Hope

I asked my eight-year-old what hope meant.  Liam answered, “It’s when you put your faith in someone and trust them to do what they say they’re going to do.”  Then Sawyer piped up: “And it’s when you feel joy too!”

Wow!  Hope equals faith, trust, and joy!  I never cease to be amazed at what these boys can teach me, and I honestly could not have chosen better words to describe my journey with hope.  A few weeks ago, my wonderful pastor—Pastor Jer Swigart—asked me to talk with him in front of our church about my experience and understanding of hope.  It was such a privilege to get the opportunity to share with my new church family how God has built hope in Ryan and my hearts through times when all hope seemed to be lost.  You can listen to our conversation here, but I want to share some further thoughts on this topic, with my sons’ wisdom as my guide.

Faith: 

Hope requires faith, and the faith cannot be misplaced.  My faith is in Jesus Christ and his salvation.  I have never seen Jesus in person or audibly heard his voice, which is why it is through faith that I believe he lived, he is still alive, and he will return to make all things right someday.  My faith is not in healing, prosperity, or happy endings.  I long for all of those things at different times, but I cannot build my faith and therefore my hope of them.  Proverbs 13:12 says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.”  I longed with all of my heart to see my mama healed in this life.  I wished and prayed for her to live a long life by my side and see her grandchildren grow up.  But my deeper hope for her was built on my faith in the Savior we both believe in.  I had and have faith that through her death she was truly healed beyond death’s reach and reunited with Jesus face-to-face.  So while her death wrenched my heart in painful ways I cannot accurately describe, it did not make my heart sick.  There is a big difference.

Trust:

Hope requires trust, and the trust has to be rooted in truth.  I trust Jesus to fulfill his promises, and I trust in God the promise-keeper.  Jesus promised, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).  He promised peace through trouble and ultimate victory through his victory over the world.  He also promised, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).  I trust his word that he is the way to our Heavenly Father.  I have to be careful not to build my hope through trusting promises of the world and not of Christ.  I cannot believe that good behavior leads to a trouble-free life.  I cannot believe that my faithfulness will guarantee my desired outcomes for my life or the lives of others.  I cannot believe that my understanding of justice, fairness, and good story-telling should have any bearing on God’s work in my life and His master plan for the entirety of humanity. If I put my trust in any of these messages, my hope will be crushed when my plans do not line up with God’s plans, which are always better even though they are often harder.  When I trust Jesus to give me peace, to overcome the world, and to lead me to God, my hope grows.

Joy:

Hope breeds joy, and this joy can defy any circumstance.  For me, it always comes back to joy.  Joy is God’s gift to me every single day.  The rest of Proverbs 13:12 says, “but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”  When my longings/hopes rest on my faith and trust in Jesus, they are fulfilled all the time.  And when I take the time to recognize my hopes being fulfilled, I am overcome with joy.  This joy galvanizes me to share my “tree of life” with others.  As I seek to build hope in others, I am further filled with hope.  It is a beautiful circle.

---

So today, my prayer is that your faith is in Jesus and your trust rests on his promises.  May your joy grow as you see all of the ways Jesus loves to fulfill our hopes in him, especially when it’s in ways we could never have thought of ourselves.  And may your joy inspire you to build this same hope in others.  For hope in Jesus is contagious:-)

I hope you enjoy my talk with Pastor Jer, as I map my relationship with hope through my cancer and grief journey.

Face-to-face with my true identity

My mama used to cup my face with her small, strong, piano-playing hands, and in her eyes and words I saw my favorite version of myself.  She did not let my being a grown-up stop this childhood practice, and I always knew I was about to receive a life-giving dose of affirmation and adoration when she reached for my face.  

She thought I was simply amazing and astonishing.  With her face pressed in close to mine, she would remind me of who I was, how loved I was, and what great adventures God had for me.  She had a knack for doing this when I needed it most, when my insecurities were telling me the opposite, when I craved rest in the assurance of being her beloved.  

Although my mama would argue this, I know this didn’t happen because I am actually amazing and astonishing.  I get this even more now that I’m a mama myself: she delighted in me because I was hers.  She and Dad and God created me and then worked together to form me into who I am and am continually becoming.

