We didn’t expect cancer. We didn’t expect BRCA2. And we definitely didn’t expect chemotherapy to be needed. But it is, and they tell me I will lose my hair, so I decided that I would do something I have never done in my life: cut my hair SHORT.
So, last Monday night, a few of my local friends accompanied me to the hair salon where we met more of my friends and family via Zoom. For the next hour, we talked, laughed, cried, and watched my hairdresser cut off all of my beautiful, long tresses. (Part of the crying came from my daughter surprising me by cutting hers off, too.)
Everyone raved about how great I look with short hair. And everyone who has seen me in person or in pictures has done the same. (Y’all are amazing and helping me make the best of a terrible situation.)
But, ever since the haircut, I have been dealing with something new.
Anger.
I’m mad. I’m mad at cancer. I’m mad at short hair. I’m mad that I’m basically entering my own pandemic-style lock-down for the next 12-ish weeks. I’m mad I can’t have fresh salads or fresh berries. I’m mad that I can’t lay in the sun at the beach.
But it’s more than just the inconvenience of it all.
I’m mad because I feel like I am being stripped of who I am. One breast is gone, the other one will be gone soon, and eventually I am facing a hysterectomy. My hair has been shorn off, and will soon be gone altogether. For the first time in 16 years, I don’t have acrylic nails. I don’t feel feminine. I don’t feel pretty. And I’m angry about it. I’m angry at cancer and the way it is stripping me of things that have been essential to my identity as a woman.
But, I guess, anger is a good thing, because that means I am doing what I should be doing and moving through the grief of it all. I’ve moved past the denial and the feelings that this can’t really be happening and right on into the reality of it all. And that reality really makes me mad.
So often, people will try to squash their feelings, push them down, and in essence, refuse to feel them. But that isn’t healthy. We don’t have to wallow in those feelings, but we do need to feel them. We need to acknowledge those emotions that well up, not so they can control us, but so we can feel them and move through them in a healthy way.
So, I’m gonna allow myself some time to be angry, say some bad words, and probably cry over the next few weeks. I’m not gonna stay there long, and I’m not gonna wallow, but when the anger bubbles up, I’m gonna feel it and then take a few deep breaths and move on. Then I will repeat as needed. Trusting that one day, I won’t be as angry.
Less than a week out from surgery and if you ask me how I am doing and I say I’m doing fine – call me on it because I am lying. The truth is, while I am definitely anxious about the surgery and the recovery and whatever treatment comes next (before diving in to more surgeries), I am also anxious about something else.
Help.
I have so much I want to have done before surgery:
house (spotlessly) clean
spring yard work (perfectly) done
patio and deck prepped and ready so I can enjoy it while I am recovering
loose ends tied up at the office for my time away
The list could go on and on.
And let’s just acknowledge the fact that right after I got the cancer diagnosis, I also started a Doctor of Ministry program, so between those two things, I am behind on the basic upkeep of all of the above, which makes me embarrassed to invite people into my home that isn’t up to my normal standards of order and cleanliness.
Thankfully, I have friends who are being very good to push me to do something that I don’t do easily.
Ask for help.
Yesterday, I messaged a friend and asked her why it was so hard for me to ask for help. She told me three things:
You are used to being the care-giver, not the care-receiver .
You like being in control and not feeling vulnerable.
You don’t want to inconvenience anyone.
And she’s absolutely not wrong. But one of the things I am learning through this process is that people really do want to help, and by not asking for help, I am robbing them of an opportunity to care for me and be of help in a situation in which they, too, feel quite helpless on my behalf. Not to mention, as a pastor, I think it is important to model asking for help when needed, and it is important for me to understand how hard it is for others to ask for help.
So, yesterday, I asked for help. And today a number of my friends are coming over to help me knock out my long list of to-dos before next week’s surgery. Am I grateful? Absolutely. Am I an anxious mess? Of course I am. Am I embarrassed about the current level of disarray in my yard and house? You betcha. But, am I doing my best to let go of all of that in order to both lessen my stress and invite those who love me to help in a tangible way? I’m trying.
Here’s to asking for help, and receiving it with grace and humility.
