a day worth celebrating

Quietly, we waited for her. Our hearts tethered to one another in a way we’ve never known… never tasted throughout our thirteen years of marriage. Few words were spoken between us. They seemed less necessary in those moments—almost intrusive. Instead, we just looked at one another, knowing that in a few moments, our lives would take another turn—a reality we knew was coming, yet one not adequately prepared for—
the look of my new body.
Tenderly, Nurse Beth unwrapped my dressings. Beneath the bandages was a week-long hidden mystery—a fright I refused to address in the days preceding its unveiling. It wasn’t as hideous as I had imagined. It was what it is—
a new me packaged a little differently in an old flesh.
Together we cried. I knew that we would. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw something I didn’t think was possible. I saw a deeper love, a renewed love, a love that courageously took my heart, yet again, as his own, and spoke a rich renewal into the deepest fiber of the deepest part of me.
My man loves me, and I love him. Today we celebrate the gift of life—both his and mine. Today he turns 43. Today I share that life with him, knowing that my cancer has not gotten the best of me and that, God willing, we’ll have several more birthday celebrations in the years to come. He tells me that it is enough of a gift—that he doesn’t need stuff. He just needs me—the new me, and that I am his birthday blessing.
Friends, the results of our Dr.’s visit yesterday confirms the preliminary conclusion from surgery. My breast cancer is staged at a IIA level (tumor is between 2-5 centimeters but hasn’t spread to the axillary lymph nodes). The three sentinel lymph nodes (the first lymph nodes closest to the tumor before it spreads to the rest of the body) that were removed and tested for cancer all came back clean with no signs of spreading. Accordingly, radiation will not be a part of my follow-up treatment plan. A chemotherapy regimen will be determined in the very near future and underway after I’ve had a few weeks of healing.
Just yesterday, I was asked by a friend as to the reasons behind my choice for a swift, aggressive approach to treating the cancer. My answer (although I’m not sure a question like that really warrants an answer) was firm, swift, and full of conviction.
I want to live.
Why?
The reasons are three-fold.
#1. I am committed to the spiritual growth of my family. I want to give my children some years… some more time to get grown and to get established in their faith. I want to be part of that shaping process. I don’t want my kids to receive their modeling from outside influences. I want to be that influence because I happen to believe that Godly parents do more to further a child’s heart toward a life with God than alternate persuasions.
#2. I am committed to the earthly tenure I’ve been given. Life is a precious gift and worthy of preserving. I am convinced that I was created with a good…a God-purpose in mind. For as long as I have breath, I am wholly devoted to that purpose—to preserving the temple that is on loan to me so that I can live out…
#3. My commitment to know God more with each passing day and then, out of that knowing, lead others to know the same. I want to do more for God’s kingdom, more toward advancing the cause of the Gospel. I know that his truth can march on without me, but it feels right and good and holy wonderful to be part of the story—the telling of it and living it therein.
That’s why I chose and will continue to choose to face my cancer with a fightin’ spirit. That’s why a double mastectomy was an easy choice for me. That’s why chemotherapy and any other therapy will be embraced without reservation in the days to come.
Not because I am attached to my flesh, but rather because I am attached to my life—a God-fearing, gettin’-down-to-Jesus-business, kind of life. If I’m living for any other reason—if I choose to aggressively fight my cancer so that I might extend my life in order to enjoy the fleeting, temporal/fleshly pleasures of this life—then I have chosen poorly, with wrong motives at the helm. This world has nothing for me; like the Apostle Paul, for me “to live is Christ; to die is gain.” Either way, I get God, and that, my friends, is the proper perspective from which to view each new day that is granted to our care and guardianship.
Today, my husband’s birthday is granted therein. And while I haven’t been able to do any shopping along these lines, I’m thinking many kind and good thoughts toward him. He’s been an unimaginable friend and lover to me in these last few weeks. Thirteen years ago, God saw better my need for him than I did. God pushed me to the altar to accept the gift of Billy. And just this morning, he took my hands in his again, helped me into the shower and cleaned my ailing flesh.
And I have never loved him more. And he loved me back. And I am grateful for this man who willingly chose me and allowed me to take his name as my own. As a way of honoring this special day, I want to share with you a poem my Uncle Bill wrote in honor of Billy’s birthday. I imagine your knowing my man more intimately would render greater appreciation for the tenderness of Uncle Bill’s words, but this isn’t just for you, friends. It’s mostly for my Billy. Would you join me in celebrating the gift of his life this day?
{the killian siblings from l to r, Uncle Bill, my daddy Chuck, Aunt Patty, Uncle George}
Billy at 43
Lord, it’s Sunday morning,
and Billy has to preach –
boy turns 43 on the 10th.
Wife and four children –
facing mighty tough times,
but, Lord, it’s Sunday morning,
and Billy has to preach.
Help him to carve out the truth –
the truth from his text
and his subtext. Prayin’ for him,
Lord; if he gets the Sunday off,
he’ll still be giving it up for others –
man of compassion like this
doesn’t shut down when hurtin’ –
so, Lord help this Billy man,
cause on Friday he turns 43.
Lord, when I was 43
I just done sobered up,
never coulda faced
what this preacher man handles –
a new parish, a family in pain,
and his own heart broken
but with a faith that sustains.
And here we have
his former parish
coming out in droves
to say We love ya,
and family and friends
from around the world
are holding this holy home
in a protective love that releases
the deepest cry,
and it is that cry, Lord,
that will see us through.
Yes, as I was sayin’ –
it’s Sunday morning, Lord,
and Billy has to preach.
{william killian
written for billy olsen
for his forty-third birthday
faithful husband
and sweetheart
to my precious niece
elaine
sunday september four
two thousand ten}
It’s Sunday morning, Lord, and we all have to preach! Help us to preach you well. As always,

