The Unknown Road

This 2014 story blog is very nearly two years old and yet I desperately need this lesson today as much as I needed it on the day it was first written down.

Who do I follow? Who will you follow today…and why?

The cold snapped in the air as the sun shone distant and too bright through the windshield of the car as we traveled along the road.  Chase’s first day of therapies.  A new building, new people, new things to be learned…the start of a new chapter.  And with the new, came the old and familiar: the fear of the unknown and the question – what lies ahead?  Always that question.

Chase’s high voice pierced the questions gripping my mind like my hands holding the steering wheel.  “Mommy? Where are we?  This is not the road to my hospital.”  For this is how Chase tells direction.  There is the road that leads to his hospital and then there is every other road ever made.  I answered and assured him that this road was a good road and that it was the way to his new therapy – therapy that would help him grow strong.

Silence followed for a brief second as he processed what he’d heard.  Then; “But Mom, are we late?”

“No, Chase.  We aren’t late.  We are right on time.”

Another moment of silence, then his voice again, this time with anger, “But Mom, this isn’t the road and we’re late!”

Steeling myself for the familiar exercise of reasoning with the irrational; I responded: “Chase, this is the road and we are not late.”  I received nothing but an angry growl and the reiteration that I was in error.

How many times would I need to speak truth to him before he heard?  

Finally, this; “Chase, do you trust me?  I know this road and I can see the clock. I know where we’re going and I know that we’re not late.  You don’t know this road, but I do.  I’ve driven on it before and I know where it goes.  Chase, you’ll just have to trust me.”

The petulant retort; “Mom, I can’t trust you because I cannot see the road and I cannot see the clock.  You can; but I cannot.”  

Suddenly, his voice was mine….mine to my Creator who speaks truth to me and calms the questions and fears at every turn.  He tells me that even though I don’t know the road, He does.  He knows where it goes and what’s along the way.  He knows the timing of it and how it will take me to places that will be hard but will make me stronger.  And I sit, petulant child that I am, and question trusting Him because I don’t know what He knows and somehow, in my small heart and mind, that makes Him seem less good and my fears seem more justified.

In that moment, that silly short moment of driving across the city, in the child voice from the back seat, I was reminded how good He is to me and that I don’t have to know what lies ahead to trust and follow.

Moment by moment.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.  Jeremiah 29:11

Courtesy of Pexels

Light And Momentary

He stood in front of me, a grin splitting his face – an aging face covered by too white skin – the kind of skin that only comes from long days of chemotherapy. And then, even before I said my name, he took my hand in his and held it to his bald, stubbled head; the forever symbol of brain tumor treatment. His grin was huge. “God is good”, he said.

The last time I saw him, I was only 12 years old and I remember him in those treatment days, too thin and chemo white, his high, clear voice calling out loud and true in a quiet church sanctuary; proclaiming life and joy in something I couldn’t at that time imagine: deadly brain cancer.

This sweet, charismatic soul stood on the cutting edge of treatments long before they were ever standardized enough for children like Chase. He faced leaving a wife with two little children. And there were days this strong man of business and numbers was so weak that he was carried into the radiation room. But against all odds, he lived. Lived over twenty years after doctors first shook their heads, marveling at a miracle of clear scans where cancer had been.

He stands close as he tells me that he does not sleep much at night, and then a shadow crosses his face as he apologetically explains that he may not remember my name after we talk. “What happened long ago is clear, but these days, not so much…” he shrugs and grins again; “You see, I have short term memory loss.” A concept he doesn’t yet know that I understand too well… I simply smile, “Please don’t even think of it. I don’t care. It’s fine.”

As he stops to catch his train of thought and I reflect on his expression of joy that he’s down to six daily medications from sixty, I have to ask… “How do you do it? I am barely breathing after four years and I can’t even fathom twenty. How…just, how?”

His hands grow steady and his clear voice is especially strong, his gaze deeply focused as he puts forth a phrase that’s clearly been tattooed faithfully in the damaged brain tissues of memory: “You have to remember…’momentary light affliction’. All of this is momentary next to what Jesus did for us.” And then his hands came up to the sides of his eyes, like blinders on a horse, “You can’t look back, you can’t look at anything else, just Jesus.” And just like Chase, he repeated a few more times “It’s all ‘momentary light affliction…” and then a small laugh accompanies the most genuine of smiles; “Can you even imagine?”

I can’t. He breathes twenty years into hell and hardship and counts it nothing because Jesus is enough.

Can I? Will I? I believe…help my unbelief.

And then something flickers in his eyes. “Do you like coffee?” When I respond in the affirmative, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Starbuck’s gift card. “Here,” says the man whose damaged memory ensures he can’t work anymore. “Take this. It was a five-dollar bonus on my Chase card this month. I don’t need it. It’s yours.”

I have short term memory loss… Deeply damaged, yet joyful.

I don’t need it. It’s yours… Empty, yet giving.

It’s all momentary light affliction… Broken, yet pressing on.

And me? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hold this green and white bit of plastic in my hand without remembering the guileless smile proclaiming that cancer is nothing compared to the cross.

Moment by moment.

“For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:17-18

 

Fighting For Love

Yeah, there’s coffee, and laughter in abundance, but there’s something else too. Something that only comes forged in pain. I don’t have a word for it, but it’s there to be cherished – oddly like a terrible battle wound. See this? We went to war and we survived. Isn’t it strange that the hard things often knit us as close (if not closer) than the happy moments? They say that “love changes everything“, but sometimes I think everything changes love: kids, illness, job changes…and often just the weight of years and the passing of time. Love is not a static, stoic concept, but it is deep, and it’s meant to be unshakeable as it mirrors Jesus love for us and in us.

So what happens when things like cancer come at a marriage? In the video below, we take a few minutes to share a little of what we’ve learned and are still learning today.

Because life is messy, love is going to be messy too – that’s the primary reason we sat in front of an iPhone on a Saturday morning with no make-up, no good angles, or fanciness of any kind.

This is us.

We are real.

We fail more times than either of us would like to admit to each other or you, but we will fight for our marriage. We must fight for our marriage.

And please don’t kid yourselves…this isn’t always self-generated or motivated by flowery love, but rather, determined commitment. We had people during Chase’s treatment actually holding us accountable to talking with each other, spending time with each other, even being intimate with each other…because honestly, truly, and messily…if we hadn’t had someone calling us out and reminding us of our marriage, we would have ignored it and ignored us. This is the nature of stress and real life.

The fact that we’re still together is the grace of God, but dear ones, if there’s anything we’ve learned, it’s that you’re going to fall. It’s a foregone conclusion – this is life. But will you fall away from each other, or towards each other?

Fight for each other. Fight to fall into each other’s arms. Things like cancer will seek to take many, many pieces of us, but fight to make sure marriage is not one of those pieces.

With love, messiness, and a deep-rooted longing for Perfect Love…

Moment by moment.

[Disclaimer: After you watch this, you’ll know why I write instead of talking…or why my spiritual gift will never be filming and editing a cell phone video. Just sayin’…go with your gifts.]

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.

Get all the latest news and info sent to your inbox.