Category Archives: cancer volume 2

a quick word about some kindred friends…

a quick word about some kindred friends…

I don’t have many words for you today; they are stuck inside of me, and I am frustrated by their accumulation. Can one explode from word retention? I hope so; I hope they will come forth in time, but for now they remain buried beneath the weightiness of my daily regimen. Accordingly, I want to share with you a couple of beautiful gifts I have received in recent days from some gifted, talented artists. I’ve never met these girls in person, but our hearts are connected because of the great bond we share in Jesus.
I am thankful for that bond because, in many ways, this has been the loneliest season of my life. Without the love and daily support of the blogging community, I know that this road and load would feel unbearable at times. You mean so very much to me. Please know that. And please know that you are in my constant thoughts and prayers as I quietly move through this contemplative season in my life. Truly, I never knew I was loved this much, and what you have given to me is proof-positive that our God is alive and well and moving in this place we’ve come to know as the blogosphere.
So take a moment, and visit some new/old friends. They are worth every intentional investment you make toward friendship.
From Shirley @ One Woman, Many Pieces:
PS: Comments are closed on this post, but I hope to be back tomorrow to offer a few thoughts post chemo #3. I’m feeling ready and confident about knocking down this one with the full force of my heart and faith.

a grace to shatter the darkness…

It arrived in the mail today. A well-timed, undeserved kindness from a good friend. 

A third-place ribbon of a first-place portrait of two first-rate boys. My boys. Two sons digging their way through the soil on a Bolivian mountainside, investing their hearts into a place I’ve never been, all because of their love for Jesus and for his created. And I am moved by her generosity… this photographer named Jessica who listened to the whisper in her heart that softly spoke a sacred directive, “Their momma needs to see them today.”

I did… need to see them. And through tears that can only be explained as a watering from God’s own heart, I come undone before him and tell him that “I’m sorry” for those one or two or ten times last week when I thought it was too hard. When I wanted to give up. When I lost focus for a few moments and believed that the light was too dim… that there was little else left on this earth for me to enjoy.

{photograph by Jessica Turner, 2010. all rights reserved}

I was wrong. There is so much more to enjoy. My boys shine as living witnesses to me in this moment, and for them, I’ll take treatment number two and three, all the way through until the end when I can then, perhaps, make the trek with them up that mountainside and put my own hands into the sacred soil where they’ve already planted tender seed.

Planting the fields together… as family, as friends, as brothers and sisters alongside one another on the same trajectory of grace and understanding. Thank you, Father, for the gifts of my womb and for this gift from a friend. Both will serve as stones of remembrance for me next week when the light is shadowed by darkness.

Even so, burn brightly, King Jesus, and fan into flame the flickers of your grace. I am exceedingly grateful for and humbled by their warmth. You have been very good to me.

~elaine
a worthy clutching…

a worthy clutching…

When we first moved here in June, I had it in my heart and mind to lead a new Bible study with the folks at our new church. I didn’t know if it would take… if there would be any interest in their hearts for the same. We have a few takers.
In addition, upon our arrival I had no idea I would be diagnosed with breast cancer. After receiving the news, I wrestled with the idea of forging ahead with the Bible study. I always want to give it my all when facilitating, and with Bible study days following chemo days, it seemed a bit of a stretch for my flesh. Still and yet, there was something about the study (chosen long before receiving my diagnosis) that stuck with me… that made sense to me… that seemed in keeping with every unveiling step in my journey.
Priscilla Shirer’s Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted.
So with faith at the lead, we forged ahead. This past Wednesday was our second session we had together. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a difficult struggle for me.
But God. He prevailed in spite of me, and in the end, I was the one most blessed by our round table discussion and the message from Priscilla’s heart.
Isn’t that how our Father works on our behalf, even when we least expect it? He is faithful to honor his commitment to the Word… to having it all work out for our good, even when we are sometimes unaware of its benefits while “walking it through”? Long ago, I made a decision to keep to the Word, solely based on the faithful promise if Isaiah 55:10-11. I may not know what God’s Word is working in and through me in the moment of my reading it, but I have a holy promise that it’s sowing kingdom truth within the soil of my soul that will one day flourish more fully into blooms of faith.
And with that kind of guarantee, friends, I’ll keep to the Word every day. It is here for me… for you. I hope that you’re anchoring your heart alongside me today in the fresh-breathed words of God, and that his truth is alive and active in your every moment as you keep to the road of faith.
As I’ve read through the book of Jonah (it’s only four chapters… go ahead, you can read it in one sitting), many new wonderful truths I hadn’t seen before are jumping off the pages to engage with my thought processes. In particular, two beautiful verses that are now inscribed upon my heart:
“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs. But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.” (Jonah 2:8-9).
Worthless idols.

