Peace that guards …

Five days ago, I sat in a hospital waiting room (with dear friends and family) while my bride endured a brutal five hour procedure to remove cancer from her body. The surgeons were phenomenal, and the whole thing went beautifully. Lymph nodes were confirmed to be clear of cancer; the tissue surrounding the mass was confirmed to be clear of cancer; and the mass was successfully and completely removed. We couldn’t have asked for a better outcome (besides the surgeons discovering that the mass had just disappeared!).

The road to recovery began immediately … first with managing pain, physical trauma, reaction to anesthesia, etc. The morning after, we moved into simply sitting up and eventually standing. It is amazing how we can be so fragile and resilient at the same time.

In the five days since surgery, Kimberly has progressed at a staggering rate! She is still plagued by waves of pain, limited mobility in her left arm, fatigue, and a “pet” drain tube we hope will run away soon; but there are moments throughout the day when someone who didn’t know her would never guess she’d been through what she’s been through. I’m truly inspired by her courage and grace.

In hindsight, I’ve come to appreciate the truth of a very familiar, yet profound couple of verses in the book of Philippians (4:6-7) like never before … “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

From what I understand, the word anxious has the idea of being “torn apart” in its origins. It is to be undone by fear of what might be (usually of the worst-case-scenario variety). Paul tells us to resist anxiety and to voice our requests to the One who can intervene in our circumstances. What strikes me is that Paul doesn’t tell us that God will simply do what we ask. Instead, Paul assures us that the peace of God will “guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” To be honest, it is tempting to think that having what I want is better than a refuge for my heart … how shortsighted I can be.

I’ve typically thought of peace as this tranquil experience I have when all is well. It is quiet, relaxed, gentle. But Paul speaks of peace as a guard, a sentinel intently watching over my heart and mind; ready at a moment’s notice to repel distress and despair.

I hear most people speak of a peace that “surpasses understanding”, as if that is the remarkable thing about peace. But Paul’s emphasis (and what I’ve discovered in recent days) is the radical assurance this peace has tenaciously secured in my heart and mind. Kimberly and I have thanked God for who He is and what He has already done on our behalf. We’ve asked Him to bring healing through any means He wishes. And we’ve relinquished our future to His loving care. As a result, our hearts have been steadfast (often surprising us in terms of the extent of our assurance).

Kimberly and I have believed all along that the outcome of this leg of our journey is uncertain. In other words, we couldn’t assume that we would get all of the circumstances we might choose for ourselves. But we’ve felt profound assurance of God’s presence and power, enabling us to endure with thanksgiving all that we encounter.

We do attribute much of this to the persistent prayers offered by our community of faith on our behalf. We will never be able to adequately express our gratitude for the loving support we have received. But we remain overwhelmed by God’s lovingkindness toward us through the care of his people.

Grace upon grace

“Why me?”

Why me?

It’s pretty rare that some form of those words doesn’t cross my mind when life kicks me in the face. There is something about adversity that provokes reflection, as if there must be some reason for why I would ever experience any kind of difficulty. There is something in me (depravity?) that gravitates to a cause/effect explanation for my pain.

With lesser trials, I can chalk them up to me being a sinful guy living in a sinful world that can’t help but produce problems. But when life gets real gritty, real painful, real confusing, I naturally grope around for something to justify my hardship. “Surely I’ve done something to deserve this!”

The biggest problem comes when I can’t put my finger on some horrific, rebellious sin that would warrant (in my finite brain) such severe circumstances. I’m left with little more than self-pity … “Why me?” And somehow the answer to that question ends up having something to do with God … He’s distant, silent, harsh, insensitive, demanding, unfair, etc.

The great mystery is this: Why am I not equally inclined to reflect this way (cause/effect) when things go my way, when I get what I want … even more than I want? Why am I not as surprised that God would lavish goodness and grace on me, a sinner?

