They had a going-away party for me when I left Central. They do this for every employee, but this one seemed extra-special. There were balloons, a cake with my life verse on it, and even a slideshow. I felt very honored by all those who stopped by to say farewell. Love and well-wishes overflowed. If only it didn't have to mean I was actually leaving!
Timberlake church had a going-away party for me too. It was orchestrated by the women's ministry that I was a part of for all six years I attended there. It was harder for me...and sadder. I felt an urgency to say last things that I would never have the chance to say again. Kim, Irene and Rhonda all spoke about the ways I had impacted their lives and the lives of others at the church. The love that shone through their words often moved me to tears.
I asked for a few minutes to share a few thoughts I had prepared ahead of time. I'm not very good at impromptu speeches, and I very much wanted to thank people for all they had done for me. This is some of what I said:
There is one gift I wish so much that I had. Stuart Liegey can still talk normally while the tears are rolling down his face. When I cry, if anything at all comes out, it's high and squeaky and unintelligible. But there are some things that have to be said, so just be patient with me. It's not going to hurt me to cry and it's not going to hurt you to cry with me.
I want to thank the elders and deacons, minister and leadership. You have fostered a safe place where we women could dream up a ministry and watch it grow. Thank you for supporting us both in words and in action.
I want to thank the card ladies, huggers and encouragers, women of this church who have not been directly involved with me in ministry, but who have loved and encouraged me in so many ways.
I want to thank the ladies who have supported women's ministry...attending, leading, working and serving, those who attended bible studies and DLT so faithfully, the Sunday school class Rhonda and I have taught. You taught me how to serve with love; you have taught me more than I have taught you. The students have excelled far more than their teacher.
I am so grateful for the women's ministry core group and my accountability group: Priscilla, Melissa, Penny Sharron, Rhonda, Tessa, and Mary--hard core religious fanatics, every one of them. They love fiercely, and I love them fiercely right back. I NEVER expect to have such a good and godly group of women to serve with, ever again.
Mom and Dad Green – One of the best things I ever did was encourage Joe to take our little family to Alaska when Charis was a baby so they could be around one of their grandbabies, Joe could help them finish their house, and I could learn to know and love them all. Now, those little 11 and 12 year old girls are my dear sisters and two of my best friends. And David, that makes you my dear brother in spirit and in the flesh. And Mom and Dad Green are truly my mom and dad. I have spent almost every Wednesday eating lunch at their house and enjoying their hospitality. Mom, and Dad, I love you deeply.
If there's one thing I would want you to remember from all the words I've said and lessons I've taught it would be this: Continue to love each other deeply, from the heart. It's not enough to be a model Christian; you also have to model brokenness in all of its ugliness and warts and scars. People have to know this so they can also see how God brought you through the brokenness to healing and freedom and joy. God's greatest miracles today—and I use those words advisedly—are the miracles he does in peoples' lives, bringing them from sin, despair and captivity to freedom and joy and light. That transforming power is a miracle! Those are the things we have to continue to share with each other.
Sometimes it gets ugly. People are incredibly messy. But we still have to confess our sins to one another so that we can be healed. We have to do it even when they don't know what to say, when they mess up and betray us. Please, don't use that as an excuse to hide from each other. Sin just multiplies in secrecy and darkness. We MUST let each other know what God has been doing IN us. It's not enough to talk about the blessings, we also have to talk about the trials, and then rejoice when we see how he brings us through them.
This is how we let the world know that God is still living and active. He saves us for eternity, but he also sanctifies us in the here and now. This is how the world will see Jesus.
All of this sharing—telling your story—is a testimony of love. It's irresistible to the world, to see how you love one another. I have never experienced such an outpouring of love in my life. I will tell everyone I know about how you have loved me so well. To God be the glory.
And this is my final testimony to you: I want you to know that I believe this with all my heart—Job 19:25-27 - “But as for me, I know that my redeemer lives and he will stand upon the earth at last. And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God! I will see him for myself. Yes, I will see him with my own eyes. I am overwhelmed at the thought!”
