Ellie

Where Missions And Cancer Meet

“This was one of the first times I made a conscious decision, in the midst of a very difficult situation, to say yes immediately to God’s ways and trust his promise to keep me under his wings.” ~ Connie Patty, on unexpected, frightening hospital days spent awaiting the birth of her first child, July, 1990

Dear Ones,

Today, I want to encourage you with a book: No Less Than Yes.

It is Connie’s firsthand account of her calling to missions in Eastern Europe and her life there with her husband, Dave and their three children. The entire piece is woven together with breath-taking, amazing stories, as only Connie can. Warning: carve out some time, because you’ll not be able to stop turning pages.

But why share a missionary’s story (as lovely as it is) for encouragement on a cancer-dominated blog?

This story is unique because unlike many missionary stories (recorded posthumously), this is LIVE! It’s happening right NOW! The book is a spectacular glimpse into a living, working, miraculous God even in the mess of our current age.
The heart of this story is one of learning love for and obedience to God in hard things – accepting that He is good no matter what occurs. Um, sound familiar, my cancer friends?
And finally, you’ll be able to relate as Connie has had her share of health trials – both as an individual and as mother. Her open heart throughout the book will bless you. She unfailing chronicles not only the hospital journeys (yes, there are more than one), but also the struggles. She doesn’t shy away from being truthful when it hurts to trust God.

As you read her words, you will be encouraged to persevere in the journey God has for you. So, I’d urge you to pick up a copy of this book today.

Moment by moment,

Ellie

You can find No Less Than Yes on Amazon HERE.

For more on Dave and Connie’s work in Eastern Europe, visit the Josiah Venture website HERE.

Sufficient Grace

I sat on the floor, the exhaustion depressing like a physical weight on my heart and shoulders alike.

Chase curled close, sniffing and crying, “Mom, I’m ready to make it right. I’m so sorry for getting angry. I promise to never, ever do it again.”

My heart screamed but my eyes were blessedly calm despite the pressure of overwhelmed tears. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I forgave you even before you asked. Hey…look at me…look at my eyes. Do you know how much I love you?”

He nods, sniffs, and runs away, heart light once again. The anger leaves as quickly as it comes.

No matter what happens, he needs to understand grace at my hands. If I fail all else, please God, let me be your hands to him.

But oh, my hands…how they hurt. Before the peace comes, there’s often scratching and biting. For, in this outside-the-box life, this is emotion to Chase. And the primary thing is to keep him and everyone else in his direct vicinity safe. So sometimes that means taking one for the team; for the family…literally.

As I sat on the floor, I wanted to let loose ugly, deep tears, but there are some things that seem too heavy and weary.

“God. I’m tired of the struggle. I can’t do this. I mean, I did it, and I’ll do it again, but years and years of this? I can’t, I can’t, I. CAN’T…”

And then, in the desperate stillness, I -who rarely ever “hear”- I heard. Oh, I heard as clearly as if someone stood in the cloudy room with me:

“My grace is sufficient for you.”

That was it. No answers, no fixes, but one thing that transcends the hurt that’s been and all the hurts that are yet to come.

Even as I prayed to be grace to Chase, my Abba became the grace answer to me.

The road is not easy, but I know I will have what I need.

Moment by moment.

“…I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-9 (NLT)

Note: This picture story was published with Chase’s knowledge and permission and he even volunteered to take the picture. He is not proud or hurt, but understands that we share wisely to encourage others they are not alone. Please know that we do not take this particular challenge lightly, and that Chase’s case is lovingly monitored by social workers, neuro-psychologists, neurologists, neuro-oncologists, neurosurgeons, and behavior therapists. I hope this bit of raw openness on survivor challenges encourages you that you are not alone in your struggle. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me privately at ellieewoldt@gmail.com. Blessings.

You Are Loved

“The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease.” Lamentations 3:22

“I can’t do this.”

His precious little mouth contorted on the one side – the way it always did when he became scared. “Mom, I’m not a first grader. I can’t do this. I need to go back to kindergarten.”

Behind his back, the window glowed with the last remnants of the sunset, signaling night…the night before school.