In my best moments of clarity, I am truly overwhelmed by the thought that God would even be mindful of me. I resonate with the words of Psalm 8, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” I am deeply encouraged by the idea (James 1:17) that “every good gift [big or small] and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

Believe it or not, throughout this season of trial, Kimberly and I have been amazed, comforted and reassured by the tidal wave of “good and perfect gifts” we have received through God’s word, God’s Spirit and God’s people. It sounds ridiculous to me even as I write it, but Kimberly and I have truly asked “Why us?” with regard to the goodness and grace we have experienced as a direct result of walking this shadowy path … as if it were a privilege, not a drudgery.

At the end of the day, we want to be equally willing (Job 2:10) to receive good and adversity from the Lord knowing that regardless of our circumstances, we are His beloved, cherished so completely that He would lay down His life to comfort us in our present pain, and one day deliver us into the glory of His presence. With that in mind, we can say with the psalmist (Ps 4:6–7), “There are many who say, ‘Who will show us some good? Lift up the light of your face upon us, O Lord!’ You have put more joy in my heart than [those people] have when their grain and wine abound.”

Grace upon grace

Waiting

“Waiting is the worst!”
I’ve said it … I’ve heard … I’ve lived it.
Waiting for small things (checkout lines, traffic jams, customer service) is mostly just an irritant. In our instant, microwave, “fast-food” culture we’ve grown accustomed to getting what we want right away. I’m smiling thinking about the recent AT&T 4G ads, “That’s so 30 seconds ago!”
When it comes to waiting for HUGE things (employment, diagnosis), circumstances go from being an irritant to an all-out assault, mostly on my heart. Waiting can be maddening … what if’s, possibilities, scenarios, each of which provoke different emotions and reactions. Waiting leaves me hanging, I’m left with equal but opposite possible outcomes of good and bad.
Amid the battle of waiting, the anticipation of what will become reality, there is a voice of certainty … assurance. It has less to do with circumstances, and everything to do with presence … His presence. The voice intrudes on darkness and fills these moments with light. “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10
Kimberly and I have been bathed in the light of God’s love through the truth of His word and the care of His people. We have felt peace like never before. We are overwhelmed by the community of faith that is walking in the waiting with us, prayerfully seeking the strength of God on our behalf.
We now have a surgery date on the calendar … Wednesday, January 25. The plan at this point is a simple mastectomy, but testing will be done on surrounding tissue and the lymph nodes. If cancer is discovered beyond the mass, then a radical mastectomy will be performed. The initial biopsy has indicated that the cancer is most likely contained, but we will not know for sure until the surgery is complete.
Thank you to all who are praying with us through this. We will share more results as we receive them.

Grace upon grace

Fragile … Immovable

There’s nothing like the “C” word to shatter one’s feelings of security.

I strive to maintain order, minimize exposure, plan ahead, create margin, etc., all of which makes me feel secure. And I guess to some degree, those actions lend themselves to greater security than if they were absent. Nevertheless, it should be obvious to me and everyone else that security in a fallen world is never a guarantee … there’s just too much fallenness goin on. Isn’t that why we have insurance policies? For the rainy day, or the drought … the accident, the natural disaster, the disease.

So I’ve felt pretty fragile lately, like there’s a lot beyond my control, regardless of how badly I want that not to be the case. There is plenty I and Kimberly can do … read, meet with physicians, undergo treatment, and rehabilitate. But all of those are reactions to a mass that intruded, no warning, without permission, impervious to our wishes. We’re being reminded that life is less about controlling our circumstances, and more about responding to them with faith that is rooted, grounded … secure.

It seems that’s something of what Paul had in mind when he wrote in 2 Cor 4:7-10, “But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. ⁸ We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; ¹⁰ always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.”

Our focus in recent days has been redirected to the surpassing power that belongs to God, not us. We are faithfully following medical procedures, but we are doing so mindful of our constant dependence upon God’s sufficient grace to keep us … not crushed, not despairing, not forsaken, not destroyed.