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
You Are the God Who Sees Me
This story starts about 13 years ago--well, actually, longer than that.... My testimony usually includes the theme of me feeling invisible from the time I was little. This wasn't my family's fault; they were all just so dominant or funny or outgoing or chatty--or all of the above. I was much quieter and my role was often that of a listener. So about 13 years ago, I was left out of a faculty/staff directory. This was the last of several events in a row that left me feeling like no one noticed if I was there, or missed me if I wasn't. (This was a lie, of course, that Satan used, to make me want to give up.)
On Saturday morning, I was lying in bed crying to God about this, looking out the window at the leaves swaying in the breeze, when this phrase was impressed on my mind: "If no one else sees you, I see you." I immediately thought God had "spoken" to me and I cried about the tenderness of the message. But I'm not used to getting messages from God, and I am perfectly capable of making up nice things in my own mind to assuage my grief. I have learned to look for confirmation.
Later that night, I was reading the next section out of my One Year Bible. I never read these on the assigned date, because I skip days, but the next night's reading was from Genesis 16. It was the story of Abraham and Hagar, where she said of God, "You are the God who sees me." I quickly decided that I didn't make up the "message," and I have believed ever since then that my God is a God who sees me too, even if no one else is paying attention.
So, back to the present--when I got to my first class at 9:00 a.m. on Tuesday, I noticed that several girls were wearing hot pink t-shirts with a scripture verse on it. I didn't think much about it, because the different dorm floors often make their own t-shirts and wear them. No one said anything about it and class went on as usual.
Then Becky stopped in after class to tell me this story right before chapel. She had a dream about a month ago and I was in it. She said that people were dressed alike and she was singing in chapel a song she had written. When she woke up, she thought about the fact that she indeed was scheduled to lead the praise team in chapel in about a month. She realized she had chosen three of the four songs already and she could include that one too. She said it didn't really fit with the others, but she decided to sing it anyway--for me. I could tell she felt a little odd about this but thought she was supposed to do it for some reason.
When I walked into chapel, I saw that about half the crowd had hot pink t-shirts on. I was amazed and I wondered why I didn't know about this effort to buy/sell t-shirts and wear them all on the same day at chapel. I asked Jen about it and she pointed to her t-shirt and said, "This is your life-verse, Mrs. Green. We're wearing these t-shirts today to encourage you." I was stunned. I hadn't noticed what the verse was: "He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear [some versions say 'be amazed'] and put their trust in the LORD" (Psalm 40:3).
I couldn't believe it. I kept thinking, "All these people bought a t-shirt just to encourage me." How did they pull this off without me knowing? Whose idea was this? And all these people bought a t-shirt just to encourage me!
Then Becky sang the first song, the song she had written, the song she had dreamed about singing in chapel where everyone had the same clothes on, from a dream she didn't tell her husband about until he gave her the hot pink t-shirt to wear in chapel. The song about trials that she was singing for me, for some reason.
And the refrain from Becky's song was, "You are the God who sees me; you are the God who sees me."
Thank you, Becky. Thank you, Ben and Jonathan and everyone who bought a t-shirt.
Thank you, Living One Who Sees Me.
On Saturday morning, I was lying in bed crying to God about this, looking out the window at the leaves swaying in the breeze, when this phrase was impressed on my mind: "If no one else sees you, I see you." I immediately thought God had "spoken" to me and I cried about the tenderness of the message. But I'm not used to getting messages from God, and I am perfectly capable of making up nice things in my own mind to assuage my grief. I have learned to look for confirmation.
Later that night, I was reading the next section out of my One Year Bible. I never read these on the assigned date, because I skip days, but the next night's reading was from Genesis 16. It was the story of Abraham and Hagar, where she said of God, "You are the God who sees me." I quickly decided that I didn't make up the "message," and I have believed ever since then that my God is a God who sees me too, even if no one else is paying attention.
So, back to the present--when I got to my first class at 9:00 a.m. on Tuesday, I noticed that several girls were wearing hot pink t-shirts with a scripture verse on it. I didn't think much about it, because the different dorm floors often make their own t-shirts and wear them. No one said anything about it and class went on as usual.
Then Becky stopped in after class to tell me this story right before chapel. She had a dream about a month ago and I was in it. She said that people were dressed alike and she was singing in chapel a song she had written. When she woke up, she thought about the fact that she indeed was scheduled to lead the praise team in chapel in about a month. She realized she had chosen three of the four songs already and she could include that one too. She said it didn't really fit with the others, but she decided to sing it anyway--for me. I could tell she felt a little odd about this but thought she was supposed to do it for some reason.