Peace for the journey,

the mysterious path of a generous grace…

the mysterious path of a generous grace…

 {photo compliments of Shirley}

I have a confession to make… an honest, writer’s confession to bring to the table before one thought is brought to you this morning:

I have a lot I want to say; I just don’t have the words to say it.

They got lost somewhere in the middle of my night… somewhere between my Percocet and my pain, reminding me, yet again, that there isn’t a perfect guidebook regarding how this “thing” is going to go—how this cancer is going to unfold for me on a personal level. I’m five days post-op; still and yet, it doesn’t seem real. Instead, it seems as if I’m standing on the outer edges of my life looking in. As if I’m on the perimeter watching the drama unfold while others are meandering in and out of the scenes of my life with little notice of my side-line status.

I am the lead participant in my cancer, and yet I seem to prefer the shadows of it all—the “behind the scenes,” balcony approach to living it. To watching from the director’s chair, yet knowing that what is required of me is my “down below”—the getting my hands dirty and being willing to engage with every angle of the drama. And it’s frustrating… exceedingly frustrating because today all I want to do is to crawl away from it and live differently. Today I want to live without the reality of:

Drain tubes to empty.

Pain to manage.

Body odor to disguise.

Expectations to meet.

Uncertainties to ponder.

Decisions to be made.

The emotions of others with which to contend.

Today, I want a different option on the table… one that doesn’t require so much of me. One that is content to let me “sit this one out” while others do the hard work of recovery.

I imagine that there are a few of you who understand these feelings… those of you who, for whatever reasons, are living the harsh ramifications of your current realities. Those of you who, like me, want to crawl away from your “disease” and live with your pain in isolation. You may not be living with a diagnosis of cancer, but there are other malignancies that are eating away at your flesh—your heart, mind, and soul. What is happening to you on your “inside” is far worse than what is eating away at your exterior, and you’d like another option on your table for consideration.

I understand. I also realize that with each malignancy comes hard work. There is no “sitting this one out” where cancer is concerned. A life diagnosed (whether with cancer or with a less-clarified disease of the heart) is a life thrust into the limelight, and for our scenes to end with understanding, you and I must be willing to take to the stage, to read our lines through, and to act our part. We must fully live our stories and allow our stories to fully live through us. Should we live otherwise, then we live less. We finish with less.

Less understanding. Less joy. Less faith. Less laughter. Less hope. Less peace.

An outer-edge approach to today’s living isn’t in keeping with God’s perspective. Certainly, there will be seasons when we need to pull back, to investigate our heart’s pulse, and to assess our personal level of involvement with the day’s activities. Today is one of those days for me. But when it comes to assigning our “diagnosis” to someone seemingly more qualified—to relinquishing the hard work that has been entrusted to us to someone else’s guardianship—we must proceed carefully, deliberately, and full of caution. Why?