We met with Kimberly’s Oncologist Monday, and she was wonderful! We’re so grateful for the physicians we’ve encountered through this process. They’ve been so patient, kind, thorough, competent and reassuring. They are each answers to prayer for capable guides as we walk this path. As you pray for our situation, would you pray for them by name … Dr. Lisa White (General Surgeon), Dr. Nicholas Tarola (Plastic Surgeon) and Dr. Yanjun Ma (Oncologist). Thanks.

Though we haven’t gotten much more detail than we’ve already shared, it looks like we’re all clear for surgery in 7-10 days. We’ll let everyone know the actual date as soon as we’re able to confirm it with our doctors. The best case scenario for surgery is for the mass to be completely isolated with clear (non-cancer) margins (tissue surrounding mass), a singular form of the cancer (versus a “mixed” mass), and clear lymph nodes. We’re also praying that Kimberly will not react adversely to any of the medications used during surgery (she’s pretty sensitive to meds).

We feel fragile, but immovable as a result of God’s tangible care for us. Those who are praying for us have played an unmistakable, irreplaceable role in our journey. I’ll close with Kimberly’s recent description of how our community of faith has come alongside us in a powerful way … “My cup runneth over. There are no words. How do I say thank you to those who have locked shields with mine…who are standing guard with me? In the short time that we have been walking through this new season, there is no doubt in my mind that much of the peace, rest, hope and joy that I have enjoyed is in part due to the prayers of the saints.” Grace upon grace!

Into the shadow

How time flies! It’s been over four years since I posted to this blog. Sheesh! I had such grand intentions … and only five posts to show for it. Oh well, gotta live in the present, and the present is rockin our world!

Just two weeks ago, right before Christmas day, Kimberly discovered a lump in her breast. It was a surprise, but neither of us were alarmed. Call it wishful thinking, call it denial, we responded pretty casually …”probably oughta get that looked at when we get back in town.” And so we did.

Kimberly visited a local OB and went through normal mammogram and ultrasound testing to get an initial idea of what we might be facing. The radiologist showed serious concern and urged us to see a breast cancer surgeon for a biopsy to confirm whether or not the mass was malignant as he suspected. As you might imagine, sobriety set in. We scheduled the appointment and began to invite friends and family to pray with us about the threat at hand.

On Wednesday, January 4, Kimberly underwent a biopsy which confirmed that she had indeed developed breast cancer. Even as I write those words, they seem unbelievable, more fiction than non-fiction. But it is as real as anything we have experienced in our lives … and so, we step into the shadow.

Before now, the shadow seemed to represent a time when life is hard and painful, and God seems distant and silent. Yet our experience so far has been just the opposite. We have felt great comfort, grace and assurance. God’s presence has been overwhelmingly tangible … as real as anything we might touch or see. We’ve experienced His preparation, recent moments of reflection, encouragement, conviction, and renewal which brought Kimberly and me to a place of peace and rest amid the ominous intrusion of a shadow.

We’ve been awestruck by the outpouring of prayer, support, love and encouragement. The community of faith that surrounds us is truly awesome. Word has spread and God’s people have come alongside us full of faith and hope. We have been strengthened by the petitions of Christ-followers on our behalf.

Since receiving news of this disease, Kimberly began recording what she calls “Grace Places” … big and small evidences of God’s grace at work in and around us as we face this trial. She has said that as much as we would like – and are praying – for God to remove this trial, she has sensed that this is very much a path God has allowed for us, and one in which He will do wondrous things, which will ultimately bring Him profound glory.

Among the grace places Kimberly has identified, our doctors are beautiful provisions. They’ve been incredibly kind, patient, thorough, reassuring, accessible, competent … and the list could go on. We feel very fortunate to have the resources we have.

Since the 4th, we’ve learned that Kimberly’s cancer is called “mucinous carcinoma” … named for the mucous like material which surrounds the affected cells. We’ve been encouraged that this type is commonly less aggressive, more isolated, slower growing, and more responsive to treatment than most other forms. There are no guarantees, but the outlook seems to be positive despite the reality of having cancer and needing serious treatment.