When I walked into chapel, I saw that about half the crowd had hot pink t-shirts on. I was amazed and I wondered why I didn't know about this effort to buy/sell t-shirts and wear them all on the same day at chapel. I asked Jen about it and she pointed to her t-shirt and said, "This is your life-verse, Mrs. Green. We're wearing these t-shirts today to encourage you." I was stunned. I hadn't noticed what the verse was: "He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear [some versions say 'be amazed'] and put their trust in the LORD" (Psalm 40:3).
I couldn't believe it. I kept thinking, "All these people bought a t-shirt just to encourage me." How did they pull this off without me knowing? Whose idea was this? And all these people bought a t-shirt just to encourage me!
Then Becky sang the first song, the song she had written, the song she had dreamed about singing in chapel where everyone had the same clothes on, from a dream she didn't tell her husband about until he gave her the hot pink t-shirt to wear in chapel. The song about trials that she was singing for me, for some reason.
And the refrain from Becky's song was, "You are the God who sees me; you are the God who sees me."
Thank you, Becky. Thank you, Ben and Jonathan and everyone who bought a t-shirt.
Thank you, Living One Who Sees Me.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Good News!
I have an appointment with the oncologist today. Jessi is going with me--I can never tell when I am going to get more bad news, so I want someone with me. So I get my blood drawn and they do "labs" on me. And then I go for a dexa scan which analyzes bone density. Cancer makes me more vulnerable to fractures, so this test helps predict where this might happen. It's a 10-minute procedure, totally painless and uncomplicated.
Then I wait for the oncologist. He just looks at me for awhile, assessing me, I think. "So tell me about your pain," he says. So I tell him about the PMR (polymyalgia rheumatica) which causes a lot of pain and how it's hard to tell the difference between this and cancer pain. (I know now that it's when the pain is consistent and increasing that I have to worry about it.) And I tell him about the pain in my neck.
He gets quiet and I feel like I have to lead the conversation. What I want to know is, what's next. What is the next course of treatment that I have to endure, and what are the side-effects? This is where the good news starts. He wants to put me on this intravenous medicine that strengthens bones and helps with bone pain. It's also well-tolerated, meaning that I shouldn't have bad side-effects. Okay, that sounds good--strengthens bones, no side-effects. "What else?"
"Nothing else right now."
"Well, the radiologist mentioned maybe chemo in the form of a pill."
"No, that's down the road. We'll run this medicine for all it's worth, and then there are several others we can try after that."
"Okay. That's great!" I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. "So how long would you say I have to live? The radiologist said maybe one or two years."
He frowns, "Oh, I think he underestimated how long you have. I've treated people with metastatic bone cancer for several years."
"Oh!" Really? Thank you, God.
I feel a huge weight lift that I didn't even know I was carrying. I still have terminal cancer. But I don't have to smash the rest of my life into one year. The doctor also tells me that when cancer metastasizes to the bones, it doesn't usually go anywhere else--just to other bones. This is a relief to me because I envisioned the cancer spreading at any moment to other organs, which could be fatal. The downside is that bone cancer is very painful. I already know this. Hmmm. I won't think about that yet.
This is all good news. There is no bad news in it. Finally...some good news.
It seems like every time I've blogged, it's been all bad news and melodrama. Those are the things that have moved me and disturbed me. Troubling things that I've had to work through. But I don't "live" there. I grieve but I don't stay there. I "live" in joy and I "live" in peace. Those are the things that characterize my life and I intend that they always will.
So I rejoice in this--maybe I have more time to live! Praise the Lord who hears and answers the prayers of his people! Praise the Lord who gives joy in the middle of trials! Praise the Lord who gives and takes away! Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Then I wait for the oncologist. He just looks at me for awhile, assessing me, I think. "So tell me about your pain," he says. So I tell him about the PMR (polymyalgia rheumatica) which causes a lot of pain and how it's hard to tell the difference between this and cancer pain. (I know now that it's when the pain is consistent and increasing that I have to worry about it.) And I tell him about the pain in my neck.
