“I would rather have my heart come alive in the desert than be dead in a place of flourishing.”
~ Pastor Matthew Stroia, DC Metro Church
We break when we fall too hard
Lose faith when we’re torn apart
Don’t say you’re too far gone
It’s a shame
I’m still standing here
No, I didn’t disappear
Now the lights are on
See, I was never gone
I let go of your hand
to help you understand
With you along
Oh, I was never gone
~ Colton Dixon, “Never Gone”
I had no idea the pain would be this strong
I had no idea the fight would last this long
In my darkest fears the rights become the wrongs
I am still running ...
Build me a home
inside your scars
Build me a home
Inside your song
Build me a home
inside your open arms
The only place I ever will belong
~ Jon Foreman (of Switchfoot), “I Am Still Running”
Earlier this week, I receive a one line email from a dear one I’d met in high school, Amber. It says simply, “Fight like Job, my friend!” It touches me deeply to think how much Job suffered and yet did not give in to the voices around him urging him to blame himself or curse God. His quick and profound response: “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).
Coincidentally (read: Providentially), Amber happens to be driving through my town, and we meet at the park for a quick play date with our collective of 7 children. I haven’t seen her in a year and a half, and the meeting becomes very emotional for me. Struggling with chronic pain makes me hug longer and go deeper with people. So I find a tangible way to “praise God in all circumstances” (1 Thes. 5:18). The meeting with Amber is also emotional because it immediately takes me back to how we first met . . . She’s a new student in our 11th grade class, and I notice her as the only one left in the hall after the bell rings (I know it must be shocking to hear I am running late!). I see her frantically fumbling with the combination to her new locker. I make a quick but important decision: she’s worth the tardy. I help her with her locker, and quickly realize this Southern girl has a few things to learn about us Yankees (her daughters still wear the biggest hair bows I’ve ever seen in my entire life). As they say, “the rest is history,” and we’ve been friends ever since. Seeing her this time is emotional not only because of the pain I’m currently experiencing, but it also reminds me how I used to be. As a teenager, I’d get up early, sloshing a bucket of half-frozen water back to my pony’s barn in the dark of Michigan’s bitter winters. I served happily and confidently as Student Body President, a cheerleader, and a runner. I was a successful student, loved life, and my days were mostly carefree. I hardly ever thought about pain, and though I knew Jesus and loved him with all my heart, I certainly never longed for Him to return quickly with the desperation I do now (I should add a caveat from my Dad here: “Things are never quite as good or as bad as you remember them”).
Huron High School, 1994
And now I’m facing chronic pain with fibromyalgia, permanent damage to my pancreas, and a dermoid on my ovary. My parents come for a week to help with the house and the kiddos. It’s such a blessing to have them here, but I know it’s also confusing and difficult for them to see me “not myself” with very unpredictable “ups” and “downs” (which, quite honestly, I’ve been trying to fake for a long time). They whip my house into shape, move the kids’ rooms (something we’d hoped to accomplish before school starts), and take everyone on all sorts of fun excursions. We have some challenging conversations, but I see this as part of the healing process as well. My mentor Jan says I’m like her son: a combination of very smart and very sensitive. It’s a dangerous combination, but can also yield extreme beauty. So while I don’t want my loved ones to feel like they have to “walk on egg shells around me,” I also don’t want to change the person God made me because it enables me to be compassionate.
I head to my GYN appointment with high hopes, knowing that midwives tend to avoid interventions. She’s my black sister from Detroit (Inkster to be exact for you Michiganders) with spunky braided dreads and cowboy boots. I admit that when I first meet her, I’m a little intimidated, as she does not fit the “mold” of what I picture a midwife to be (what is that, anyway?). In any case, I’m hoping she’ll tell me this little 1.2 centimeter dermoid is no big deal, and we’ll just keep an eye on it and move on to the bigger concerns of my fibro and pancreas. No dice. “Who told you it was small?” she demands. “It’s covering and invading over half your ovary, which is only 2 cm. You gotta have it removed, honey,” she says gently but firmly. “I really don’t want to have surgery though,” I reply. “Well, unless you can figure out some way to puke it out, that’s the only option.” I laugh out loud (I needed a good laugh)! She tells me she cannot perform the surgery and I’ll have to see her colleague in a couple weeks for a pre-op appointment (Aug 21). So, now I’m feeling like not only have I “wasted” a doctor appointment, I’ve also received news I did not want to hear. As she turns to leave, she hands me a stack of information and says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful today, but I’m so glad to see you. You were the brightest spot in my day.” As we hug, I think, “Ok, Lord, I’m getting the message here. You are orchestrating my life. I might feel frustrated about this particular appointment -- or any particular ‘unplanned’ or ‘unnecessary’ event -- but there’s a reason You put me here on this day, at this time.”