What would qualify in your case? What are you clinging to today to help you get through today that, at the end of the day, might have had your forfeit some of the daily grace of God that is rightfully yours as a child of the King? Maybe they aren’t bad things. I’ve certainly had a short list in recent days.

Drugs.
Family.
My Bed.
Internet.
Countless books on cancer.
Phone calls.
Food choices.
All manner of accouterments to ease my transition in this season.
I imagine your list to look a bit different. I’ll allow you your expertise on this one. Safe to say, none of the things I’ve listed above are evil in themselves; however, if they are the only things I’m clinging to in this season of shifting health, then at the end of the day, I’m left depleted. Perhaps not fully bankrupt, but more depleted than had I not taken time to first cling to the one thing that will safely navigate me through this journey of grace.
The cross of Jesus Christ.
When word was released about my cancer to the pastors of the NC Annual Conference of the UM Church, we had several gracious replies from many of our contemporaries. In particular, Rev. Michael Hobbs sent me six clutching crosses (one for each member of my family), made by his own hands. Rev. Hobbs is a cancer survivor as well, and upon his recent retirement, had taken it upon himself to handcraft these crosses as a ministry to those who are currently going through a difficult season of pain. My cross sits bedside and has been in my grip throughout many of the nights since August 23rd. I don’t in any way hold it as an idol. It’s simply a piece of beautifully carved, cedar wood.
Rather, I hold the cross as my reminder. As of way of focusing in on my anchor in this time of great tribulation and testing, so that I can say in unison with the Prophet Jonah:
“But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.”
The constant prayer of my heart in this season is to never lose focus of God’s perfecting work in me. To get to the end of this all, whether it be the projected four more months of treatment or something further, and to have not allowed God some of his power to be shown more clearly in my extreme weakness will feel a bit wasted to me. I’m not sure how he is going to work all of that out. My immediate thoughts are that my worse days are ahead of me. That being said, I’m fully taking God at his Word, daily reminding him of the promises he has made to me in his Word, and trusting (as best as I can) that what he says will, in fact, come to be.
That beauty will arise from ashes, and that “the God of all grace, who called [me] to his eternal glory in Christ, after [I] have suffered a little while, will himself restore [me] and make [me] strong, firm, and steadfast. To him be the power forever and ever.” (1 Peter 5:12).
God is the restorer of my flesh, of yours as well. He, HIMSELF, will do the work in us because he is the One who created us for more than our fleshly temples. He created us for his heavenly one. We are the flesh and blood of the living God, put on this earth with the single responsibility of pointing others to the way home—
the cross of Jesus Christ.
That is why I clutch mine closely in my grip throughout the night, for I’ve found that the nighttime is when I need its witness the most. Perhaps you understand.
Thank you for breaking a little bread with me this morning. I really didn’t think I had the internal strength to write a complete thought, but I needed to, wanted to desperately connect with you and let you know that God is alive and active and ministering to my heart in tender ways in this time. I’ll spare you all the details regarding the many ways this chemo is now beginning to attack my flesh. But may I always be faithful to tell you that God’s daily grace is sufficient to see you through… whatever is eating away at your flesh today. Put your focus there… on God’s daily grace, and clutch the promise of Calvary close to your heart.
Make good on what you have vowed. Salvation comes from the LORD. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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PS: Some of you have mentioned your interest in Rev. Hobbs clutching crosses. If you’d like to talk to him further about securing 1-2 crosses of your own for someone in need, please e-mail me personally, and I will send you his contact information. Rev. Hobbs gifts these crosses as a ministry and puts a great deal of time into making each cross. Therefore, the amount of requests he can take at one time is limited. He’s also written a year-long book of reflections entitled A Servant’s Song. You can find it by clicking here. Thank you, Rev. Hobbs, for reaching across the miles, entering into my pilgrim journey, and blessing me with the work of your hands that has now made its way into the soil of my heart. You are sowing good kingdom seed. Shalom.
Intercession