He gets quiet and I feel like I have to lead the conversation. What I want to know is, what's next. What is the next course of treatment that I have to endure, and what are the side-effects? This is where the good news starts. He wants to put me on this intravenous medicine that strengthens bones and helps with bone pain. It's also well-tolerated, meaning that I shouldn't have bad side-effects. Okay, that sounds good--strengthens bones, no side-effects. "What else?"
"Nothing else right now."
"Well, the radiologist mentioned maybe chemo in the form of a pill."
"No, that's down the road. We'll run this medicine for all it's worth, and then there are several others we can try after that."
"Okay. That's great!" I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. "So how long would you say I have to live? The radiologist said maybe one or two years."
He frowns, "Oh, I think he underestimated how long you have. I've treated people with metastatic bone cancer for several years."
"Oh!" Really? Thank you, God.
I feel a huge weight lift that I didn't even know I was carrying. I still have terminal cancer. But I don't have to smash the rest of my life into one year. The doctor also tells me that when cancer metastasizes to the bones, it doesn't usually go anywhere else--just to other bones. This is a relief to me because I envisioned the cancer spreading at any moment to other organs, which could be fatal. The downside is that bone cancer is very painful. I already know this. Hmmm. I won't think about that yet.
This is all good news. There is no bad news in it. Finally...some good news.
It seems like every time I've blogged, it's been all bad news and melodrama. Those are the things that have moved me and disturbed me. Troubling things that I've had to work through. But I don't "live" there. I grieve but I don't stay there. I "live" in joy and I "live" in peace. Those are the things that characterize my life and I intend that they always will.
So I rejoice in this--maybe I have more time to live! Praise the Lord who hears and answers the prayers of his people! Praise the Lord who gives joy in the middle of trials! Praise the Lord who gives and takes away! Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.
Nehemiah 8:10b
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Open Wide Your Hearts
On March 30th Dr. Oakes, the president of Central Christian College of the Bible, sent this email to Central's staff, and on April 5th, he repeated a portion of it to the student body at the end of chapel. Here is a part of his letter as well as my resignation letter:
Through earlier prayer requests, you knew that Regina Green's cancer had returned. Initially the doctor thought the spot that was discovered was treatable and curable. Unfortunately, through further diagnosis and tests, the doctor recognized the cancer had spread into her hips and bones. Though treatments will help with the pain, the current situation is not curable and the doctor has given Regina 1 - 2 years to live.
As a result, Regina will complete this academic year and then return to Cincinnati to be with her family. Please take a few moments right now, as well as each day, to lift Regina before our Lord in prayer. She has an exceptionally strong faith in God and she wants to be a witness to others of that faith that she has. Pray that God's compassion and strength will be abundantly poured out upon her as she faces each day.
We love and respect Regina. We love her ministry here and the significant contribution she has made to the Kingdom, as well as to Central Christian College of the Bible. She has touched all of us in one way or another, and we thank God for her....
Regina sent a resignation letter to Dr. Fincher and I am including it here so you can "hear" it in her own words:
Dear Fellow-Laborers,
So many memories and feelings run through my mind as I write this letter of resignation...the honor of being called to work here--and with MY teachers, David [Fincher] listening to me with kindness and compassion, Ben Williams praying for me with tears, Richard [Rexrode] doing "the right thing" even when it was so challenging, Rory [Christensen] stopping by my office to ask how I was doing and getting an earful, Dan Donaldson asking how he could pray for me, Stuart [Liegey] encouraging me even when I felt I had failed, Lori [Peter] and Anne [Menear] doing an "intervention" with me, working with all of you to make the College better, inspiration from your preaching and from your lives, finding a best friend in Rhonda [Dunham], the thrill of teaching and having the light come on for students, students becoming friends. All of these and so many more are treasures I have stored up in my heart. How I will miss this place!
But now I have to go home. When I first learned I had cancer I considered it, but when I learned I only had one to two years to live, I knew I had to go and live near my children, my grandchildren, and my mother. So I am resigning as of the end of the contract year. My heart weeps over this decision because I have enjoyed every minute of my ministry here and at [Timber Lake Christian Church]. I love Central and will continue to support her in any way I can.
I covet your prayers as I will "thank my God every time I remember you" and hold you up before the Father pleading for all the good things he has to give you.