Mike and I have always talked about the fact that neither of us are naturally patient people. It is definitely something that we have had to work on throughout our lives. If you don’t believe me, just ride in a car with us during heavy traffic, or when the people in front of us turning off of 59 onto CR6 don’t move fast enough with the green arrow and we have to wait another light cycle before we can get home.
And let’s be real, waiting for information and next steps when there is cancer growing inside your body doesn’t make patience any easier. And then when you add depression and anxiety to the mix, let’s just say my tear ducts aren’t clogged.
I was waiting for confirmation of the first surgery date this week, hoping that it would be moved to an earlier date than the “for sure” date of April 5. Needless to say, I will be waiting until April 5. And I’m struggling with that. It has already been over two months since the initial diagnosis, and by April 5, it will be over 3 months since the mammogram in which the cancer was seen.
But if there is one thing I know, it is that God’s timing is not my timing. It has been something I have had to learn and re-learn often in my (impatient) life. Pregnancy. Jobs. School. Ordination. Call. And any other number of times in my life when I had to live in the waiting space.
It is in these times that I find solace and comfort in the Psalms, when I remember that I can be strong, and take heart as I wait for the Lord.
I take refuge in you, Lord. Please never let me be put to shame. Rescue me by your righteousness! 2 Listen closely to me! Deliver me quickly; be a rock that protects me; be a strong fortress that saves me! 3 You are definitely my rock and my fortress. Guide me and lead me for the sake of your good name! 4 Get me out of this net that’s been set for me because you are my protective fortress. 5 I entrust my spirit into your hands; you, Lord, God of faithfulness— you have saved me. 6 I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless. I myself trust the Lord. 7 I rejoice and celebrate in your faithful love because you saw my suffering— you were intimately acquainted with my deep distress. 8 You didn’t hand me over to the enemy, but set my feet in wide-open spaces.
9 Have mercy on me, Lord, because I’m depressed. My vision fails because of my grief, as do my spirit and my body. 10 My life is consumed with sadness; my years are consumed with groaning. Strength fails me because of my suffering; my bones dry up. 11 I’m a joke to all my enemies, still worse to my neighbors. I scare my friends, and whoever sees me in the street runs away! 12 I am forgotten, like I’m dead, completely out of mind; I am like a piece of pottery, destroyed. 13 Yes, I’ve heard all the gossiping, terror all around; so many gang up together against me, they plan to take my life!
14 But me? I trust you, Lord! I affirm, “You are my God.” 15 My future is in your hands. Don’t hand me over to my enemies, to all who are out to get me! 16 Shine your face on your servant; save me by your faithful love! 17 Lord, don’t let me be put to shame because I have cried out to you. Let the wicked be put to shame; let them be silenced in death’s domain! 18 Let their lying lips be shut up whenever they speak arrogantly against the righteous with pride and contempt! 19 How great is the goodness that you’ve reserved for those who honor you, that you commit to those who take refuge in you— in the sight of everyone! 20 You hide them in the shelter of your wings, safe from human scheming. You conceal them in a shelter, safe from accusing tongues.
21 Bless the Lord, because he has wondrously revealed his faithful love to me when I was like a city under siege! 22 When I was panicked, I said, “I’m cut off from your eyes!” But you heard my request for mercy when I cried out to you for help.
23 All you who are faithful, love the Lord! The Lord protects those who are loyal, but he pays the proud back to the fullest degree. 24 All you who wait for the Lord, be strong and let your heart take courage.
Psalm 31 (CEB)
So, as I wait a couple more weeks for the first surgery, and who knows how long before the subsequent ones, I will continue to be courageous and filled with God’s strength in the waiting. Because simply honking the horn won’t speed things along this journey like it does the slowpokes in the left turn lane.
Right now, I feel like I am in a holding pattern from which I can’t escape. It’s that period of time between diagnosis and action. It’s that time in which my go-get-’em personality struggles because there are so many elements of my life that are out of my control.
It’s also the time in which I feel like I can’t get enough information, not because it isn’t available, but because it isn’t possible to know certain things until other certain things take place. Sound confusing? Welcome to the world inside my head.
Things I know for sure:
I have Invasive Lobular Breast Cancer.