Intercession

Today, I write to you from a point of sheer determination and will, not from my feelings. If I were operating from my feelings, I’d leave the pen where it resides and forget about yesterday’s prompting in my spirit. Yesterday it would have been easier to write my faith; today a bit more strained. Why? Because today I am weak in body, and a compromised immune system doesn’t always cooperate with faith’s expression.
No matter. I keep to it, because my name is Faith Elaine, and faith doesn’t shrink back in the face of difficulty. Faith forges onward. Faith presses through. Faith lives even when faith is challenged. Faith speaks even when the taunts of the enemy seek to keep her silent. Thus, a word or two from my heart this morning—a thought, really, that has been marinating in my soul over these past couple of months since I first received my diagnosis on August 23rd.
Cancer gives back.
An odd thought really, maybe even an offensive one to some, especially for those of you who are currently carrying a tremendous grief because of the price that cancer has exacted on your hearts. If that is you, then I want you to know that I write this with tenderness and from my own personal perspective—my own way of choosing to live with my diagnosis, come what may.
Cancer is an ugly beast; so is any disease that has “entered” into our flesh in order to eat away at what is good in hopes of replacing it with everything bad. Cancer is a formidable foe, one that must be taken seriously and contended with ferociously. Believe me when I tell you that I have my boots strapped on and my weapons at the ready for the next battle that looms on the horizon. That being said, I’ve also made a choice to embrace the fullness of that battle. To receive its merits, along with its costs.
Every battle has its merits, for with the struggle comes further clarity about who we are, what we’re made of; Whose we are, what He’s made of. When called to battle, we are called to more than weaponry and strategy. We are called to completion—a though and through kind of process that allows us our sacred shaping and molding at every point along the way. Knowing this, and in the spirit of James 1:2-4, I made a deliberate decision on that first day of hearing my diagnosis:
I will look for the blessings of my cancer. Thus far, what cancer has given back to me has far exceeded what it has taken from me. What is has taken from me is a pound or two from my flesh… literally.
So what.
From the moment I made entry into this world, I began my exit therein. My life is a mere vapor, and I’m currently living on borrowed time—God’s time. So are you. This doesn’t mean we get wrapped up in the morbidity of it all; it simply means that we concede our life journeys to the time table of the One who knit us together in our mothers’ wombs, who steps the road with us along the way and as we go, and who will walk us home in due time.
Our steps belong to our Father, and if my cancer is going to be of any benefit to me on this odyssey of faith that I’m traveling, then I must be willing to receive its merits as well as its detractors. I will not stay hung up in the pain. Instead, I make a deliberate choice to be suspended in the promise of what it can do for me instead of what it longs to take from me.
One of the richest ways my cancer has given back to me is being the recipient of sacred intercession—the earnest and fervent prayers of the saints. Unless you’ve stood on the receiving end of such a gift, it’s hard to explain. I will tell you this… the daily peace I know and feel in my heart has a direct connection to the prayers that are being offered on my behalf. They have been genuine, heartfelt, spoken, and heard by God. And while I don’t know all of the stories surrounding those prayer moments, I do know the details of one. My father tells it best, so I leave you with his remembrance of a recent visit to small church in Estonia:
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Over the past fifteen years, Jane and I have made eight visits to Estonia. Those incredible people have always made me feel ‘at home’ among them. In many ways, our faith-journey has intertwined itself with those wonderful people in spiritually formative ways. It happened again this past Monday.
One of my former students there, Viktor Batov, pastor at Aseri, invited us to worship with his congregation on Monday, at 2 p.m. It was the only time we could ‘work it in’ the schedule. It was cold and rainy, but the small church was about half-filled. When we arrived we could hear them singing. And I knew I was home.
There were twelve worshipers there! Twelve disciples, you might say. When I was introduced, I brought greetings to them, and then asked Jane if she would like to speak. She looked at those elderly Russian ladies and remembered how our daughter, Elaine, had mentioned her ministry with the ‘ancients’ (the older women at her church). Jane saw another congregation of ancients, and simply asked them to pray for our daughter, Elaine, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
She no sooner mentioned that, when the pastor asked, “Chuck, your daughter?” I nodded and he immediately began to weep. He stood up and said, “Let us pray right now.” There was no altar to kneel at, so Viktor and I knelt, prostrating ourselves on the floor, and the praying commenced, with everybody praying aloud in Russian. We could not understand a word, but we understood full-well what was happening! Upper Rooms are like that.
These ‘twelve disciples’ felt our pain, knowing that we were four thousand miles away from the one we love so much! Their hearts were ‘breaking’ on our behalf, as they carried our daughter to God’s healing mercy and grace. As I lay there on the floor, I don’t recall the words of my prayer. I was weeping, trying to pray, but all that I could muster was, “God, you are in charge. Only you can fix this.” And a peace that ‘passes all understanding’ came and confirmed that reality in my heart. God is in charge!
When the service ended, one of the ‘disciples’ came and gave Jane a slip of paper, torn out of her prayer journal, simply stating September 20 (the day of our service)…Thursdays at 2:30 (the time and day of week) she would be praying for Elaine. That nameless Russian believer was added to a host of names interceding for our daughter. It was like hearing, “We are all in this together, separated by thousands of miles, language, and culture; but all getting together at prayer time!” I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God!    {by Chuck Killian, my father}
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Thank you, friends, for your continuing prayers. Tomorrow, I will have my port placement, and chemo will begin on Tuesday. Accordingly, I’m not sure how often I will be here to visit with you. My precious friend, Juanita, will be arriving just in time to walk me through the aftermath of my first round of treatment. I count it a joy to have friends both near and far who are willing to step this path with me. Take good care of your hearts in this season; keep praying for one another, and if I can be an intercessor for you, please let me know. As always…
Peace for the journey,