Much love,
Regina
After Dr. Oakes repeated some of his letter to the students, they gave me a standing ovation and he invited me to say a few words. I don't remember all of what I said, but this is what was in my heart:
"I want you to know that God is Sovereign. He can do whatever he wants with me. He and I settled that a long time ago. And that will be okay with me, whether he chooses to heal me or to take me home to be with him. It will all result in His praise and glory and that is what I want.
"Six years ago when I left Cincinnati to come here I was worried about leaving my daughters. I cried out to God about this and he assured me that he would be a Father to them. I was also distressed about leaving "home" and being homesick for my family and friends. But then he gave me the scripture from Psalm 90:1, "Lord, through all the generations, you have been our home." I realized again that no matter where I am, as long as he is with me, I am already home. So, this will be all right too. Every bit of this will eventually work out for our good."
Now here is the good part--Dr. Oakes then invited the students to come forward and surround me and lay hands on me while he prayed for me. I don't remember a word of his prayer, but I remember a mass of students moving forward and surrounding me. Touching me and touching each other as a way of reaching me. Tears ran down my face in rivers. Then the students came one by one to hug me and thank me and assure me of their love. My heart swelled to bursting from the love, kindness and tenderness they showed me.
This is a memory that I will always carry with me. I will take it out again and again to look at it whenever I am down or discouraged. Memories...of people...with whom I shared my life.
Through earlier prayer requests, you knew that Regina Green's cancer had returned. Initially the doctor thought the spot that was discovered was treatable and curable. Unfortunately, through further diagnosis and tests, the doctor recognized the cancer had spread into her hips and bones. Though treatments will help with the pain, the current situation is not curable and the doctor has given Regina 1 - 2 years to live.
As a result, Regina will complete this academic year and then return to Cincinnati to be with her family. Please take a few moments right now, as well as each day, to lift Regina before our Lord in prayer. She has an exceptionally strong faith in God and she wants to be a witness to others of that faith that she has. Pray that God's compassion and strength will be abundantly poured out upon her as she faces each day.
We love and respect Regina. We love her ministry here and the significant contribution she has made to the Kingdom, as well as to Central Christian College of the Bible. She has touched all of us in one way or another, and we thank God for her....
Regina sent a resignation letter to Dr. Fincher and I am including it here so you can "hear" it in her own words:
Dear Fellow-Laborers,
So many memories and feelings run through my mind as I write this letter of resignation...the honor of being called to work here--and with MY teachers, David [Fincher] listening to me with kindness and compassion, Ben Williams praying for me with tears, Richard [Rexrode] doing "the right thing" even when it was so challenging, Rory [Christensen] stopping by my office to ask how I was doing and getting an earful, Dan Donaldson asking how he could pray for me, Stuart [Liegey] encouraging me even when I felt I had failed, Lori [Peter] and Anne [Menear] doing an "intervention" with me, working with all of you to make the College better, inspiration from your preaching and from your lives, finding a best friend in Rhonda [Dunham], the thrill of teaching and having the light come on for students, students becoming friends. All of these and so many more are treasures I have stored up in my heart. How I will miss this place!
But now I have to go home. When I first learned I had cancer I considered it, but when I learned I only had one to two years to live, I knew I had to go and live near my children, my grandchildren, and my mother. So I am resigning as of the end of the contract year. My heart weeps over this decision because I have enjoyed every minute of my ministry here and at [Timber Lake Christian Church]. I love Central and will continue to support her in any way I can.
I covet your prayers as I will "thank my God every time I remember you" and hold you up before the Father pleading for all the good things he has to give you.
Much love,
Regina
----------------------------------------
"I want you to know that God is Sovereign. He can do whatever he wants with me. He and I settled that a long time ago. And that will be okay with me, whether he chooses to heal me or to take me home to be with him. It will all result in His praise and glory and that is what I want.
"Six years ago when I left Cincinnati to come here I was worried about leaving my daughters. I cried out to God about this and he assured me that he would be a Father to them. I was also distressed about leaving "home" and being homesick for my family and friends. But then he gave me the scripture from Psalm 90:1, "Lord, through all the generations, you have been our home." I realized again that no matter where I am, as long as he is with me, I am already home. So, this will be all right too. Every bit of this will eventually work out for our good."