Because there are some diagnoses that best belong to each one of us. Some that we will be better able to live and breathe and have victory over than others. What’s eating you may not be what’s eating me, but I imagine that the contingencies of your particular disease are better handled by you than me. And maybe, just maybe, drain tubes are more in keeping with what I’m better able to handle today than you.

We are, each one, the lead participant in our stories. No one lives you better than you. No one lives me better than me. And I’m just thinking (perhaps not as coherently as I would like) that maybe the kingdom would be best served by our willingness to live within those personal boundaries rather than wishing for someone else’s. That maybe what happens in you and through you today (because of God’s grace and only his grace) will far exceed what could happen in me and through me should I be allowed a similar walk in your shoes.

Maybe.

Who can fathom the depths of our Father’s wisdom? The breadth of his understanding? The willingness of his heart to entrust his children with so much? This is a mysterious path of generous grace we’re traveling, and while I may not want to live with the reality of my cancer today, I want to live today with the reality of God’s generous grace. That’s the only option on the table worthy of any trade I might make. The only option capable of generating enough kingdom perspective in me so that I might willingly embrace my story—

Cancer and all.

Keep to it, friends. Keep to your story of grace, your malignancies, God’s diagnoses therein, and his healing. It’s likely to “wear” a little worse before it wears better, but in the end, you won’t have to wonder if the hard work was worth it. On the backside of your healing, you will live the fruition of your front-side investment, and it will live excellently. Live perfectly. Live in accordance with a kingdom joy and beauty that far exceeds what your mind and heart can currently conceive. As always…

 

Peace for the journey,

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update on "wifeforthejourney"

update on "wifeforthejourney"

I have received a gift that far exceeds being the guest blogger on my favorite website: the gift of Elaine.
 
From the day her father (unwittingly) introduced us on the campus of Asbury Theological Seminary some fourteen years ago, through marriage, parenthood and pastoral ministry I’ve always known Elaine was the best thing I have going for me. Last Monday August 23, 2010, I sat in a doctor’s exam room, listening in shocked silence as a PA told us that the result of Elaine’s recent biopsy was cancer. I felt a chill like someone had poured ice water over me. As a pastor I had been with numerous families in the aftermath of a cancer diagnosis, stood at many a bedside in both pre-op and post-op with cancer survivors and done multiple funerals for cancer victims. Suddenly I’m on the other side of the hospital bed and I was having my own “you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-got-until-it’s-gone” moments.
 
How could my wife have cancer? Elaine’s answer at the time was, “Billy, instead of me saying ‘Why me?’ I should be saying ‘Why NOT me?’ Since when does my being a Christian mean that I’m exempt from suffering?” See why I think Elaine is the best thing I have going for me?!?
 
A little more than thirteen years ago I asked Elaine’s parents for their blessing because I wanted to ask Elaine to marry me. When we married in 1997 I had my sights set on being with her for the rest of my life, and yesterday I learned that a golden anniversary is still in my future!
 
During a post-op meeting with my wife’s surgeon yesterday afternoon, I found out that everything is looking positive for Elaine’s “long term.” Though there are final test results to come, the preliminaries all seem to indicate that her cancer has not spread. Though Elaine will still have to endure chemotherapy, she may be able to avoid radiation. And even though she’s stuck with me as her chief nurse, today they told me I could take her home.
 
Thanks to every one of you that has prayed, loved, cared about, supported and encouraged Elaine. She has needed you all for this season, and still does. Jesus has always been her “peace for the journey”; today I’m celebrating that I have her as my wifeforthejourney.
 
~Billy
tomorrow…

tomorrow…

 

God is huge… really huge; so huge that it would be impossible for me to shrink him down and cram him into my pint-sized capacity for understanding. Still and yet, there are days when he breaks himself down for me so that my “pint-sized brain” can experience a measure of what it is to know him more fully, more intimately. These past few days have been some of those days for me.

God has tenderly knelt beside me, met me eye-level, and cradled me close to his beating heart. There has been more laughter than tears, more joy than sadness, more hope than despair, more faith than unbelief. I am grateful for my “more” that has anchored in sacred soil rather than in the tainted, diminished earthen sod that cradles my temporal steps. I’ve also been surprised by it… been overwhelmed by the gracious, sustaining hand of my Father who has not only made this cancer diagnosis bearable for me, but even more so, understandable.