Chase shook his fuzzy, scarred head with each new sentence of voiced fear. After months of proudly proclaiming his being in first grade now and – including outrageous claims for privilege (“I should get to stay up late at night and watch Netflix because I’m a first-grader now, Mom.”) – the time had finally come and he felt himself unequal to the road in front of him.

His words flooded my heart as I heard echoes of my own timid voice in memory. Through his cancer, the ambulances, the hospitals, childbirth, even marriage… big things. Life things.

I can’t do this. God, I’m not ready for this.

I’m too young…

Too immature…

Too imperfect…

Too scared…

I need more time to prepare.

To get it right…

To be aware…

To make it count…

But here’s the thing with life… When I am blind-sided with my weakness and need, God is aware of the plan – my perfect life plan. And when things feel underdone and undone, out-of-nowhere, frenzied and stressed, He alone knows the ways to make them count for my good and His glory.

I knelt in front of Chase and put my hands lightly on his arms. Oh, how I wanted him to listen and connect with the words I needed to say. “Chase, you can and you will – because you are ready. It doesn’t feel like it yet, but you’re ready;” I paused, searching for the right words, “And, you are loved.”

You are loved.

In the hard moments when our brains acknowledge our good and His glory, but daily life throws gut punches that leave us lacking, gasping “I can’t do this”, it comes down to those very few words: I am loved; you are loved. These are the conduit from our head to our heart – from knowing what’s true to believing and resting in what’s good: His faithful love.

This had become a key sentence with my darling cancer survivor over the last several months. With his age and progression comes the increasing sense of “other”. He knows he looks different from those around him and often reacts differently too. He is strong, but it takes precious little for the remorse and regret to set in – and the fear too. I watch him feel unequal to the road in front of him and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that only perfect love can conquer this fear. And I know because I feel my own weakness, sadness and fear.

So, in the sunset before that August big day, as Chase lay his head down to sleep in that sixth year of a life we never thought he’d have, I grabbed the first piece of paper I could find (for it’s the words that are most important, not on what they are written) and I wrote what I believe…what I know and too often forget: You are loved. And then I tucked it, folded small into the blue top pocket of the crisp, new backpack to be found on the bus the next morning.

For truly, these words give a strength and joy like none other. And with these words, we are ready for anything life may bring – in His grace – moment by moment.

“See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are!” 1 John 3:1a

“Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up. Tie them to your hands and wear them on your forehead as reminders.” Deuteronomy 6:7-8

Love Your Melon

In this house, in this winter, we’ve completely fallen in love with beanie hats.

Chase has favored them for a couple years as they keep his sensitive head warm and he can use them to cover his ears when he feels over-stimulated. However, this is this first year for non-hat-wearing me…and I am hooked.

Because I’m hooked, I’m also trying to hook you too. Celebrate cool weather, style, and childhood cancer awareness with a Love Your Melon hat! You guys, for real, 50% of the profits are given to fund research initiatives and provide immediate support to children battling cancer!

Chase post-MRI, sleeping off the anesthesia in a “Navy Speckled Beanie”

Get one for yourself, one for a friend, or request a hat for a child or family member battling cancer today.

I Will Always Be With You

He has a new phrase: “I will always be with you”.

When he says it, he is quiet and centered, strangely introspective – unlike his usual energy-filled self and it means his heart hurts. It means he understands separation and he wants to stay together. But in typical childhood fashion and typical outside-the-box Chase fashion, the words come out differently.

He clutched my hand, fighting the drugged sleep threatening to take over his conscious thought and whisper these words to me – “I will always be with you” – as he went in for his MRI last Monday. But it was the night before that the words first stuck to him and he asked if I would write them out, not for him, but for his siblings. Then he put his head in his hands and sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter, just staring at the part of his heart that they’d discover in his absence the following morning.

The kids fight and squabble, and a good eight out of ten times, this bald boy is the instigator, but in the tense times, they rest in each others arms and love and they write out their love for each other because, well because “I will always be with you”. Somehow, reassurance of presence is, in itself a comfort. And somehow, the not quite sense-making words of his hurting heart are the ones that make the most sense – because he dares to stop, breath deep, and say them aloud.

Don’t miss the opportunities you’ve been given to connect with the ones you love.

~MbM~