Now here is the good part--Dr. Oakes then invited the students to come forward and surround me and lay hands on me while he prayed for me. I don't remember a word of his prayer, but I remember a mass of students moving forward and surrounding me. Touching me and touching each other as a way of reaching me. Tears ran down my face in rivers. Then the students came one by one to hug me and thank me and assure me of their love. My heart swelled to bursting from the love, kindness and tenderness they showed me.
This is a memory that I will always carry with me. I will take it out again and again to look at it whenever I am down or discouraged. Memories...of people...with whom I shared my life.
Just as a nursing mother cares for her children, so we cared for you. Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well.
I Thessalonians 2:7b, 8
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Nothingness
I'm lying on a thinly padded, narrow table. Three ladies are working over me, tugging me this way and that, lining me up just right. They are making crosses on me with permanent markers...x marks the spot. Then for the first time in my life, I get tattoos--nine tiny dot tattoos. It scratches and burns, but not for long. Three dot tattoos for each place they will do radiation.
My back hurts and it's very hard to hold still for so long on this very first day. It sinks in that my life is on the line, so I don't move. The arm moves out above me to take "films." Then it retracts. Then another larger mechanical arm moves over me with a two-foot diameter head on it. I see beams of laser lights on the ceiling, and I hear the noise that means my body is being penetrated by a destructive, and possibly life-giving, stream.
It doesn't hurt. I don't feel a thing. I don't feel a thing inside either. In fact, I am uncommonly good at not thinking, too. At some level I know this is not normal and it's not going to last, but for right now, not thinking and not feeling is the best course. Nothing-ness is preferable. I have no idea what is beyond the nothingness and I don't want to know.
Later, I look at my body and think, "What a disaster!" Black marks all over, scars and mutilation from previous surgeries, pudginess (I'm being very polite to myself here) from self-indulgence and medication, age spots and wrinkles and sags. For some reason my mind flits to the scripture, "I bear on my body the marks of Jesus" (Gal. 6:17b). I wish I could say that, but I can only think that I bear on my body the marks of sin and disease and decay. But I'm still detached. It doesn't really bother me; I'm just thinking objectively.
When I go to bed that night, I pray about my lack of feeling. There's no pain in it, but there's no joy in it either. "God, I don't feel anything. Is that okay? I think I should be feeling something here. Please help me." And the words come to my heart, "By his stripes we are healed" (Isa. 53:5), and I imagine Jesus taking the stripes for me, taking the pain for me, feeling the pain for me. I realize that I don't have to feel right now. Jesus has already done that for me too.
And then I cry.
My back hurts and it's very hard to hold still for so long on this very first day. It sinks in that my life is on the line, so I don't move. The arm moves out above me to take "films." Then it retracts. Then another larger mechanical arm moves over me with a two-foot diameter head on it. I see beams of laser lights on the ceiling, and I hear the noise that means my body is being penetrated by a destructive, and possibly life-giving, stream.
It doesn't hurt. I don't feel a thing. I don't feel a thing inside either. In fact, I am uncommonly good at not thinking, too. At some level I know this is not normal and it's not going to last, but for right now, not thinking and not feeling is the best course. Nothing-ness is preferable. I have no idea what is beyond the nothingness and I don't want to know.
Later, I look at my body and think, "What a disaster!" Black marks all over, scars and mutilation from previous surgeries, pudginess (I'm being very polite to myself here) from self-indulgence and medication, age spots and wrinkles and sags. For some reason my mind flits to the scripture, "I bear on my body the marks of Jesus" (Gal. 6:17b). I wish I could say that, but I can only think that I bear on my body the marks of sin and disease and decay. But I'm still detached. It doesn't really bother me; I'm just thinking objectively.
When I go to bed that night, I pray about my lack of feeling. There's no pain in it, but there's no joy in it either. "God, I don't feel anything. Is that okay? I think I should be feeling something here. Please help me." And the words come to my heart, "By his stripes we are healed" (Isa. 53:5), and I imagine Jesus taking the stripes for me, taking the pain for me, feeling the pain for me. I realize that I don't have to feel right now. Jesus has already done that for me too.
And then I cry.
In all their suffering he also suffered, and he personally rescued them.
In his love and mercy he redeemed them. He lifted them up and carried them through all the years.
