Don’t Fake the Story

My first round of chemo and week of radiation is over. Weeehooo! I survived it. I was brave and kinda “let’s get this over with,” until the nurse hooked up the Cisplatin and, in that few seconds, I realized everything was about to change and I lost my courage. I looked around the room filled with people hooked up to all manner of drugs and I realized I wasn’t any different. I resented their sickness because I didn’t want to be like them. This thing, this disease I’ve never seen with my own eyes, was changing everything. I couldn’t feel the poison enter my body, but I could see it dripping down and mocking me.
     It just so happened my friend Marilyn was sitting across the room caring for another woman. I reached for a tissue and tried to wipe away the tears that were betraying my braveness when I saw Marilyn walk over. Her eyes were filled with tears and she said, “Please don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Please don’t cry.” It’s all I needed. That little moment of kindness changed everything. And the best part is that I couldn’t have planned it if I’d tried. In the little details, in the unexpected moments, God tells me He loves me. He uses ordinary people, and orchestrates simple encounters, to love the world. He knows me. He wants me to know how much He cares. And when I’m weak, He is strong. And I may never have experienced the rawness of His love were it not for this disease, and all the other things that I’ve encountered these last few years that, on the surface, look like failure.
     Overall, the week went well. No nausea. No puking. I still have hair. My chemo will now be delivered every Tuesday. I’m supposed to expect 48 hours of good followed by, perhaps, two days of bad. But so far…no bad. This week was a bit unusual because I started out with a sinus infection prior to my first chemo treatment, which slowly moved in to my chest. I chose Tuesday for chemo so I can be fully rested by Sunday. And despite some difficulty breathing, I woke to a glorious day and managed to worship and serve in the nursery. Thank you, Dr. Rice, for the Z-thingy. I feel better already.
     Perspective changes everything. It is a necessity, not a burden, to raise my hands and worship the King. I’m trying to encourage Amelia to sing, so I sign with her and as I move my hands to the words it shakes loose the little bits of me that cling to my comforts, my pride, my own personal space. My emotion runs down my face and there are times when I need to stop just to breathe and find the words to express the wonder and joy that comes from knowing how much love God has for His people.
     This week has been filled with lovely gifts. Those pizzas. That hummus. That visit. That note. Those enchiladas. That nap. And that other nap. Lots of support from unexpected places. Though it is extremely difficult for me, I’m getting used to God using people to show me His love. It’s like there’s this moment when you realize the difference between “people” helping and God working through people. It’s difficult to explain. It’s as if the thin, tattered curtain of my pride is moved out of the way and I’m able to see through to where the help is really coming from. It’s a glorious life-changing moment and I need to find a way to better explain this, because it’s significant for so many reasons. And so I am asking myself, “How can I find a way to remove the ME from helping people so that they see Jesus right away?” Must needs be I spend some time thinking about this.
     They tell me that as the radiation and chemo accumulates in my body I will begin to feel changes. More fatigue. Maybe pain. Nevertheless, I still intend to fight. I anticipate some bad days, maybe I’ll lose my courage, and maybe I’ll hold on so tight to the hem of His garment that He’ll say, “Who touched me?” There’s a part of me, the over-achiever, who wants to sail through this and say, “Nothing but net.” But something Lonnie Frisbee once said to me sticks in my head, “Don’t try to get out of something that God has fixed in your life. Learn from it, because if you don’t, He’ll just fix it your life again, over and over again, until you get it right.”
     So this is my story. It’s not the story I would have written, but it’s mine. I have a feeling there will be days when I’ll want a do-over, days when I’m ashamed of my lack of courage, and hours when I just want it all to be over with. And I’m sharing this with you so that if you ever need me to walk over and say, “Please don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Please don’t cry,” you’ll know I’ve been there and I mean it. If all I can do in this life is tell people how much God loves them, show them even a glimpse of how much He cares, get out of the way and lead them to the cross, then I’m in the right story. And I am thankful!

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