We will meet with an Oncologist early next week, and will likely have Kimberly in surgery within two or three weeks. I have to say, I’ve been blown away by Kimberly’s grace and courage. She’s had a resilient peace and joy (still with fears and tears) that has been inspirational. As I heard someone recently say, she has been “heroic” … that sounds about right!

Our kids are doing well. We’ve had some great conversations, and we’re learning together to trust God with an uncertain future that we must entrust to Him. All we know is that God is good all the time … He is never inattentive to our needs, He always gives us what we need to do what He has called us to do, and He will gladly direct our steps if we will let Him. We’re praying that God will meet each of our children in this season in a special and unmistakeable way that will only strengthen their faith.

As we move forward, we are praying for a phenomenal pathology report (specific characteristics of Kimberly’s cancer) and an unmistakeable path for treatment. As we walk this path, we realize there is much that we don’t know, but we can act upon what we do know about our God and the disease we face. We are trusting God for wisdom and courage as we make new decisions every day about how to proceed. We are deeply grateful for the masses of people who have come alongside us in prayer. I’ll keep everyone informed through this blog, and together, we will see God do what only God can do.

Grace upon grace …

 

crawling to the finish line

I attended a cross country meet this weekend, the first I’ve ever seen. I had some idea about what it would be like, but witnessed a lot more than I expected. Basically, my knowledge of cross country running was that it was “off road” … rough terrain, twists and turns, and lot’s of grit. I had no idea just how much grit.

The race was a regional Indiana State qualifier. The course wound its way around approximately 40 acres, weaving up and down hilly terrain. Twenty teams from in or around Indianapolis showed up with their top 7 runners for a 5K (3.1 mi) that would either qualify them for State or end their season.

I got to watch from the back of a souped-up golf cart which drove the course ahead of the pack of 140 runners. We had a digital clock mounted on the back of the cart to let the runners know their time from beginning to end. I was in awe as we passed the first mile marker at less than five and half minutes! That’s only about a minute and a half slower than the fastest mile ever run on a smooth indoor track … and these are cross-country highschool athletes!

The guys were “blood-n-guts” from start to finish, and the finish was stunning. The top finisher crossed the line at 15:31 (which, if you’re doing the math, means the last two miles were each faster than the first). That may be why I saw what I saw as the rest of the field finished the race. No one swaggered across the line … just about everyone staggered. Two thirds of the runners immediately fell to their knees or on to their backs in complete exhaustion. Plenty of them were hurling their pre-race meal.

While the competitors love the sport, they cannot hide the painful reality that comes with it. This clearly is a race where finishing well is excruciating. To compete in cross country is a willful decision to suffer. For some, that suffering is almost overwhelming. One such runner left a deep impression on me I hope I’ll never forget.

Forty yards from the finish line his legs turned to mush. He had run well all but the last 40 yards … the finish line was literally right in front of him. But as hard as he focused and struggled to continue forward, his legs wouldn’t budge. He soon fell to the ground like a sac of potatoes; still striving to move forward but without progress. Two times he attempted to re-gain his footing, and two times he went back to the ground. It really looked hopeless … pitiful … quitting made a lot more sense than floundering around … except to the boy on the ground.

He conceded that he would not finish the race on his feet, but there are no rules against crawling. With deep resolve, the boy struggled toward the finish line on all fours, collapsed flat on his face, then rolled to his back, flopping his shoe with the time chip attached across the line. The crowd went absolutely nuts as if the boy had won the race. Finishing, in that moment, was as venerable as winning. The victory was in not giving up.

I thought it was a profound picture of what following Christ is often like, but a picture we rarely advertise when communicating the gospel. We’ve all heard the subtle suggestions that living in relationship with Jesus will make all our problems evaporate. How disheartening it is when someone who has been given that gospel embraces Christ only to find that life is still painful.