Meanwhile, I get my GI appointment scheduled at UVA. There are 30-40 GI specialists there, but my doctor wants me to see a biliary specialist, of which there are only two. So of course it takes several weeks to get an appointment (Aug 27). There’s a section on the web site to read the doctors’ profiles, so I click on the one to which I’ve been assigned. I gasp out loud when I see her name: VANESSA. Let me explain why this is particularly astonishing. I meet very few others named Vanessa (and they’re usually African American, but she's not), and when I do, we automatically have a “special name bond.” So not only did God send me me to a renowned medical center with tons of people who specialize in the pancreas, but he gave me the specific doctor to deal with my unique problem with my very own name.
As I wrestle through health issues, I’m struggling with emotional and spiritual issues, too (I hold a holistic view that God created our mind, body and soul in a connected way). Jacob wrestled with God, and my pastor assures me this is normal for a believer, and even healthy. At the moment, I’m wrestling with the issue of homosexuality (particularly as it relates to a friend I love dearly). I discuss this with my pastor, Burress, and he recommends a book, The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert by Rosaria Champagne Butterfield. I make a note in my phone, but frankly, there are about 30 things ahead of that on my “To-Do” list. A few days later, I receive the book in the mail. “How thoughtful and kind of my pastor,” I think. Later, my hubby gets home and says, “Oh, you got the book I ordered you!” “Did Burress tell you?” I ask, wondering when they had time to discuss it between VBS and their busy work schedules. “No,” he replied, looking confused. I surmise that he must have been going through my phone and seen it in the notes. “I heard about it on World magazine radio, and thought it’d be a great read for what you’re going through.” Keep in mind that my wonderful husband is very frugal, and not impulsive. So, my receiving this book really came from the Holy Spirit (through my pastor and loving hubby). That first night, I fall asleep after reading nearly half of it late into the night.
The next day, I receive the book Jesus Calling by Sarah Young from one of my “spiritual mothers,” Ruth. Several of my friends have this book and have read bits and pieces to me. I owned it in Indonesia, but had to leave it behind as we returned with only essential items. I’ve been wanting to get another copy, but it just hasn’t happened. So, I’m delighted to see it. I think back to an experience at church a couple weeks ago. Helping prepare for a VBS of 500 children, I’m typing up some prayer cards, even though I’m struggling physically (I find out later I completely butchered them and someone else had to re-do them). My dear sister Christy (the co-director of the whole operation) is working beside me and hears a tearful phone call I have with my sister about the possibility of cancer. She sets aside her work, pulls up a chair, and reads the day’s devotion:
"As you listen to birds calling to one another, hear also my Love-call to you. I speak to you continually: through sights, sounds, thoughts, impressions, scriptures. There is no limit to the variety of ways I can communicate with you. Your part is to be attentive to my messages in whatever form they come. When you set out to find me in a day, you discover that the world is vibrantly alive with My presence. You can find Me not only in beauty and bird calls, but also in tragedy and faces filled with grief. I can take the deepest sorrow and weave it into pattern for good. Search for Me and My message, as you go through this day. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with your whole being” (216).
Her sweet spirit and willingness to minister to my soul in the midst of her own personal chaos truly displays the "hands and feet of Jesus." The devotion is exactly what I need to hear. As I apologize profusely for keeping her from “more important work,” she says something like, “You are my most important work right now. Nothing is wasted.” Wow!
