meet those expectations, Manoah falters, and his wife ponders the whole situation and arrives at a conclusion on which she acts. Martyn Lloyd-Jones puts it this way:

Suddenly, everything seems to go wrong. The situation is perplexing and baffling and quite the contrary of what we had expected and anticipated. We seem to break down altogether and to lose hope entirely. We jump to conclusions, and almost invariably, to the worst conclusion that is possible in the given circumstances, the same assumptions as that which led Manoah to his worst conclusion, (namely) that somehow or other, God is against us, and that all we had so fondly imagined to be an expression of God's goodness and kindness was nothing but an illusion. In the midst of disaster and trying difficulties, the Christian religion, instead of acting like a charm or a drug, and doing everything for us, and suddenly putting everything right, asks us, nay rather commands us, to think and to employ logic. Manoah's wife understood that God is never capricious; God is never unjust in his dealings with us; God never contradicts himself and his own gracious purposes.

Finally, Lloyd-Jones concludes with lines that bring me such peace in this time when everything seems questionable, chaotic, unsupportable. You may not understand what is happening to you; it may seem, to you, all wrong. Trust yourself to him. Believe when you cannot prove. Hold on to his constancy, his justice, his eternal purposes for you in Christ. Regard these as absolutes, which can never be shaken, build your case logically upon them, remain steadfast and unshaken, confident that ultimately all will be made plain and all will be well.

For now, we are staying in the battle, and seeing what happens.

Mid-night journal

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. ~ Philippians 4:6

This verse is an oldie, but goody (my brother Daniel used to say that as a small boy, and it still tickles me deep within to say it). Tonight I am up as the first pink glaze of sun appears in the pines out my bedroom window, heralding the end of night and beginning of another morn...up all night trying hard to put actions to this verse. It has been a night of prayer, a night of reading, a night of closing my eyes in near delirium and still the prayers flow and the sleep does not come.

How many times had patients sat there waiting for her to announce her decision after a similar moment of respite? Invariably the decision was based on science and statistics, a conclusion crosschecked and attained by logic. What a cask of horrors, she now thought, lies concealed in this moment of respite! Dontsova had known what she was doing when she had concealed her pain from everyone. You only had to tell one person and irresistibly the avalanche was set in motion, nothing depended on you anymore. Her ties in life, which had seemed so strong and permanent, were loosening and breaking, all in the space of hours rather than days. In the clinic and at home she was unique and irreplaceable. Now she was being replaced. We are so attached to the earth, and yet we are incapable of holding onto it. She was so used to taking personal charge of everything that even today she couldn't leave a single person without making at least a month's mental forecast. She was getting acclimatized to her misfortune. She examined, prescribed, and issued instructions, gazing at each patient like a false prophet, while all the while there was a chill running down her spine. These were the thoughts that plagued her and weakened her normal resolute cast of mind. She looked at one patient...they had given so much of themselves to try to save this quiet Tartar, yet all they had won was a few months' delay. And what miserable months - a pitiful existence in an unlit, unventilated corner.

It made Dontsova realize that if she rejected her own yardstick and adopted Sibgatov's, she could still count herself lucky. ~ from Cancer Ward, by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, true stories based on his own 2 year battle with cancer in the mid-1950's

As the bleeding heart blooms in the spring afternoon sun, I contemplate losing a part of self. Not just figuratively, like last time, but literally this time. I agonize over the prayers I've prayed of willingness for cancer. I long for a different, easier way.

I walk around the house, and see the writing literally written on my walls...the signs that open the door for this kind of trial, let God in to tear things down and build them back in a totally different shape. I start at the front door, and the words flow in this order: with God all things are possible. As for my house, we shall serve the Lord. Love like there's no tomorrow. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. Verses, sayings that reflect our intimate understanding in this marriage and house that this is only temporary. The suffering is temporary, the joy is temporary, the work is temporary.

