A storm and a great big lesson...

photo credit to National Geographic, I did not take this one.  :)

I love the story of Job. 

I love how right from the beginning we know so much more than he did - and we watch, in horror and dismay as the events unfold. 

It is not a tidy story.  It is not "fair".  But, it offers so much hope, and advice and perspective on life, godliness, and the absolute Awesomeness of God.

So many things strike me as I read that story.  So. many.

Chapter 1, verse 1 tells us that "he was blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil."  Verse 3 lets us know that he was the greatest man among all the people of the East.
Job was a man, a righteous man.

He was not wicked.  He prayed for his children.  He offered sacrifices for them, just in case they had committed an offense against God. 

He feared God and shunned evil. 

I would imagine there were many who watched him and misunderstood him.  They thought of him as self-righteous, and "holier than thou."  They probably talked about him - convicted by their own sin - but casting names on him as insults because they didn't like how he seemed to have special favor with God.    They were almost excited to watch him "fall".  
They did not shun evil. 

They were comfortable in their places of sin - and it made them less uncomfortable to imagine that he considered himself blameless because he loved righteousness.  Surely he was blameless only in his own eyes.

 

I think in all of it, my favorite part is where God speaks in the storm.  First of all, the imagery is just beautiful.  Literally, chapter 38, verse 1 says that God spoke from the storm.  Can you imagine what that was like?  We just had a thunderstorm - a ton of rain fell from the sky.  Lightening flashed and thunder bellowed.  But, I did not hear the audible voice of God. 

Thing is, I don't think Job really thought he was perfect.  But, I love that God allows us to see that he was a man, and he struggled with the approval of man, and the pride that causes us to want everyone to know us and our hearts the way that God does.  Job spoke what was right about God - even in the midst of some pretty awful circumstances and accusations.  (Job 42:8)

But, Job was a man, and Job didn't handle everything perfectly.  He had a pity party.  (I am surely not saying he didn't have grounds for one, more than any human, but yet, it was still not the best idea).  He got trapped in the need for the approval of man, and to be seen for who he really was.  It is a slippery slope, indeed.  He contended that he was right - not that it made God wrong, just that somehow - he and God were both right, and he was blameless.

We have the whole Bible.  We knew from the very first chapter that he had not done anything "wrong" in the eyes of the Lord.  He was being sifted as wheat because Satan had appeared before God - and God allowed it.  God even suggested Job.  God knew Job, and He knew that Job would remain faithful in the midst of the worst suffering and loss. 

I can't imagine being Job.  Losing everything.  Being alone, really alone.  Suffering even in his flesh.  And then, to make matters just that much worse, his "friends" come to console him - and instead - they accuse him, and say things that aren't true.  They twist it all up so that it seems that because God is right (which He always is), then that must imply that Job deserved what was happening to him.   Job was angry.  Job wanted the right to defend himself - to the people that ought to know better.  They ought to have known him better.  But, they had evil in their hearts - and they wanted him to be less righteous - because that made them more comfortable.  

The first thing I think of (and this must be so small in comparison) is the time that I heard a Lion roar - and I mean really let loose - at the zoo.  Fear seized my heart.   We were a hundred yards from him, and separated by a great hole in the earth.  But, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  

(image from truefresco.org)

 

I thought we were going to die.

It was stunning.  It was awe-inspiring.  And it was nothing in comparison to the voice of God.

My second favorite part is where God finishes speaking and Job essentially says, "oh, my bad".  He really means it.  He sees very clearly his sin in defending himself, rather than God- his demanding his own glory, rather than God's.  But, then something profound happens.  God rebukes the "friends".  In fact, He commends Job before them, and then says that He will accept Job's prayer on their (arrogant, foolish) behalf.  He surely proves before them that Job had His favor and blessing all along.  It makes me want to stick my tongue out at the friends and sing "nanny, nanny boo-boo" (and that reveals my folly in the sight of a Holy God.) 

I love Job.  I love the Holy Spirit for moving in the heart of man to write it in the Bible.  I love the God of the universe that created Dragons (ch.41:1-34  esp. 18-19) and horses and storks and lightening. (ch. 38-41)

Today, I am more in love with God who has revealed so many things to us through His Word.  I am surely more amazed by Him today than I was yesterday.  I long to know more of His character.  I long to understand more deeply that He is God and there is no one like Him.  

Ramblings of an aching heart...