Wouldn’t it be better to live in the reality of Paul’s words to the Christians of Corinth, “We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken. What they did to Jesus, they do to us—trial and torture, mockery and murder; what Jesus did among them, he does in us—he lives!” (2 Cor 4:8-10, The Message) We can’t control our circumstances. We can’t control what will happen to us. But we can by God’s grace keep striving toward the finish line in whatever shape we’re in.

If we’re honest, following Christ is temporally painful, but eternally priceless. Our motivation for running is tied to our confidence that the finish line of this world will usher in the beginning of a glorious new world … “a new heaven and a new earth … a new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband … a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.’”(Rev 21:1-4)

Life here is hard … Peter urged us not to be surprised (1 Peter). He tells us that trials of all kinds reveal the substance of our faith. God never promised us that following Him would be easy … He did promise to be with us (Heb 13:5), to make us more like Jesus (Rom 8:29), and to enable us in all He has called us to be and do until He brings us home (2 Pe 1:3). So we don’t quit; we crawl forward because the prize of running and finishing (even on our hands and knees) far outweighs the fleeting comfort of abandoning the race.

The Gift of Story

Spent some time talking with folks recently about discovering and then sharing with others a personal “LifeStory.” I’m not talking about the typical autobiography that probably has more to do with image management than actually being known. We were exploring a process through which we could grow in our awareness of the story emerging from the experiences and relationships we’ve had over the course of our lives, and then be able to share what we’ve discovered in an authentic way.

I first experienced something like this 18 years ago with a friend in a coffee shop. He asked me to tell him a little about myself, my background, etc. He wanted to know the stuff I felt like he needed to know if he were to know me. I began to rattle off the general data – year & place of birth, siblings, pets, favorite color, etc. – and came to the fact of my parents divorce. He asked me a question, a simple question that exposed some deep needs I had (and still have) for awareness … “How do you think your parent’s divorce has impacted your life?” I immediately responded with a well-rehearsed explanation of how beautifully a broken home had shaped me. I talked about learning independence, resilience, and a “can do” spirit. I’m sure I sounded like a POW describing the benefits of solitude behind enemy lines.

Fortunately, my friend didn’t let me off the hook. He invited me to see that tragedy, not through the sanitized, rationalized lens of a young man who had spent his life trying to make sense of it, but through the eyes of an eight year old boy … a boy who couldn’t understand why the two people who brought him into the world had stopped loving each other, and a boy whose dad would never again live up close and personal with him. I was undone.

It took me back to the tidal wave of emotion I had felt the morning my mom broke the news to me and my sister, the same emotion I had spent most of my life trying to avoid. It was as fresh as it could be because I had never honestly faced the pain of that loss. I’ve sense learned, wounds that go unaddressed don’t heal properly and eventually become debilitating.

LifeStory has been a process of healing … a process of seeing my life with greater honesty. The more honest I’ve been, the more aware I become and the more my life moves in a redemptive current instead of one that is dysfunctional and destructive. When I’m asked today about my life, I have a precious, authentic gift to give away instead of something that resembles a PR statement from a celebrity spokesperson. I don’t have to “spin” my life, I can simply share it and trust God to use it as He pleases.

View from the other side

I made it … I survived! I am 40.

It hasn’t been all that painful. I actually feel pretty excited about the “second half” of my life.

I don’t know if I’ll make it to 80, but I’ll give it a shot and see what happens.

The highlight of this momentous mile mark came during a surprise gathering my wife put together. I was told when and where to arrive, but nothing else. As I walked up to the location, I was welcomed by a crowd of people who have been a huge part of my story since moving to Middle Tennessee seven years ago, none of whom I knew before our move. Some I’ve known from the very beginning … others I met in the last year, but all have been a rich part of my experience.