I am positive for BRCA2.
I am facing multiple surgeries, the first of which will be to remove the breast with cancer, and undergo reconstruction.
Follow up with treatment of some kind.
At some point in the future, remove the other breast and have a hysterectomy.
Both of my children, my sisters, a my mom will need to be tested for BRCA2.
Things I don’t know:
When exactly will surgery occur?
What recovery will look like?
What kind of treatment will I need?
How long will I need to be off work?
How we will cover things at the church while I am away?
When will the other surgeries need to happen?
How will I handle forced menopause without the possibility of hormone replacement?
How certain things will happen if I am not doing them?
Am I making the right calls about treatment?
Will my kids/sisters/mom be positive for BRCA2?
If any of them are positive (particularly my kids), how do I help them navigate that knowledge?
Why me?
Why now?
Will I face this again down the road in this or another form?
About two weeks after I got this diagnosis, I was scheduled to start a Doctor of Ministry program. I laid in bed one night and asked my husband what I should do. In his wisdom, he said that I start the program as if nothing had changed because we truly felt like God had led me to this program and this cohort at this time. So I did just that. This week I finished yet another required book for this spring and started the next: Hope: A User’s Manual by MaryAnn McKibben Dana. Yesterday, as I sat reading, I found this gem:
At the moment of the diagnosis, including a grim prognosis, my friend experienced a profound, paradoxical sense of both acceptance and non-acceptance. In a flash, she had to accept: any semblance of control and mastery over her life was gone, and whether it ever returned was beyond her. She was stepping into the unknown. At the same time, she moved into nonacceptance. If she was not in control, then maybe nobody else was either, including her doctors with their so-called certainties. Even with their medical training and expertise (which she trusted and relied upon), she know that the math of prognosis is based on odds and percentages. She felt equally invested in both sides of the paradox, both acceptance and nonacceptance, and that helped her move forward.
Her acceptance yielded an equanimity that buoys her to this day, while the nonacceptance allowed her to be defiant, hopeful, even playful…
When we feel we have no options, the clarity of…acceptance and nonacceptance allows us to choose…something. To choose to look for hope. To choose not to give up. To choose to make the most of a bad situation. To choose to allow ourselves to be heartbroken. To choose to do what’s ours and to do and leave the outcome to someone or something else, or fate, or God.
Hope: A User’s Manual, MaryAnn McKibben Dana, p. 60-61, Kindle Edition
When it comes to faith and living into the mystery of the now and not yet, and understanding that there is more unknowing than knowing when it comes to God’s Kingdom, I feel like I am pretty good at embracing that kind of liminality. But, right now, I am not so good at embracing liminality in my own personal struggles.
However, as I read those words over a few times yesterday, I felt like I was given permission to live in that space of not knowing and knowing, not accepting and accepting, of being heartbroken and hopeful all at once, trusting that no matter what I do or don’t know, God knows it all, sees it all, and never leaves my side through it all.
If you didn’t start singing “C is for cookie” in a Cookie Monster voice, we can’t be friends.
Just kidding. Kind of.
One of my favorite necklaces, inspired by Alexis from Schitt’s Creek.
C is for a lot of things:
Cookies
Cake
Candy
Coffee
Church
Choir
Cheerleading
Coloring
Children (mostly my own)
Castle (as in the TV show with Nathan Fillion)
Cuddles (with my dog Brindley of course)
and of course, Chrisy (or Christina, as my dad would call me)
There are loads of things that start with the letter “C” that I absolutely love. But recently, I have become intimately familiar with another “C” word that I could do without.
Cancer.
Two months ago today, my annual screening mammogram turned into an additional mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy all on the same day. About 9 days later I got the results of the biopsy, and I was diagnosed with invasive lobular breast cancer. Because of my age, and other family history, I then underwent genetic testing which found that I am positive for BRCA2, a harmful variant in a particular gene that increases my risk, not only of breast cancer, but of other types of cancers as well.
I have to say, I’m not feeling too fond of that good ol’ letter “C” these days.