What am I supposed to do with the fact that we are so far outside the realm of normal experience that most people are simply confused by our story? We have asked ourselves and each other times innumerable whether this is a wake up call. We still don't see it, if we are being woken to something...and that is so frightening! How much further might God push to show us what we seem to be blind to? And might it not be a powerful Evil that foists this suffering upon us? Might we have something in our future that is so definitely for God's glory that Satan might try to destroy it? And why, then, would God allow it? Could we really be a modern day Job story, a modern day David, hunted and oppressed and beaten and crushed? Could we share the sufferings - and deliverance and beatitude - of Paul, Timothy, Noah, Moses, Elijah, heck, all the prophets?

The next step comes Wednesday. I have surgery at 10:30 a.m. to remove the lumps. They will be biopsied for cancer, perhaps sent to a specialty lab if they come back one certain type...follicular, the type of thyroid cancer cell origin, and also possible in the breast. We may know immediately - and I may lose my breast on Wednesday, too. Or it may take weeks. But at least the lumps will be out, gone, frozen in liquid nitrogen and sliced and examined and done with. What follows is a big question mark that has me sleepless, petitioning, taking fear into my two hands and throttling it with Scripture. So many questions have no answer...but what to do? is not one of them. I simply pray. I plead. And I read.

In the drifts of the soul

And maybe the answer is that, whether we realize it or not, every moment is our testimony before a world who has Christ on trial. (Ann Voskamp of Holy Experience)

I don't have energy for every moment being a testimony. I am picking a dried-up soul up off the floor today, dragging it around to do dishes, sort winter and summer clothes, tidy up the house. Trying to find something edible for dinner. Why, why, why, Father? The world is bursting with the green that comes after the storm. And my heart is still cold, in the drifts, the pale yellow of last summer's dried husks like the memory of a different life that swells within.

Read Psalm 22 today and felt a bit better. I wonder if it is coincidence that Psalm 22 is followed by Psalm 23? According to the Jewish oral/textual tradition, both the order and text of the Ketuvim (3rd and final section of the Hebrew Bible, or Tanakh) are divinely inspired. In the text version of the Sifrei Emet (poetic books), the words are presented in a two column format that highlights the corresponding "stitches" between the two columns of words, making the books even more poetic. After pondering this, I went back and read Psalm 23 with Psalm 22. And I was comforted.

Hmmm...I wonder?

Curiosity is the character trait for which I am most often thankful. Without it, I probably wouldn't be married; I certainly wouldn't have children; and I definitely wouldn't be a grad student. Curiosity is probably what motivates me to follow God down mysterious paths that I never would have considered on my own. Without it, I could easily see myself working as a single staff nurse for an entire lifetime...and probably being quite happy. Yet once I learned my job and became comfortable in it, I became restless. Lots of questions popped up. And God handed me answers: in the form of my dear, handsome husband; in the little bodies of the babes that came completely by surprise; in the grad school opportunity that presented itself out of a random Google search and a pie-in-the-sky e-mail to a stranger.

There has to be something that motivates you to risk suffering for the sake of Christ. Accepting salvation as a concept and a gift at age 4 is both a blessing and a curse: having never lived without it, I think my visceral understanding of the gift is lessened. Those who are saved as adults seem to have a better grip on what salvation means, and may be motivated to risk suffering out of thankfulness and loyalty to God.

I wish I could say my own motivation was so pure, but most of the time it is not. I live a large number of my hours completely unaware of God - His existence, His hand in my life, His saving grace. It is often curiosity that pushes me in a new direction, where I find myself suddenly less at ease and more aware of my need. It is curiosity that propels me into relationships, where pain and suffering wound so much more deeply - friendships to navigate, a marriage to work on, children to love and surrender, career dreams of mentoring and teaching college students that must be fought for and labored over.