The great gifts my wife gave me that evening were love (expressed by the presence of people I love deeply) and perspective. She put together a slideshow that spanned my life. She secured letters from distant places written by some of my closest friends. She invited those who were present to share impromptu thoughts with me. It was encouraging, overwhelming and sobering to take in the significance of all these relationships. I suppose it was what someone might experience if they were to attend their own funeral. I heard what mattered most to people who have been in relationship with me. I wonder if we ought to do stuff like this for each other with greater regularity … a reminder of what really matters most.

I left that evening reminded … how we choose to live really does impact the people around us, something very easy to forget. I make plenty of mistakes, but people seem to pay the most attention to the overall direction of our lives. The listening I’ve done has been as meaningful as the talking. Striving earnestly to know and walk with God encourages folks more than supposedly “arriving” at some man-made destination of holiness. Lasting friendship is as much about grace-filled resilience as anything.

Like George Bailey at the end of It’s A Wonderful Life, I feel like “the richest man in town” – blessed to be in relationship with such incredible people. I’m grateful to my wife for so great a labor of love. I look forward to continuing this journey with an amazing community of broken yet hopeful people.

40

First post … the pressure is unbearable! OK, not really, but I am feeling a little bit of angst about “putting it out there”. What will readers think? How will I come across? Will I be misunderstood? I want to do this “right” – whatever “right” is. I know … self-absorbed! I’m working on it. I’m sure there are a few blogateers who can relate.

So, on with it. I’m turning 40 in a couple of weeks. My kids think I’m olllllllllllllllddddddddd. To those in the twightlight years of life, I’m a punk. I guess I’m saying, it seems a little relative, all a matter of perspective! I do wonder why 40 is such a “magic” number … why not 43? Or why don’t people decorate their homes and offices in black and sing a durge when someone is turning 38? My sweet wife has been trying to get me to say I’m forty long before the day arrives! I’m not giving in! I’m ALMOST 40! 

A question I’m asking during this very reflective moment of my life has to do with contentment. More specifically, what does it look like for me or anyone else to be passionately wild about life while being content with our lot in life? In my younger days (that sounds hilarious to me), most of my thoughts, goals, ambitions, etc. drifted mostly toward “the NEXT thing.” I was tempted to view my lot in life as getting through the NOW to get on to the NEXT.

I set my sights on the NEXT for so long, I became conditioned to orient my life around the NEXT instead of the NOW. In highschool, the NEXT was college. In college, the NEXT was my first job. In my first job, it was the NEXT position. After getting a little experience, seminary was NEXT. After that … church planting.

So now the church is planted and I’m not planning on going anywhere. So what’s NEXT if it isn’t another place, position, possession? Maybe it’s a promise. “There is great gain in godliness with contentment” (1 Tim 6:6). Maybe the gain Paul mentioned to Timothy is a string of days simply devoted to God – who knows how long – that are full of purpose because of the redemptive good God will bring about in our lives and the lives of those we engage along the way.

Biblical contentment, it seems, has a backbone, a resiliance that rises above circumstances. A content person doesn’t cease striving altogether. He or she simply strives for the things that matter most (to whom is another blog for another day). Eugene Peterson says it this way in his translation The Message, “A devout life does bring wealth, but it’s the rich simplicity of being yourself before God.”

For the next 40, the NEXT is really the NOW stretched out a few decades. Move’s I make in the future will likely have less to do with geography and more to do with my heart and the expression of my gifts in the plot of space I’m inhabiting. I often return to words King David penned a long while back to help me keep perspective … “The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; He holds my lot (NOW & NEXT). The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.” (PS 16:5-6) That statement helps me keep the NEXT from robbing the NOW of all it is intended to be.

welcome to my new blog…

thanks for stopping in.  this is my NEW BLOG.  i have joined the revolution (that sounds grandios!).  as my title suggests, i am flawed, frail, dependent, limited (much more than i’d like to admit most days), but full of hope in light of the gracious transformation God is accomplishing in my life. my musings are a product of that ongoing, redemptive work that will carry on until my last breath. soli deo gloria …