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on being a "Luke"…

on being a "Luke"…

{for Nancy, my “Luke” today}

“Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this word, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica. … Only Luke is with me.” (2 Timothy 4:9-11).
The words from his pen haunt me now, even though nearly two thousand years have passed since they were first inked onto parchment.
Only Luke.
Two words that paint a vivid portrait of comfort and pain all in the same brushstroke. To have a Luke is a special gift. To have only one, especially in times of intense suffering, is a difficult abiding. Why? Because sometimes our pain needs more than one Luke. Sometimes our prisons and our shackles, our tumors and our tumult better benefit from corporate comfort rather than the solitary efforts of the one. Sometimes we need the beauty of a bouquet rather than the bloom of a single rose. Sometimes… our woundings cry out with more need, more desire, more desperation than can be aptly handled by a single saint.
Sometimes, my good friends, we need the church.
You have been the church for me over the past six weeks. To chronicle the fullness of what that has meant would take too long and would, more than likely, leave out a few important mentions. I don’t want to risk it. You mean too much to me. Safe to say, I’ve felt the corporate touch of heaven’s hands in manifold measure. As God has prompted you, you’ve been obedient to yield to those promptings. Calls, cards, gifts, food, face-to-face visits, prayers… the list is endless. Your love has come in waves, ebbs and flows and currents that allow me to pause in between the pulse to reflect, contemplate, and be thankful.
I wish I could open up my heart so that you could peer inward for a closer look at the work of the cross. If I could, I have no doubt that any reservations you might have had regarding the faithfulness of God would be put to rest once and for all. You’d see him there, spilling over every crevice and gully of my being and filling me up to over flow. You might even get wet in the process.
But I can’t… physically cut open my heart and let you see. Instead, I give you my word… my many words in hopes that you’ll believe me when I say…
I am better for having you in my life than if our paths should have never crossed.
You’ve expanded my understanding about grace and God and about what it means to be a fervent pilgrim on the road home to Jesus. You’ve watered my feet and my soul with your servant’s posture, and you’ve walked a mile or two or ten in my shoes just because you could. Not because you had to, but because Jesus lives in you, and it is your pleasure to do so. I don’t fully understand you willingness, but I receive it as yet another undeserving grace from a God who keeps on giving, despite my readiness to sometimes hoard the blessings therein.
So thank you… for being the church. And thank you for being a Luke when God called upon to be one. For walking alongside my cancer and for sitting ringside to my pain. For offering your gifts and for bringing your “little” to the table so that at the end of the day, any king would be proud to pull up and chair and partake of the gracious plenty. I don’t know why you love me so much, but I am your willing recipient for this season. I only pray that when your turn comes—when prison bars and pain find their way to your heart—I’ll be as gracious in my giving to you.
To being your Luke. Or your Nancy (above picture)—a faraway friend who willingly receives your spur of the moment visit in order to gift you a haircut. And some gel to make that free haircut cuter. And some barbeque from the freezer to feed your family for the week. And some hugs and tears and prayers just because we’re friends.
Me your Luke. You my Paul.
Me your Paul. You my Luke.
I imagine that each one of us can claim one position or the other—the posture of a prisoner or the posture of a servant. I don’t know where you’re at today, but I do know that our pain belongs to one another. It is a gift we give to each other—the sharing of our pain—for God never intended for us to go it alone in this world. He means for us to live as one beneath the watchful gaze of heaven. When we get that… when we really take hold of what it means to bend and to bow, to wash and to serve all because of the One who first gave us the blueprint on loving, then hell’s determined purpose is vanquished and victory belongs to the King.
Tomorrow is another day to live your kingdom conferment. Someone will cross your path that needs the love and commitment of a Luke. Be that Luke, friends. Continue being and doing what you’ve been and done for me over these past weeks. And should you be the one in need, never fear to ask for more. To pen your words of request to our Father and then to make sure that letter gets into the hands of the saints. If there’s one thing I’ve been privileged to witness in the course of my cancer it is the unmerited, lavish love of God through his people.
I never knew it to be so strong. I never knew it to be so long and wide, high and deep. It stretches across my soul this night, even throughout the world. Even to a remote church in Estonia, but that’s another post for next time. Until we arrive there, may the love and peace of Christ rule in your hearts, and may the outward expression of that seeding intersect with a heart in need of receiving its nourishment. As always…
Peace for the journey,

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