Isaiah 63:9
Sunday, April 10, 2011
I Just Want to Go Home
During the fall of 2010 I began grieving over what I would lose if I left Moberly, my church, and my job as professor and Dean of Women at Central Christian College of the Bible. The funny thing is that I wasn't even considering leaving. If I ever got back together with my husband, I would move back to Cincinnati, but that was very unlikely.
Then I went to a women's conference with a group of ladies from my church. It was a weird conference for me because of my unusually troubled spirit, but I couldn't put a finger on why I was upset. One evening I was so disturbed that I just started reading scripture all alone in a dark corner on the floor outside our hotel room. I was reading and crying, reading and crying, trying to drown out a phrase that kept pumping through my mind: I just want to go home.
But this wasn't my phrase. I knew that God was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what it was. I didn't even know what was referred to by the word "home." Was this Cincinnati where my children live? Heaven? I had no idea. And it wasn't even me doing the "wanting." As I said, they weren't my words. They were imposed on me from the outside: I just want to go home.
The Spirit seemed to be pressing this message into my heart but I didn't know why. It was upsetting to me because I like to figure things out and understand the reasons why I react the way I do. My friend, Rhonda, came out to check on me, so I told her all of this and she prayed with me.
The next day, my favorite speaker at the conference said these words: "It's not your job to find your way home; it's your job to follow the voice of the Shepherd." Rhonda and I did a double-take. Did she just say what I thought she said? Then she said it again just in case we needed proof. "It's not your job to find your way home; it's your job to follow the voice of the Shepherd." Wow! That was really cool confirmation that those words were Spirit-led!
The trouble was that I still didn't know what they meant. Was I going to be leaving Moberly? Dying? I had no idea. I could only conclude that something was coming and God meant me to be looking for it, and since it happened this way, I would know it was from him. I also concluded that I wasn't supposed to do anything about finding my way home to Cincinnati. God would take care of getting me "home" and that was that.
In hindsight I think this was a warning, kind of like Jesus warning people about false prophets to come so that they would be prepared. Or like Paul being warned that prison and hardships were facing him. Now that I have cancer, I can only conclude that God was preparing me.
So I'm going home. I get to go home. All I have to do is follow the voice of the Shepherd.
Then I went to a women's conference with a group of ladies from my church. It was a weird conference for me because of my unusually troubled spirit, but I couldn't put a finger on why I was upset. One evening I was so disturbed that I just started reading scripture all alone in a dark corner on the floor outside our hotel room. I was reading and crying, reading and crying, trying to drown out a phrase that kept pumping through my mind: I just want to go home.
But this wasn't my phrase. I knew that God was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what it was. I didn't even know what was referred to by the word "home." Was this Cincinnati where my children live? Heaven? I had no idea. And it wasn't even me doing the "wanting." As I said, they weren't my words. They were imposed on me from the outside: I just want to go home.
The Spirit seemed to be pressing this message into my heart but I didn't know why. It was upsetting to me because I like to figure things out and understand the reasons why I react the way I do. My friend, Rhonda, came out to check on me, so I told her all of this and she prayed with me.
The next day, my favorite speaker at the conference said these words: "It's not your job to find your way home; it's your job to follow the voice of the Shepherd." Rhonda and I did a double-take. Did she just say what I thought she said? Then she said it again just in case we needed proof. "It's not your job to find your way home; it's your job to follow the voice of the Shepherd." Wow! That was really cool confirmation that those words were Spirit-led!
The trouble was that I still didn't know what they meant. Was I going to be leaving Moberly? Dying? I had no idea. I could only conclude that something was coming and God meant me to be looking for it, and since it happened this way, I would know it was from him. I also concluded that I wasn't supposed to do anything about finding my way home to Cincinnati. God would take care of getting me "home" and that was that.
In hindsight I think this was a warning, kind of like Jesus warning people about false prophets to come so that they would be prepared. Or like Paul being warned that prison and hardships were facing him. Now that I have cancer, I can only conclude that God was preparing me.
So I'm going home. I get to go home. All I have to do is follow the voice of the Shepherd.
After he has gathered his own flock, he walks ahead of them,
and they follow him because they know his voice.
