Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone
I loved being a guest on the Women Encouraged podcast this week. I always enjoy listening to their gospel-centered discussions with guests. In this episode, we chatted about principles and practical ways to support a friend who is suffering. I hope you’ll check it out, listen, and subscribe!
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The worst day of my most difficult year wasn’t when the doctor told me I had a rare cancer with a crushingly low survival rate. It wasn’t the day I learned I’d spend many weeks away from my husband and young children receiving a clinical trial drug in Houston. It wasn’t the day of my mastectomy.
The low point came unexpectedly, right in the middle of months of suffering.
It was January 24, 2011. I was in Texas starting my fourth round of chemotherapy. My middle child was celebrating his fifth birthday back home in Arkansas. And I was convinced that my tumor, which had been shrinking, was now growing.
The poison dripped into my veins, guaranteeing that I’d feel terrible for the next two weeks. I wondered if the treatment was working and whether I’d live to see my children celebrate more birthdays. I longed to be a healthy mom who busied herself with gift wrap and cupcakes and stood grinning beside the birthday boy as he blew out the candles.
As I watched my son open gifts over my laptop webcam, I pasted on a fake smile and forced the tears to wait. But I knew they would come as my battle-weary heart wrestled with the question: How much worse would this get before it got better?
I didn’t want to keep fighting; I just wanted to go home to my babies.
I’m sharing how God gave me up in the midst of difficult times over at the Women Encouraged blog. I’d love for you to head over there to read the rest of the post and check out the biblical encouragement they share!
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Facebook is a terrible way to learn a friend has died.
A heavy feeling settled in my chest as my newsfeed swarmed with strangers writing messages to Julie about shared memories.
When I saw the first “RIP,” I crumpled into a mess of tears.
Julie and I met in the radiation waiting room at MD Anderson Cancer Center. In May 2011, I reported to Waiting Room J each weekday at my assigned time. It didn’t take long to recognize the familiar faces of those with similar appointment times.
Julie struck up a conversation with me during my second week of radiation. She was about my age and recognized me from the 9th floor Sarcoma Center waiting room. (Cancer demands a lot of time in waiting rooms.) Although she was clearly in pain from the growing tumor in her leg, her smile was brilliant, shining from a face adorned with a spunky, color-streaked wig.
We bonded quickly over the chemotherapy regimen we’d both endured and the experience of being moms with cancer. We shared our life stories and cancer stories, and I learned that while chemo caused my tumor to shrink like a snowball in a frying pan, Julie’s tumor grew steadily and ominously.
We celebrated the end of Julie’s radiation, and she stood proudly beside me as I rang the bell at the end of mine. We planned to see each other when I returned to Houston six weeks later for surgery. But by then, Julie was gone.
I never found out exactly how she died. When you make friends in a radiation waiting room you don’t know each other’s people. I never met her friends or family. I had no one to grieve with, no one to share common memories with, no one to answer my questions about her final days. Did she suffer? Did she die in the hospital? Did she have enough warning to say good-bye to her son? I’ll never know.
I shared this piece over at (in)courage . . . a beautiful community of women seeking connection with each other as they follow Christ. I’d love for you to head over there to read the rest of the piece about my struggle to trust God in an answer-less place.
While you’re there, check out their site and subscribe to their daily emails–they are such an encouragement to me!
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Have you ever needed an expert? In 2010, I was diagnosed with angiosarcoma, a rare cancer that doctors in my area only see about once a decade. I went to the largest medical facility in my state, where they see it once or twice a year. Then I went to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. There we found an oncologist who treats it once or twice a week, with great success. My husband and I looked at each other with the same thought in our heads: “We choose this guy.”
We trusted this doctor because he knows more about angiosarcoma than most people on the planet. We knew that no matter how much searching and reading we did, our understanding of this complicated disease could never match his. Because of his expertise, we decided to do whatever he told us to do—even when we didn’t like his plans, and even when his recommendations were difficult and life-altering. His expertise led us to put my life in his hands, medically speaking.
The same is true of the Lord. There is no limit to the extent of His knowledge and wisdom, not just about cancer, but about everything in all creation. He is the ultimate Expert of everything.
Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! “For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?” (Romans 11:33-34)
We can confidently choose to trust the Lord because of His riches of wisdom. He knows the past, present, and future. He knows all the possibilities and which ones will become realities. He knows how He will provide for His children and every situation they will face. He knows what is best for us, even when it doesn’t make sense from our perspective.
Not only does He know all things, but He uses His knowledge to always do what is right. We can feel safe putting our lives in His loving and faithful hands.
No matter what you face this week, you can trust the One who is the ultimate Expert of everything.
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