I have waffled back and forth whether to take this news public on a grander scale than how it naturally spreads. One day I feel like I should just keep it to myself and the circle of people around me. The next I feel like I should share my journey in case it can help others who may face this in the future. What ultimately pushed me into sharing this journey on my blog? A couple of things.
I process things through words. Spoken words. Written words. Words that run through my mind. To be able to sit down and write what I am thinking and feeling (and sometimes to then erase it all and start over) is therapeutic and cathartic. I am keeping a journal, which holds some of my personal thoughts (and rants, and tears), but blogging helps me to really think through things and draw connections to other areas of life.
I am realizing how important it is for me to hear the stories of others who have been on this journey, to hear their ups and downs, their struggles and fears, and ultimately, the way they have overcome this disease. If that helps me, then maybe my story can help others.
I’m not sure how often I will post. I’m not sure what the content will be exactly. I do know that I miss blogging and haven’t made it a priority for awhile, so this is impetus to get back to doing something that I love, hopefully in a way that is meaningful for both myself and for you, my readers.
At the end of the letter I sent to the congregation I serve telling them about this diagnosis, I wrote this:
As I was preparing to leave Greenville to relocate here for this call, a friend gave me a wall hanging, which hangs in my bathroom where I see it every day. It says, “Trust the next chapter, because you know the Author.” The circumstances in which I need to trust God may be different now than then, but the truth of this statement remains the same. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to give thanks in every situation because thanksgiving is God’s will for us. That is the stance that I will be taking throughout this journey, consistently looking for all the gifts for which I have to be grateful.
Gift from a good friend when I moved from Illinois to Alabama
So, I will choose to end each post with something for which I am grateful. Sometimes they will be very off-the-wall or funny, because if I don’t laugh, I will be a puddle of tears on the floor.
Today I am grateful for something my husband said the other night. It isn’t profound. It wasn’t particularly supportive. But it has made me smile every day when I remember it. When asked what he was thinking about and how he was feeling in light of the BRCA2 news, he looked at me and said, “It sucks. But so does dying.”
So there you go. Cancer sucks, and I don’t plan on dying, so instead, I’ll be kicking it’s a$$.
Let’s take a moment and think back to grade school. Do you remember when people would have birthday parties and they would bring invitations to school to hand out? Was there ever a time when you didn’t get one of those coveted invitations? How did that feel? Was there a time when you received an invitation, but another of your friends didn’t? How did that make you feel? Was there ever a time when you were the inviter and the one who left someone off the invitation list? How did you feel then?
This morning I am thinking about invitations, and how powerful they are. I have been living in Gulf Shores for a little over fourteen months now. Leaving a town you have lived in for more than 25 years, a town in which you knew people and were known by people and heading someplace where you know very few people and no one really knows you is quite the adjustment. And when you do this during a pandemic, it makes it even harder to make connections and meet people.
But from the beginning, there have been people who have offered me invitations.
The first football game of last year, I was kind of dreading because I knew no one. But a phone call from the mom of one of Ty’s new friends, and an invitation to find her and sit with her made me feel welcomed, and that invitation led to other invitations to get to know more fellow band parents.
As I have been around the neighborhood, there have been various neighbors that have invited conversation and neighborly relationships as we live in this area together.
The church at which I pastor is full of people who have invited me into their lives.
My colleagues in the Presbytery have been wonderful at welcoming me not only into ministry here, but into relationship with one another.
A simple message I sent to someone led to an invitation to join a gym that has led to invitations of friendship – both inside and outside of the gym.
On my day off this week, I was messaging with one of my gym friends and mentioned I was headed to the beach. She told me that one of the people I had met at the gym was also headed to the beach and I should message her.
And I started to have significant anxiety. I thought about how I barely know this gal. I thought about how it would feel if she didn’t respond to my message at all. I thought about how awkward it could be if we met up and then didn’t have anything to chat about. And then I made a decision and sent a message of invitation to her.
Guess what? She responded. She was excited about the prospect of hanging out. She found me at the beach and for the next couple of hours we laid in the sun, played in the surf, watched countless manta rays swim around us, and talked about everything from our children which happen to be the same ages, to our work, and all kinds of stuff in between.