Another revelation I’ve had recently is this: IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME! I’ve known that intellectually for a long time, but because I feel physical pain so often, it’s hard not to focus on myself. Although I do believe my Heavenly Father sees and feels my suffering, it is not without purpose. For example, I see amazing things happening in my very own husband as he serves me like Jesus. My mom recently wrote him this card:
"David, I have your picture on my dresser and I’m looking at your smiling face. God sure knew what he was doing when HE gave you to our family. Thank you so much for taking care of my little girl Vanessa. I know she’s in good hands. Stay strong and keep looking up! God will never let you down.
Love, Mom #2”
And God’s very own words confirm these sentiments in Psalm 103 (sung so beautifully by Ellie Holcomb):
Praise the Lord, O my soul
Oh and all my inmost being
Praise the Lord, O my soul
Don’t forget His love
Who forgives all of your sins
And who heals all your diseases
Who redeems your life from the pit
And who crowns you with His love
Who satisfies your desires
Oh with good and lovely things
Who renews your heart
Like a flight on eagles’ wings
Last Friday, Clara wakes up in the middle of the night with a fever, stomach ache and female “issues.” Because she has a history of UTI’s, I assume this is the problem and stay up with her nearly two hours attempting to soothe her. I literally sing every single song I can remember at 2am! Finally, I put on Pandora worship, and we fall asleep together in my bed (Dave’s out of town for work). After going to the Doctor and taking a urine sample to the hospital, I call my Mom-in-Love and say, “You know how God says He won’t give you more than you can handle? Well, I’m totally there. So please pray that nothing else comes up soon.” Evidently, God did not receive this memo (I do not intend that irreverently, but God knows my heart).
A few days later, I’m walking around the outdoor track at the gym. I’m feeling pretty good this particular morning, and call my sister to talk. After determining I’m feeling OK physically and am alone, she says she has something to tell me: she and her husband of 15 years (yielding 4 lovely children) are separating. Have you ever had a surreal experience where you feel like you’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong conversation? I stop walking, immediately begin weeping, and fall to the ground (I know, I’m melodramatic, but this is truly an unplanned physical response). I know I’m not the most affected or devastated person by this news, but it’s still crushing. She’s calm and collected, has peace with God, and begins comforting ME. Divorce is a death. Just like leaving Indonesia killed our dreams of being overseas missionaries, these losses often require long and difficult processes of grieving.
But then there is beauty in the ashes. As I stand out on my deck one peaceful, sunny morning, I ask God why He led us to give up nearly everything to travel halfway around the world to a foreign land to share His Gospel, only to return with mostly empty hands and hearts 6 months later. “I thought you called us to be missionaries!” I want to shout from the rooftops. Then I begin to look around the neighborhood. I realize I have four neighbors from Russia, one from El Salvador, one from Colombia, several from Mexico and one from Kurdistan (refugees). There are others I know who are hurting from the pain of premature babies, single motherhood, and absentee parents. On top of this, we are hosting an Indonesian student who has come to study at JMU for a semester. Suddenly, I realize God has not revoked the call to missions, He has simply relocated me and brought the mission field to me!
And so, just like Jesus, there is an apparent but beautiful contradiction when life comes from death. We return today to find our sweet Mama zebra finch Neutron dead at the bottom of her cage. She’s had a busy summer, laying at least 13 eggs and faithfully caring for 6 babies that survived. In fact, I’d seen her this very morning, crushing up seeds in her beak and regurgitating them into their begging, miniscule beaks. We have our first family “bird funeral,” planting her in the middle of our garden, where her physical body will continue to bring life by fertilizing the tomatoes, cucumbers, and basil. And our little single Dad, Proton and his son, Swift, sing a long song of sorrow. As we carefully lift out the babies to syringe feed them special food for bird orphans, the children squeal with delight when they open their mouths and swallow the food eagerly. They snuggle back in their freshly cleaned nest, and my mama heart can’t help but think that their mother, who gave her life for them, would be happy with this arrangement. Forgive my transition from animals to people, but I see such a clear picture of life coming from death in this situation. I’ve experienced “death” of a missionary dream, my health, most recently, my sister’s divorce (not to mention my brother's devastating divorce a year ago that our family is still processing). But that is not the end of the story. In the words of a favorite Matt Maher song (“Christ is Risen”): “Oh, death, where is your sting? Oh, hell, where is your victory? Oh, Church, come stand in the light! The glory of God has defeated the night!”
Mama Neutron (the light-colored bird in the back)