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

~ II Timothy 1:7 ~

These days, new acquaintances seem to walk away from talking to me or visiting my blog with the general impression that I am a) crazy, b) selfish, and c) unlucky. I don't think any of those things are true (although selfishness is something I will always be working on). I think suffering Christians often look that way - as if they either took on all those tasks because they are out of touch with reality, because they selfishly refuse to prioritize kids or family above self, or because they are suddenly overwhelmed by the unfortunate hand of fate. At least in my case, I take on big tasks because I believe I serve a big God. I am also curious, full of ambition, and don't need much sleep - those three things help me along the way! As I live my life walking with God, I find that regardless of how empty my calendar, it soon becomes full, with people and goals far beyond what my personal proclivities would dictate. It isn't the invincibility complex any longer: it is the fact that I have accepted that I am but grass, and have very little time in which to accomplish things for Christ. (Isaiah 40:6-8)

There is no doubt that part of that sense of a short life is the cancer survivor mentality. Cancer is the intensifier in many young lives, the thing that drives home the point that we better get busy living, whatever our philosophy on purpose, faith, God. In my case, already a Christian when cancer struck, it bound me to Christ and His purpose and kingdom in a new, intense way. At the end of every day, I want to be able to mark some tallies in the column of Christ's work on my to-do list. It is what fans the embers into flame beneath me: why I cuddle my kids more than I used to, why I want to get this degree finished so I can start teaching college students, why I won't tolerate mediocrity in my relationship with my husband. Curiosity pushed me onto this path, and cancer propels me at increased speed down it.

I'm not crazy, just curious. I do believe I can do more than just mother my children and make a home, but I'm not motivated by selfishness. I'm not unlucky, I am tested and tried for the sake of God's glory.

It's one thing to burn hot for God for three days or three weeks. It's quite another thing to serve the Lord for the long haul. A faithwalker is someone who displays courage. Courage has to define you as a Christian. Faithwalkers will be asked to do hard things - it takes courage. Being a faithwalker will influence who you marry, your education, your job, where you live, and how you raise and train your children. A faithwalker is also a disciple who lives by his or her convictions. I'm not just talking about theological and doctrinal convictions, but lifestyle convictions. What are the convictions that God is developing in you day by day? You are a Christian? Then live like it. You should look different, act different, talk different. If your aim is just to enjoy this world, James 4:4 says that you can't be a friend of God. We want to be winsome and reach out, but it is Christ in you that the world is attracted to. This isn't my home, and it shouldn't be yours.

~ Rory Whitney, March 9th, Faithwalkers devotional (listen to the sermon online by clicking on the link)

Anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God.

~ James 4:4 ~

Notes from my study & relevant links:

Curiosity can kill the cat, of course: Solomon, who began his journey with an earnest prayer, and ended it in an empty quest for knowledge and experience, is the prime example. (Ecclesiastes 1:17-18) Yet, human curiosity is a God-given trait designed to bring Him glory, and the pursuit of knowledge can be pure, Christian, and God-glorifying (I Corin. 10:31; Phil. 1:10). The Bible frequently tells us to, "Go and learn" (Deuteronomy 5:1; Job 8:8; Proverbs 1:5; Daniel 1:17;Matthew 9:13). I found two interesting articles, one that speaks of inspiring curiosity about Christ in students (from the Journal of Education and Christian Belief, here) and another on higher education and Christian faith (from the GraceFlow blog, here).

A positive and active acceptance

"If ever a woman accepted the demands of her own life with simplicity and grace, it was she. It was a positive and active acceptance of the given." ~ Elisabeth Elliot

As the initial blush wears off the Chicago news, the impact of the message is seeping into the cracks of my soul and filling in the grooves of uncertainty between every tile of information stored there. Five years is a long time. I continue to pray for acceptance with simplicity and grace, the fortitude to choose a positive and active acceptance of my new given. It will be a long hard task to do so consistently over time.

Sometimes the sky looks dark with not a ray of light,
We're tossed and driven on , no human help in sight;
But there is one in heav'n who knows our deepest care,
Let Jesus solve your problem - just go to Him in pray'r.

It will be worth it all when we see Jesus,
Life's trials will seem so small when we see Christ;
One glimpse of His dear face all sorrow will erase,
So bravely run the race till we see Christ.

