It’s True What They Say

It’s true what they say about near death experiences...how they make you evaluate your life thus far and permanently change your perspective moving forward. Not that I’m claiming I had a “near death experience” - not really - but cancer has changed my perspective nonetheless.

When Hurricane Dorian was making its way toward the coast, Jake got some unexpected time off from work. And with that gift of an unscheduled calendar we decided it was time to pull the training wheels off of Liliana’s bike once and for all. We gave her a little pep talk, and within a half hour BOTH girls were zipping around our circle unencumbered! As I walked behind, watching those two precious girls ride side-by-side, giggling and talking as they rode along, I was completely overcome with gratitude. I found myself repeating “thank you for letting me be here for this” over and over.

A week later we spent the evening at our favorite beach. Again, as we walked along the water’s edge collecting “seashells,” I was engaged in the moment while at the same time thanking God for His gift of time - for letting me be here. In this moment. With these people. 

I put “seashells” in quotes because truth be told, they were bits and pieces of broken shells we’d find scattered thinly along the shore. The beach we go to doesn’t really have shells. And yet, with each fragment found you’d swear they were finding golden pirates’ coins if all you observed was their reactions. 

And this is kind of how I feel about life lately. And this is the perspective I desperately want to hold on to.  These ordinary, mundane minutes in the day look different now. I see them now. I enjoy them now. I’m thankful for them now. 

Don’t get me wrong. I still have my moments. As an introvert, I still sometimes wish I could live on an island alone. Or at least be given a mute button - raising girls means a lot of words. Sometimes I just reach my quota of question-answering and permission-giving and interest-faking, and I want silence.

But I want to treasure the ordinary, plain, and imperfect moments of every day, just like those broken shells, because they are indeed a gift. And remembering the what ifs, the what-could-have-beens, helps me reframe my thoughts (which is a great mental skill to have - it helps a great deal with anxiety too.) 

The idea behind reframing thoughts is to hold the thought out in front of you so-to-speak and examine it closely. Look at all sides of it. Examine the feelings associated with that thought. Then shift your perspective. It’s not “I have to do the dishes,” it’s “I get to do the dishes...because we have food to eat...a family to share it with...dishes to even eat on.” Or as a friend and I recently discussed, it’s not “I had to have this horrible surgery,” but rather “I was able to have this life-saving surgery.” On an average day in my house, it’s not “I have to clothe, feed, teach, discipline these little ones,” but instead “I get to be here to guide and nurture them. I get to help with soccer socks and knots in long hair. I get to be here for scraped knees and spilled milk and hurt feelings.” THANK YOU GOD FOR LETTING ME BE HERE! 

I’ve been around church long enough that I should know better...never, NEVER ask God to teach you something. Or at least fully brace yourself. If you ask for patience, he’ll send a situation to test and grow your patience. 

This is all said very tongue in cheek in church world because of course we want to grow in all the good things. From the moment we believe and accept salvation we are set on a course to becoming more like Jesus (and p.s. Jesus suffered). And really, whether we are brave enough to ask for it ourselves or not, as a loving Father who wants what’s best for us, He will teach us the hard things.

I had asked Him to teach me how to “rejoice.” Whelp, He sure taught me. I never rejoiced over having cancer obviously, but my goodness, did He ever show me how to rejoice in the midst of it, in spite of it. And now after it, I find myself rejoicing more easily in things I wouldn’t have paid much attention to in life prior.

I had chosen the word “rejoice” because I realized that discontentment has a strong tie to anxiety. The antidote to discontentment is thankfulness. But taking it one action step further is to not only be content, to be thankful, but to rejoice. My goal in harnessing this word in my life was further relief from anxiety, and I have to say, mission accomplished. 

(Philippians 4: various snippets, emphasis mine: “Rejoice in the Lord always... 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.”)

Being thankful and rejoicing isn’t just about our circumstances, answered prayers and happy endings. It’s about who God is in the midst of trying circumstances, answers we didn’t want, and endings we didn’t expect. And through it all, He is still God. He is still good. He is still faithful. He still loves us. We still have hope in the big picture of eternity. (Isaiah 42:16 “...I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them.”)

Now in this season between - the one where this storm has passed and I’m not aware of the future forecast - I simply sit in gratitude. 

It sounds crazy, but I am just now, mid-life, realizing that life is a series of highs and lows. 1 Peter 4: 12-13 says “Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed.” No one knows what tomorrow holds, but we can know the One who holds tomorrow (Matt. 6:34, Prov. 27:1, James 4:14). He is in all my todays and all my tomorrows. And seeing His faithfulness again and again sure makes it harder to worry about the unknowns of the future. So for now, I rest and I rejoice in His goodness.

“I love your voice.

You have led me through the fire,

And in darkest night

You were close like no other.

I’ve known You as a Father,

I’ve known You as a friend,

And I have lived

In the goodness of God.”

-Bethel Music