I left the beach completely filled with joy and contentment. Yes, the beach has that affect on me, but it was also the result of an invitation – first someone inviting me to reach out to someone, and second, me being willing to be vulnerable enough to extend said invitation.
There have been many invitations that I have experienced and extended over the last year or so: invitations to serve, invitations to get acquainted, invitations to gather, invitations to health; and my life has been enriched because of these invitations.
Invitations are powerful in our lives – both those that we extend to others and those that are extended to us. Invitations provide opportunities for us to grow, to learn, to connect, and ultimately to love.
How have invitations impacted your life? How have you reached out to others in invitation? What invitation do you need to extend today?
I wrote this for the weekly letter I send to the congregation of First Presbyterian Church of Gulf Shores, the church where I serve as Minister of Word and Sacrament. I wanted to also share it here because I believe it is such an important issue for all of us to think about, learn about, and most especially, do something about.If you are struggling with mental illness of any kind, please reach out to someone for help. If you are in danger of harming yourself, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255.
A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from one of our snowbirds letting me know about a docuseries they had been watching on AppleTV. It is called The Me You Can’t See. In this series, “Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry join forces to guide honest discussions about mental health. This series features illuminating stories from across the globe, giving us the opportunity to seek truth, understanding, and a newfound hope for the future” (AppleTV). (You can watch a trailer for the series here.)
I finally got a chance to sit down and watch a couple of episodes recently and I can honestly say that the way that this series handles this discussion should be applauded. As someone who has struggled with depression and anxiety, who has many friends and family members who also battle mental illness, and one who has been certtified in Mental Health First Aid, I see the desperate need for more resources for those struggling and those caring for the struggling, as well as more education for those who don’t understand.
Did you know that in the United States in 2018, 14.8 people per 100,000 died by suicide, up from 12 per 100,000 in 2009? And in the state of Alabama that number is even higher, rising from 14.1 per 100,000 in 2009 to 16.9 per 100,000 in 2018. Between 1999 and 2016, the death rate from suicide rose 25.4%. About 48,000 people died at their own hand in 2018, making it the 10th leading cause of death that year. What is even more frightening is this – 1.4 million people attempted to take their lives that same year.
Right after I arrived in Gulf Shores, I sat down to talk with Police Chief Edward Delmore and he shared with me that one of the hardest things for his officers is the unusually high number of suicides that they encounter here on the Alabama Gulf Coast. Living at the beach doesn’t make everything perfect.
So, why am I addressing this? Because I know that some of you are struggling – not because I know something specific, but because life has thrown many curveballs our way in recent months: pandemics, hurricanes, diagonses, death, hardship, and more. There have been times in which the church has not been helpful in the battle with mental illness – calling it a spiritual issue that just requires prayer, or saying that with God’s help we should be able to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. But that should not be, and while prayer is powerful and God does care for us, God doesn’t expect us to navigate other health issues alone, just like God does not expect us to navigate mental health issues alone. Sometimes that means medication. Sometimes that means being under the care of a certified professional. Sometimes that means just having the freedom to speak the truth about your struggle to those around you.
You are not alone. God stands with you. Those who love you support you. Those of us who also struggle understand. Don’t lose heart if this is you or someone you love. Reach out and begin the journey toward healing.
Hubby and I have been watching How I Met Your Mother for the last 6 weeks or so. In the five months that he was living in Greenville and I was living in Gulf Shores, he had seen some episode reruns and suggested that we watch the whole series together. It is one of those things that gives us something to do together every evening – whether we watch one episode or five – and allows us to have shared moments when we remember a show funny or something in real life mirrors a comedic moment from the show.
If you haven’t seen it, Ted is telling his kids the story of how he met their mother, and the story involves four of Ted’s friends. Marshall and Lily, Ted’s friends from college that are a couple, Barney, a womanizing executive, and Robin, the most recent addition to the group. Every week, Ted spins another tale about the adventures that would eventually lead to Ted and his future wife finding one another.
Barney, Robin, Ted, Marshall and Lily
We are somewhere in Season 6 (of 9), and earlier this week, the show that we have chosen to watch to bring levity and laughter into our living room had one of those “serious” episodes. In it, Marshall loses his father suddenly to a heart attack.