I cannot explain the rational, reasonable response of my heart; whereas even a month ago I would have told you that I couldn’t possibly “do cancer,” I’m doing it today. I’m living with my diagnosis, with the stresses and strains of having to make some difficult decisions because of that diagnosis, and with the reality that I’m still a mom and wife with laundry to fold, bills to pay, and homework to be managed. That kind of “living with” can only be filtered through the lens of peace.

God’s peace—Jesus Christ. Not as the world gives (thank you God), but as he so determines. The world’s offering of peace is limited, is budgeted according to fleshly understanding and carnal appetites. God’s peace, however, is limitless and is budgeted according to kingdom standards and based on holier appetites—soul cravings that issue forth from a deep hunger to get more of our huge God crammed into our pint-sized understanding.

I’ve been living in kingdom peace these past weeks, and the cravings of my soul have been amply fed by the hand of the King who bends low to listen to the heart cries of his children… who stoops low to “raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap” (Ps. 113:6-7). I am exceedingly grateful for the gift of his sustaining presence and his willingness to be heavily invested in the story of my cancer.

God is so very willing to be part of all of our stories, friends. All he is waiting on is our invitation to him to start writing his memoir through us. You may not think your life particularly fantastic or worthy of print, but when you hand our Father the pen, he scripts authenticity into your story—every chapter, every line, every word, every letter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour. When God is given the publishing rights to our manuscripts, he promises to make everything count—the good, the bad, and all the mess that resides in between these extremes.

I’m taking him at his word; I’m believing him to make my cancer count—not for my sake, but for his. To get to the end of it all, regardless of where that “end” resides, and to have lived it selfishly and without regard to God’s greater understanding is to waste this precious time. I choose not to “live” there. I choose to live better. By doing so, I pray I learn more about my Father… about an intimacy, perhaps, that might have never been shared between us had I not been allowed this road.

I don’t want to waste my cancer. I want to embrace it, and in doing so, become more of the woman that God desires for me to be. If that can be said of me down the road—that in fact I’m further along in my faith journey because of my cancer—then it will have been worth it. If not—if I become a lesser woman of faith because of my cancer—then it will have been wasted.

Pray it’s not wasted. Pray, instead, that it will be my continuing perfection. I love you all and will be thinking of you in this next week as I will be off-line in order to take the next step in this journey.

After consulting with my oncologist yesterday regarding my MRI, we’ve decided to proceed with a mastectomy of both breasts. The surgery will be tomorrow at 1:00 PM. After a time of healing, a chemo/radiation plan will be put into place. Thankfully, those treatments will happen very close to home. I will have an overnight stay at the Surgery Center (can you believe that a mastectomy is considered out-patient surgery… I’m not kidding?!) before coming home. This was an unexpected “gift” to me and has gone a long way to relieve my initial concerns about learning how to care for myself before going home. Post-surgery, I am limited in the use of my arms, and my husband has vowed to make sure that I comply. Accordingly, I won’t be posting, but I’ll make sure that my husband updates you regarding my progress.

Through it all, I am humbled by the overwhelming support you’ve given to all of us, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve not been granted some extra favor from God because of your prayers. I don’t think God and his angels have ever heard my name more clearly than in the past week. I like to think of your prayers simmering there before God’s throne. You, good friends, make me want to be a better intercessor for others. You’re living a good faith on my behalf, and I am blessed by your generosity.

Take good care of your heart in this season. Tend to it; till it, and plant some good seed. The harvest will be good—God’s kind of good—and we will all share in the feasting together! As always…

Peace for the journey,

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Caravan of love…

Caravan of love…

A caravan of love showed up for morning worship today… twenty-three of some of the most faithful saints of Pine Forest UMC.
Not all of them are pictured here, but most of the Tuesday “ancients” arrived just on time with lots of hugs and love to go around. There were even a few non-“ancients”.
Together, we rocked the lunch room at Sammio’s and many of them returned to the parsonage for a quick tour. It’s been a long time since I celebrated the Sabbath in such lavish measure. God is present in the hearts of these good friends, and they aren’t a bit shy about sharing his love with us. Truly, there are few words to adequately express my gratitude for the generosity they’ve given to me today. Thank you sweet Jesus for the comfort of your “church.” And thank you, friends, for coming.
In closing, I want to share with you my children’s “moment” from this morning. It’s time to get Jesus “out of the box” and hang him on the wall of your heart for all the world to see.
Peace for the journey,

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