About a year after Mama died, I dreamt about her.  Much to my dismay, this hadn't happened and still doesn't.  Many parts of the dream were chaotic and weird and anxiety-ridden.  I ended up sitting on the beach with death and destruction all around me.  Suddenly my mama, looking vibrant and healthy in her favorite blue sweater, stood in front of me.  I wanted to focus on her, but I was distressed by the awful sights on the beach.  So she bent down, placed her hands on my cheeks and blocked out my view of anything but her beautiful face.  She spoke urgently, firmly, and seriously even though her eyes were smiling. I desperately wish I could remember her exact words, but I know she was drowning out the chaos with words of affirmation, adoration, and delight.  

I carry this image with me.  Mama was showing me how my Savior, Jesus, longs to minister to me.  He told his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.  Now remain in my love” (John 15:9).  He is inviting me to his embrace, to come close enough that he can place his hands on my face and speak to me about who he sees me to be.  When I remain in this place, then whatever is happening on the beach cannot sweep me out to sea.  I can stay rooted in this true and honest view of myself—the self Jesus thought up, created, and continues to form daily.  The self he delights in and adores. The self he rescued from death.  While missing my mama has left a giant gap in my identity, she reminded me in that dream that she was just being an extension of Jesus in those face-to-face moments.  When I look into his face and hear his words, I can still see my favorite version of myself.  And like Mama, Jesus doesn’t do this because of anything I’ve done.  He loves me because I’m his.

Jesus reminded his followers later on in John 15 that remaining in his love allows us to follow his instruction: “This is my command: Love each other” (verse 17).  When I let Jesus’s face fill my vision, I cannot help seeing others with compassion and love.  At times it is hard to accept Jesus’s love for me—especially when I have messed up or stumble over the same struggle that has been tripping me up for as long as I can remember.  And at times it is hard to truly love others—especially when they act in a way I deem as unloveable.  But I am finding the more I see in Jesus’s eyes that I am his beloved daughter, I am better able to see everyone else with that same love.  Imagine how life-giving this could be?  I want my husband and sons to see their best selves when they see me look at them.  I want my family and friends to know how delighted I am by them when I speak to them.  And I want to see strangers the way Jesus would. 

Today, my prayer is that you will feel embraced by Jesus’s nail scarred hands, that you will let his love fill your vision, that you will see the you he sees—one worth dying for.

A story and a prayer request

A few weeks ago, I had a full-blown panic attack on the Bay Bridge.  I was driving by myself; the traffic was thick and combative; I was running late for my doctor’s appointment at UCSF despite having left Concord three hours early; I had already been anxious about getting Herceptin after being really sick from the treatment three weeks before; and my phone died right as I got to downtown San Francisco, taking with it my beloved Google maps that had been telling me where to go.

Without warning, right as the screen of my phone went irreversibly black, my rising anxiety turned into a panic I could not control.  Sweat and a waterfall of tears blurred my vision.  I tried to take deep breaths, but they quickly turned into hyperventilation.  My limbs started shaking, making me have to grip the steering wheel with a vice-like hold.  Far back in my mind, I knew this was too big of a reaction to the situation and that is was in fact a dangerous time to fall apart, but those thoughts just fueled the panic and I could not pull myself together.   

I prayed, in between gulping breaths, the Holy Spirit would lead me to the hospital.  I told the Holy Spirit I knew he could do it; I promised to tell the story to everyone who would listen: “The Holy Spirit led me through downtown San Francisco in rush hour traffic to exactly where I needed to be.”  I could already see how my momentary pain would strengthen my faith and bless others.  

And yet, as I gulped and cried and shook and still drove, I just kept feeling more lost.  Each road sign seemed vaguely familiar, and yet each turn led to more and more unfamiliar places.  Traffic was not letting up, and people were angry with my hesitation, so I finally pulled over.  Some people walked by.  I rolled down the window and asked desperately for directions.  It could have been my splotchy, crazy eyes that made the woman say (in English), “I don’t live here, and I don’t speak English.”  I rolled up my window, buried my head in my hands and cried and cried.  