On Easter Sunday I met a girl that is sure to change my life.  God specifically drew my attention to her.  All of a sudden, I wanted to know everything about her.  I wanted to know why she needed help walking, and what had caused her beautiful head to be bald.  The moment the service was over, I went to meet her.  From the start He had my attention. 
It was Easter. 
We were singing about the joy and hope that we have because Jesus is risen. 
She was so young.  I wondered as we sang how much differently she understood the message and the words of the songs?  When you are told you have cancer, I would imagine that there is a fair amount of wrestling to be done.  I imagine there is an aspect of God’s character to be revealed that doesn’t seem very tidy, or understandable, or even safe.  I imagine that in order to sing the kinds of songs you sing on Easter, you would have to work it out a little bit.  The rubber meets the road. 
As I reached my hand out and squatted beside her, I told her my name, and she told me hers. 
Cynthia.
I tried not to show how desperately I was caught off guard.  That was my mom’s name.  This was no blaze‘ meeting for sure.  God had my full attention. 
We chatted for a while, and then, I knew her family needed to be headed off, but I have been struck by Cynthia ever since.  I have prayed for her often, not knowing much about her actual type of cancer - or the depth of things she has endured as an almost 12 year old girl.

Tonight, I did some research.  I found her caring bridge page.  I read about her diagnosis.  I quickly "googled" to find out all the things I didn’t understand.  Epithelioid Sarcoma.   Pirogoff’s Amputation.   Just the sound of those things is overwhelming.  And what I read after that, well, I will be honest...  I had a mixture of feelings and tears streaming down my cheeks. 

She and Maddy are the same age.  They have birthdays just two weeks apart.  I thought how if I were her mom, I would give anything to trade places with her.  
I wondered what it would be like to have her perspective on life and death right now. 
I wondered what things would change in my life if I had a diagnosis like that.  I wondered how her parents were enduring - if they were having a hard time loving “all-in” when they know the statistics of her disease.  I prayed that they wouldn’t pull away from her from pain and fear - although, wouldn’t you have to wrestle with that?  I can’t imagine what it would be like to love all of my kids well if we were faced with news like that.  I could see myself wrestling - KNOWING that none of us have the guarantee of tomorrow, but also knowing that time seems to be stacked against her with the illness.
I don’t know.  I guess with my mom, I just loved her - without fear.  I was pretty well “all in” all the time because, at 17, I didn’t have the reality grasped in my mind that one day I would wake up and she would leave the earth without “warning”.  I was young, and I heard the words, and I read the sheets, but something inside me just didn’t believe that she wouldn’t get well.  And, for the most part - she and I had each other.  Sis was at college - and we did life, day by day - just the two of us.   But, I think that helped me to love her in a way I couldn’t have if I had known her exact time.  I think it helped me to hold her tightly and love her without fear - right up til the end. 

As I was still pondering my new friend Cynthia's diagnosis- and all the details I could scrounge up, I saw that another friend of mine had posted that her mom was in the hospital.  I dug a little deeper and after I read her last few weeks of Facebook updates, my heart sunk. 
4 brain tumors. 
Lung cancer.
Just going to make her comfortable. 

More words filled my mind that are weightier than the paper can hold.  Comfortable?  Something never sits right with me about that word in the midst of the others.  It isn’t a comfortable process.  It is painful.  Medicine can dull the pain, but it is not comfortable.  It isn’t comfortable for the family either.  It isn’t comfortable to watch your mom (or loved one) in pain.  It isn’t comfortable to watch the medicines take their toll on her mind and her abilities.  It isn’t comfortable to know that you can’t do anything about it.  It is a lot of things, but it is not comfortable.

This friend of mine, whose mom is in the hospital is actually the older sister of my best childhood friend.  I spent many nights at their house.  I had my first s’more in their living room.  I had my first GIANT waffle cone at Sesame Place with their family.  I watched “Thriller” at their house and was scared to pieces!  I almost crashed their computer and my sweet friend got so angry with me.  I thought she would never forgive me for pushing a button while the hourglass was still on the screen.  She did forgive me, though. 

I got to share the Gospel of John with my friend, and watch her become interested, at least for a time, with God and His Son.  And then, they moved away - and we lost touch, and, well... It is so blurry now.  I don’t really remember all the details.  They just moved and it seemed like forever far away, and we lost touch.   Now my heart is aching that I don’t know them better.  That I hadn’t kept up with their family more.  That I hadn’t had more of an eternal impact in their lives. 
I know they appreciate nice thoughts and positive feelings, and sweet sentiments from friends.  But, those things will not offer the kind of comfort they need right now.  There is One who is the Comforter.  There is One who can hold them in peace in this time of grief.  The very One that knit them together in their mother’s womb... And I am afraid they don’t know.  I am afraid their mom doesn’t know the Comforter.   I am praying that God will be near to them - and that He will reveal Himself through this time of intense pain.  It hurts so badly to watch your mom battle cancer.  Indescribable.  Painful.  I cannot imagine having to walk that road without Jesus.  I just cannot.  He carried me through on the truths that He will never leave me or forsake me.  He knows me, and He desperately loves me - with all of my sin, and with all of my flaws.  He is always there.  He is always good.  He will never leave.  And there is something more to come...