And at three years and ten months since losing my dad in the same way, the episode brought me right back to that day and to the immense sadness of losing my dad.
I told Mike we had to watch one more episode because I couldn’t go to bed with that one on my mind, and the entire next episode was talking about the last words Marshall’s dad spoke to him, which ended with Mitchell finding a voicemail that his dad had accidentally left him the day that he died.
That was almost too much for me because I have one of those voicemail messages. It wasn’t left the day he died, but in the weeks just prior, Dad had called me to ask if one of us could come over and help him bring up the lawnmower from the basement. In the message he said all of our names, Mike, Anne, Ty and Chrisy.
Dad and I
And before I went to bed that night I listened to the message, more than once. I miss my dad’s voice. I miss his wisdom. I miss his hugs. But what a gift I have with this technology that allows me to keep this voicemail and listen to it whenever I need to hear his voice.
The thing is, grief isn’t something that ends. Yes, there comes a point when we get to acceptance, but there are still days when we miss our loved ones so much that it hurts. That has been me this week.
But I am grateful that even in the midst of sadness, I can have joy in listening to his voice, and hearing him say my name, all because of a saved voicemail.
It’s been awhile. My last blog post was way too long ago. I could make excuses – seminary, new job, moving, trying to find a new rhythm – but really, it is just that I haven’t made time to blog. And that’s too bad, because I process life through talking – and writing. So, I’m making time. It may only be once a week for now, but I’m making time to write, and you, my readers, get to be inside my head again.
I have found myself thinking a lot about the idea of allegiance over the last few years. The definition of allegiance is:
loyalty or commitment of a subordinate to a superior or of an individual to a group or cause.
As children we were taught the Pledge of Allegiance – a pledge that we said every morning in grade school.
In this pledge we pledge our loyalty to both the flag of the United States, and to the republic that is these United States.
A book have been reading, Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, who is part of Citizen Potawatomi Nation, includes a chapter called, “Allegiance to Gratitude.” In this chapter, Kimmerer relates a story about her daughter, who made a choice in sixth grade to no longer stand and recite the pledge each morning. For her daughter, reciting this pledge, which references “liberty and justice for all,” didn’t ring true. She told her mom, “…it’s not exactly liberty if they force you to say it, is it?”
As a Christian, and as a pastor, I think often of this idea of allegiance in terms of our allegiance to God, allegiance that God expects from us, allegiance that throughout the bible we see God’s people forsaking and offering to other gods, and as such, bringing with it consequences like exile.
As an American, I have been noticing that some who identify as Christians have allowed their allegiance to shift from God to country, or even from God to another human, and this troubles me. God made it clear from the first that humanity was to put nothing, and no one, ahead of God. Christ also made it clear that humanity cannot serve two masters because one will always rise to the top.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my country and I am glad to be a part of it, even though it is most definitely flawed and in need of some reform in order to make it true that all humanity are worthy of and experience liberty and justice. But, I am disappointed in the way that so many have put love of country above loyalty to God.
I truly believe that our allegiance must first be to God, and that means that we take seriously the commands to love God and love others. If our allegiance to our country leads us to words or actions that are not loving, then we have allowed it to take the first position in our hearts, and our priorities need to be reevaluated.
For me, I strive to pledge my allegiance to God FIRST, and that means living in such a way that God’s love is evident in everything that I say and do. I may fall short, which we all do, but I pray that God will always be first in line for my allegiance.
First, Lauren Daigle
Before I bring my need I will bring my heart Before I lift my cares I will lift my arms I wanna know You I wanna find You In every season In every moment Before I bring my need I will bring my heart And seek You
First I wanna seek You I wanna seek You First I wanna keep You I wanna keep You First More than anything I want, I want You First
Before I speak a word Let me hear Your voice And in the midst of pain Let me feel Your joy Ooh, I wanna know You I wanna find You In every season In every moment Before I speak a word I will bring my heart And seek You
You are my treasure and my reward Let nothing ever come before You are my treasure and my reward Let nothing ever come before I seek You
Today I have been bombarded with the fragility of life. First thing this morning I saw no fewer than six different posts on Facebook about loss of loved ones. Six.
Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, spouses, cousins, and friends whose earthly life is over. My heart is breaking for those who are facing these losses right now. I’ve been there and I know that it is hard in ways you can’t even comprehend until you are in the mist of the grief.
Of all of these losses, there is one that hit me like a punch in the gut this morning. We were just talking about him last night. The last update we saw just over a week ago was positive. We thought things were going well. And then suddenly they weren’t. And then this morning, we learned that he was gone, his fight over.
This one is tough for so many reasons. We shouldn’t be saying goodbye to friends our age. Of the four guys who stood up with Mike at our wedding, this is the second one we have lost to brain cancer. B was one of the most fun-loving people I have ever met in my life. My heart breaks for his wife and family who now have to find a new normal.
One of the questions that gets asked at times like these is, “why?” Why did this have to happen? Why do young people have to die? Why this person? Why now? Why? Why? Why?
And the thing is, the answer to this question is almost always, “I don’t know.” Which isn’t really an answer at all. In this life there will always be good and bad, joy and sorrow, gain and loss; it is simply the result of living in a world where sin entered through the choices of humankind, and with it brought darkness, pain, and trouble.
Perhaps the most troublesome issue in all of life is this, what we call the problem of evil, or more accurately the question of why a good God allows bad things to happen. (The theological term for this is theodicy, in case you wanted to know. If you didn’t want to know, you can be like my son and say, “thanks, but I don’t remember asking.” I won’t hear you, but you can say it.)
Theologians have attempted to reconcile the good God, bad things dilemma for centuries and there are all kinds of ways to address the issues and questions raised, (don’t worry, I’m not gonna pull out the theology books and get into the nitty gritty here) and yet, humanity still struggles with this conundrum. Why? Because pain hurts. Sorrow hurts. Loss hurts. And no one likes to hurt. And because no one likes to hurt, we look for ways to place blame, and for some, the easiest place to lay blame is on God.
One of the scriptures that we often use to talk about how Christians can go on living in the midst of troubles is John 16:33. here are just a few of the ways that this scripture is translated/paraphrased:
In other words, in the midst of anything and everything that the world can throw at you, you can still have peace and be confident that all will turn out for the best because the work of Jesus Christ has already taken care of it all. Here is where it get’s tricky to understand, though: while Christ has already overcome the world, we don’t see it. It’s already done, and yet it’s not fully evident to our eyes yet. And to live in the space between requires us to have faith.
When I was still a pretty small child, I spent a lot of time reading and memorizing passages in the bible. King James Version of course. This passage that speaks of the nature of faith was one of them:
Now faithisthesubstance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hebrews 11:1
What I love most about this particular verse in this particular translation is the fact that faith is considered EVIDENCE. Our faith comes as a result of believing certain things are true about our God and our Savior, and that faith is EVIDENT in the way that we live our lives in light of those things that are unseen with human eyes.
Let me give you an example of this kind of faith (that also happens to brag on my mom a little.)
My dad passed away suddenly almost three years ago now. It was a HUGE blow to all of us, but was hardest for my mom, who lost her husband of nearly 45 years, less than a week before celebrating their 45th Wedding Anniversary. My parents did nearly everything together, and while they had been living in Greenville for a few years at that point, they didn’t have the roots here like they would have in Taylorville where they lived a big chunk of their married life.
Mom’s faith is what got her through those early days, and what still gets her through today. She misses my dad greatly, but she believes not only that Dad is with the Lord, but that God loves and cares for her every day. She has made new friends, created new routines, reached out to others, and at times I think she has a more active social life than I do. She also believes that God can (and does) use their story as a way to show others the saving power and grace of Jesus Christ. Her faith in God and the power of God’s story in their lives led her to write a book, and work hard to get the book published in order to share it with as many people as possible.
This is what faith looks like for her. This book (and so much more in her life) is just one piece of EVIDENCE that points to her deep faith and hope found in Jesus Christ.
While life can be all of those things listed at the top of this post, and much more, today I choose to finish this sentence this way:
Life is an opportunity in which to live lives of faith that is EVIDENT in all that we say and do.
How would you finish this sentence today? Leave a comment or send me a message and let’s talk!