John 10:4
Saturday, April 9, 2011
At Just the Right Time
It was the wrong weekend to spend all alone. Usually I enjoy being by myself and feeling like I can do whatever I want whenever I want to do it. Having a big chunk of time would be a rare treat. But I didn't feel good. Lower level pain was almost constant and sharper pain came whenever I exerted myself to get out of a chair, walk very far, or go up or down steps. So I sat. I only got up when I had to.
I watched TV for most of two-and-a-half days. The drugs made me feel fuzzy-headed and sleepy, even though I took only one at night. I couldn't grade papers and I didn't want to do anything. I had already given up teaching the ladies' Sunday school class, and I figured I'd have to give up teaching the women's class--Doing Life Together--on Wednesday nights if I didn't improve. Nothing about my future was certain. I felt purposeless.
TV got really old really fast, but there wasn't anything else I wanted to do either. The sickest feeling pushed into my heart. I had nothing to give and nobody to give it to. I didn't even want to give to anyone, and I didn't want anyone around. But I was lonely, too. Even God was on hold...until something happened, whether good or bad. But this was limbo and God was not there. I didn't care if he was or not. I wasn't talking to Anyone anyway.
Sometimes I cried in bed at night, but not for long. I could drug myself into sleep. I wanted to sleep so I wouldn't be in pain, but I knew I would wake up in the night hurting and sleep restlessly until it was time to get up and work some of the worst kinks out of my joints.
Finally, Monday came when things were required of me. My friend, Rhonda, took me to my fourth round of radiation. She said if we had time, we would go shopping afterward for a lift chair. My Sunday school class and DLT had collected money to buy it and made arrangements for me to go and pick one out. I was amazed, stunned! I hadn't even considered such a thing, and it would help the pain in my hips so much! Just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, there was one chair that was too small (my head hung over the back when reclining), one was too big (my feet didn't touch the floor), and one was just right! The right size and the right color. And it reclined all the way back. They could deliver it tomorrow. I was ecstatic!
It was such a considerate and sacrificial gesture! It was heartwarming and helpful. And it was a turning point. If not for their kindness, I could have sunk into an even deeper depression. They were there for me when I needed them most, at a time when I couldn't have--or wouldn't have--asked for help. A time when I didn't even know what I needed.
I watched TV for most of two-and-a-half days. The drugs made me feel fuzzy-headed and sleepy, even though I took only one at night. I couldn't grade papers and I didn't want to do anything. I had already given up teaching the ladies' Sunday school class, and I figured I'd have to give up teaching the women's class--Doing Life Together--on Wednesday nights if I didn't improve. Nothing about my future was certain. I felt purposeless.
TV got really old really fast, but there wasn't anything else I wanted to do either. The sickest feeling pushed into my heart. I had nothing to give and nobody to give it to. I didn't even want to give to anyone, and I didn't want anyone around. But I was lonely, too. Even God was on hold...until something happened, whether good or bad. But this was limbo and God was not there. I didn't care if he was or not. I wasn't talking to Anyone anyway.
Sometimes I cried in bed at night, but not for long. I could drug myself into sleep. I wanted to sleep so I wouldn't be in pain, but I knew I would wake up in the night hurting and sleep restlessly until it was time to get up and work some of the worst kinks out of my joints.
Finally, Monday came when things were required of me. My friend, Rhonda, took me to my fourth round of radiation. She said if we had time, we would go shopping afterward for a lift chair. My Sunday school class and DLT had collected money to buy it and made arrangements for me to go and pick one out. I was amazed, stunned! I hadn't even considered such a thing, and it would help the pain in my hips so much! Just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, there was one chair that was too small (my head hung over the back when reclining), one was too big (my feet didn't touch the floor), and one was just right! The right size and the right color. And it reclined all the way back. They could deliver it tomorrow. I was ecstatic!
It was such a considerate and sacrificial gesture! It was heartwarming and helpful. And it was a turning point. If not for their kindness, I could have sunk into an even deeper depression. They were there for me when I needed them most, at a time when I couldn't have--or wouldn't have--asked for help. A time when I didn't even know what I needed.
For God says,“At just the right time, I heard you."
2 Corinthians 6:2a
[The righteous] share freely and give generously to those in need. Their good deeds will be remembered forever. They will have influence and honor.
Psalm 112:9
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