Tonight, I am so thankful for the book of John.  I am so thankful for the Way, the Truth and the Life.  And I am desperately praying that she will know Him if she doesn’t already before her days are complete on the earth.  I am praying for my sweet childhood friends to hear and receive Truth and comfort - and find true peace that passes all understanding.  I am praying for my friend Cynthia to press in deeply to the Lord and find shelter in the shadow of His wings.  I am praying that He will hold her near - and that rather than grow in fear, she will grow eager for the day that she will be wrapped up in the arms of the One who calls her Beloved - regardless of how and when He chooses to heal her.  She may have many more years on the earth, but I pray that she will live each one as if it could be her last - making the most of every day she has, and teaching others to do the same.

And, I want to learn from her.  I know that she has many things that she could teach me.  

I am not walking in their shoes.  Please don’t read anything I have said as judgement - or as if I believe I can imagine what it is like to be one minute in their shoes.  I absolutely can not.  One thing I learned when I lost my mom is that everyone’s story is uniquely theirs.  Everyone’s pain belongs to them alone.  No matter what you have been through, you cannot begin to imagine the depth of someone else’s pain.  All you can do is cry with them, and offer them your shoulder and your arms, and your silence.  So, please don’t mis-read anything I have said.   I have simply thought aloud tonight because my heart is just aching.  It makes me desperate to be in the arms of Jesus and away from this world that is filled with pain and sorrow and hurt and frailty. 

My simple prayer tonight...
Oh Jesus, be near to my friends.  Be so very near.  You are the God of miracles and hope and peace.  Show yourself mighty in these lives I am begging you, my God and my King.  In the most powerful name of Jesus I ask these things,
your Beloved Daughter.

I met another new friend.  Not at church, or in the store... but over email and the blogosphere.  She shared her story with me, and I wanted you to hear it too.  
So, here it goes - straight from her heart:


My Village, by Heather Von St. James


If you’ve ever had children, you’ve probably heard the wise saying, “It takes a village to raise a child.” The birth of my daughter taught me its meaning. Lily was born on August 4th, 2005. The pregnancy went smoothly. At first, our excited families and friends surrounded my husband and me. Looking back, there was no way to prepare for the heartbreak ahead.

After returning to work, I started experiencing odd symptoms. Only a month after resuming full time hours, I felt constantly tired. I dismissed it at first, assuming it was related to being a new mother, but the lack of energy persisted. I even felt short of breath. I finally consulted my doctor. On November 21, 2005, after many medical tests, I got the answer. Lily had only been with us for 3 ½ months when I had to face a diagnosis of malignant pleural mesothelioma. This cancer that attacks the lining of the lungs is almost always caused by asbestos exposure. Unknown to me, I had been exposed to it around 30 years ago when I was a child.

My first concerns were for my little girl, my husband, and of how they would manage without me. My prognosis was grave. I was given about 15 months to live without treatment. I decided to do everything in my power to survive, no matter what. With such a dire prediction, I had nothing to lose. I chose to take on the most extreme treatment for mesothelioma. On February 2nd, my husband and I flew to Boston, and I underwent extrapleural pneumenectomy. The surgery removed my left lung. I recovered for 18 days in the hospital. Following this, I spend two months in recovery before starting chemotherapy and eventually radiation—all as a first time mom.

This experience gave me new understanding of the old adage about villages. Without the love, prayers and daily support from those around us, I don’t see how we could have managed.  Help came from people in many different parts of our lives. Some of it was unexpected. People we never knew cared gave full support. People we assumed we could rely on sometimes disappeared. Cancer has a way of revealing who really cares about you and who doesn’t.

While we were in Boston, my parents raised Lily. Fortunately, they had their own village of people who helped. Girls who I once babysat offered to watch Lily while my parents worked at their full time jobs. People from the church engulfed them with generosity and genuine love. In the meantime, my husband and I met new friends in Boston. We shared our struggles with incredible people who were going through the same ordeal. It helped get us through each day.

In my hometown of South Dakota, Lily was learning to roll and scoot across the floor. She started to eat solid food. I experienced these joys through the grainy pictures my mother emailed. My husband printed them for me, and I shared them tearfully with the nurses who fawned over Lily just as I did.  She was the reason I was there, fighting for my life. Throughout my battle, my daughter was in the very best hands. My parents formed a bond with Lily that time and distance can never diminish.

Now, we have a family policy of embracing life and treating it as a fragile, precious thing. Life isn’t always easy, but we give it 100 percent no matter what it throws our way. My favorite quote is “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I believe this. Cancer brings both bad and good things. As horrible as the experience was, I am grateful for the good that came from it.

                                     ~ Heather Von St. James

 I am thankful that Heather shared her story with me, and if you want to read more of what she has to say, you can follow the link here to find her on her blog:  http://www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/heather    

Thank you, Heather for the much needed reminder that life is fragile.  It is precious, every single moment we have.  It is not something to be mis-handled.  Every minute is a gift from God to be used, not to serve ourselves, but to love others well.