~ Till We See Christ, Esther Kerr Rusthoi

Into November

You shall keep my Sabbaths and reverence my sanctuary: I am the LORD. "If you walk in my statutes and observe my commandments and do them, then I will give you your rains in their season, and the land shall yield its increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit. Your threshing shall last to the time of the grape harvest, and the grape harvest shall last to the time for sowing. And you shall eat your bread to the full and dwell in your land securely. I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid. ~ Leviticus 26:2-6 ESV

November is here in the northland. I woke up this morning feeling November deep in my body: I have been taken to the very edge of autumn. My cells are grinding to a halt. My joints are stiff and thick with fluid that refuses to soften and move. My hands are thick and heavy and my feet feel wooden. Every part of me is a little swollen, a sign of the waste products building up in each cell with no where to go. Nothing is working as it should. The side effects of the radiation linger because my body is losing it's capacity to heal in it's semi-functional state.

I went for a walk around a nearby lake to wake my deadened senses. All around me, autumn is coming to a close. What starts so flamboyantly with the scattering of seeds and conserving of sap in the core of the hardwoods, resulting in those flaming maples and umbre of the oaks, is now grinding to a mushy, windswept conclusion of barrenness. The once-golden carpet of leaves beneath my feet no longer swish pleasantly; the beauty of the leaves is turning to sludge in the cold. The wind has swept all the trees bare; the grasses have scattered the beauty of their heavy heads and rustle brusquely as dry coarse stalks before the gusts. The songbirds have long since left, and with them most of the ducks and geese; we are left with a few brave gamebirds and the crows and vultures for the winter.

Because the majority of us experience life in a very predictable progression of seasons, that is what I had come to expect. Childhood was like coming out of winter, just wakening after hibernation; my teens were the muddy wildness of early spring. My early 20's, late spring: crocuses, daffodils, planting the fields, the warmth of the soil rolling over under the cultivator for the sun. Then the warmth of early summer, as I bore my children and began harvest. There were hot, humid days when my work seemed stagnant and cumbersome and all I wanted was a long, summer nap. How surprising, to descend into November when so much summer was left! I am surprised to be here. I am praying this is a brief interruption, a little foretaste of seasons to come later in life. My intuition tells me that winter is a long way off, that summer will return, uncharacteristically bright and refreshing.

For now, here I am. In November. Taking long hikes by myself. Wondering how I will ever get warm again.

In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures. The bed is white and silent, and much life can hide beneath its blankets. The bare November trees are all sticks and bones spreading their arms like dancers.
~ In November, Cynthia Rylant

Lifted up

My encouragement this morning came from my dear mother, who has faithfully and fearlessly reminded me that grief can be a powerful tool of our great enemy, Satan. In a culture that accepts grief as an inevitable "consequence" of loss, she points out that there is, nevertheless, some element of choice in every experience of sorrow. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. (Pr. 27:17)

"Please read 1 Peter 5:6-11 and DO NOT GIVE IN OR UP to the devil! Not only does he want to devour YOU, but all those that depend on you! Your husband, your children, your friends, and all the unsaved people seeing and reading your light! It is a BATTLE my precious girl. I love you. I recommend www.biblegateway.com and reading this portion in the amplified, the message, and the NIV.
Love you. Mama"

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen. (NIV)

So be content with who you are, and don't put on airs. God's strong hand is on you; he'll promote you at the right time. Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you. Keep a cool head. Stay alert. The Devil is poised to pounce, and would like nothing better than to catch you napping. Keep your guard up. You're not the only ones plunged into these hard times. It's the same with Christians all over the world. So keep a firm grip on the faith. The suffering won't last forever. It won't be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ—eternal and glorious plans they are!—will have you put together and on your feet for good. He gets the last word; yes, he does. (The Message)

Therefore humble yourselves [demote, lower yourselves in your own estimation] under the mighty hand of God, that in due time He may exalt you, Casting the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully. Be well balanced (temperate, sober of mind), be vigilant and cautious at all times; for that enemy of yours, the devil, roams around like a lion roaring [in fierce hunger], seeking someone to seize upon and devour. Withstand him; be firm in faith [against his onset--rooted, established, strong, immovable, and determined], knowing that the same (identical) sufferings are appointed to your brotherhood (the whole body of Christians) throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace [Who imparts all blessing and favor], Who has called you to His [own] eternal glory in Christ Jesus, will Himself complete and make you what you ought to be, establish and ground you securely, and strengthen, and settle you. To Him be the dominion (power, authority, rule) forever and ever. Amen (so be it). (Amplified)