Even though in that moment I knew that God’s plans are always better than my own, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you just show me where to go?  This seemed like it would have been a good story.  And I really REALLY believed you could do it.”  I felt defeated and alone and so ridiculous for not being able to stop myself from falling apart.

I looked up to survey my surroundings and saw a man watching me from across the street.  He was looking at me with such pity, love, and understanding I got the feeling he had been watching for awhile.  When I made eye contact, he hesitated for a moment and then dashed across the street in the one gap in traffic I had seen that morning.  I rolled down the window, and he asked, “Where do you need to go?”

This is one of my favorite moments I have ever experienced.  He did not ask me if I was lost, because obviously I was.  He just saw my distress, looked on me with compassion, and ran toward me to show me the way.  I’m sure he thought it was no big deal, but it was a REALLY big deal to me in that moment when I felt so completely lost and alone.  

When I asked for directions to UCSF, he chuckled a little and said, “You’re almost there.  Just a few more blocks down from us and you’ll reach it.”  

I thanked him, trying to infuse those two words with more gratitude than they could actually hold, and I drove to the hospital, which truly was just a few more blocks down the same road and in the same direction I was driving when I decided to pull over.

The thing is, God was answering my prayer in multiple ways right when I decided to ask him why he wasn’t answering my prayer.  He was leading me in the right direction and he was providing a compassionate stranger to guide me the rest of the way.  This illustrates the lesson I have been learning in so many ways since we have moved down to the Bay Area: God is always working in my life; it just rarely is in the way that I would predict.  He doesn’t write my story the way I think is best.  He writes it best because he is best, he knows best, and his endings are always best.  It is when I try to take the pencil away from the author (as Pastor Jer from our new church said in a sermon recently), that I get confused, lost and panicked.  

With this conviction, I want to ask for prayer for my sweet little Everett.  I have hesitated to put this out on social media in order to not make it a bigger deal than it is, but then I realized that everything to do with my sons is such a big deal to me that I covet as many prayers as people are willing to pray.

Tomorrow Everett is getting an MRI of his brain.  There has been concern around his head from the time he was a wee one, and we have had a few doctors ask us to consider a precautionary MRI for various reasons.  Until now, we have prayerfully decided to wait, because Everett behaves like a healthy little guy without too many obvious reasons for concern.  Recently, he has started to have intense headaches that are localized in one spot.  He screams and cries because he thinks he has hit his head behind his right ear, but he hasn’t.  Our pediatrician here wants us to get an MRI, and after praying about it, we agree.  This means he will have to go under anesthesia, which we are not excited about, but I believe will be just fine.

Over the last few days, and especially today, I have had people reaching out to me to let me know they are praying for me.  Many of these people know about the MRI, but many of them do not.  I have felt like I am back in that moment in my car when I looked up and realized the man was just waiting for the opportunity to help me.  I'm tempted to forget all of the trust and relationship building God has done through my own medical journey when anything potentially scary rises up with my sons.  I can easily find myself in full-blown panic mode, letting my mind careen toward an imagined future where Everett is sick. Through people's prayers and generous care-taking, God is showing me--once again--that he is already answering these prayers even though I cannot yet see how.  He is writing a story in Everett’s life that will truly be the best even though I wish I could spare him the chapter about this test.

Thank you for those of you who are already praying, and thank you for those of you who will pray.  Here are a few specific requests surrounding tomorrow:

• I pray tomorrow will go smoothly and Everett will not be anxious.  
• I pray Everett will tolerate the anesthesia well.
• Ultimately, I pray this is nothing and all they see is a super healthy brain.  I pray that God is directing us and the doctors in this so we can have peace of mind about our little guy’s head.
• I pray, personally, I resist the urge to despair over a future that is not my reality in this moment.  I don’t want to imagine a world with a sick little Everett, and right now I should not do this.  But it’s hard not to go there.  
• I pray we can bless the doctors and techs we encounter tomorrow.  (Although, I know this one is a given, because Everett blesses everyone he’s around:-)

Today I pray for those of you who are feeling lost, alone, and panicked.  I pray God will direct you down the right road, and that he will use people to come and show you compassion.  And I pray that today you get a glimpse of the beautiful story God is writing with your life.