Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

When a Melted Heart Meets the Gospel

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Have you ever watched as God worked in a loved one’s heart right before your eyes? As a mom, I have the honor of seeing the Lord at work in my children’s lives, usually gradually and more slowly than I would choose. But last week, I witnessed God’s handiwork unfold in a matter of minutes.

 

As I was busy making dinner, I handed down a small behavioral correction to my 6-year-old daughter. A few minutes later, I overheard her confess to the dog that she thought she might go to hell because of the mistake. I left the barbeque pork chops, called her to me, and pulled her onto my lap at the kitchen table. Then I asked, “How good do you think you need to be to go to heaven?”

 

She shrugged.

 

“Do you have to be really good? Just a little good? More good than bad?”

 

More shrugging.

 

“Darling, did you know that God says we have to be perfect to go to heaven?”

 

Disbelief crept onto her face, and she asked in a small voice: “Perfect?”

 

“Yes,” I answered, “God is holy. He cannot be in the presence of sin. We must be sinless and perfect to be with Him in heaven.”

 

It was not the first time I have spoken these words to her. We’ve talked about the gospel truths of our sinfulness and need for Christ over and over again. Most of the time, she seems uninterested, and I’ve been asking God to soften her heart.

 

He must’ve not just softened it, but completely melted it. Because this time, upon hearing that God demands perfection, my sweet daughter started weeping.

 

Tears streamed down her face and the sound of her wailing brought her brothers from opposite ends of the house to see what was wrong. I shooed them away and tried to soothe her.

 

“There’s more, Sarah Kate, there’s more,” I said, as I held her and rubbed her back.

 

Because God’s demand for perfection isn’t the end of the gospel story.

 

When she was quiet, I continued. I explained how Jesus lived a perfect life for her. He died for her, taking the punishment for her sin. He’s given her His record of perfection. If she is in Christ, when God looks at her, He doesn’t see her sin – He sees Christ’s perfection.

 

Once again, her eyes filled with tears. But these quiet tears were accompanied by a smile. The truth of the gospel moved her from hopelessness and despair to quiet rest. It is so sweet to trust in Jesus.

 

She gets it. She gets it. I pray that she will be filled every day with an awareness of Christ’s work on her behalf. And yet, I know that she will struggle. She will feel the weight of the world’s demands, of the expectations of others, of her own desire for perfection. She will be distracted by busyness, by worry, and by materialism.

 

I know this because I’m living it. And my prayer for her is my prayer for myself: that we will live each day in the freedom of the gospel, knowing that God’s demands have been met perfectly by our Savior.

 

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Jean {Thoughts on the death of a friend}

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It’s strange how my mind still doesn’t know what to call her. In a way, she’ll always be Mrs. Pharr to me. I’ll remember her teaching us calculus, writing furiously on the overhead projector, pushing us all toward a greater understanding of higher-level mathematics and 5s on the AP exam. I’ll remember her as the fiercely competitive sponsor of our Quiz Bowl team who wouldn’t rest until we beat Bentonville.

 

I’ll remember her as the loving mom to her two young daughters who hung around our after-school Quiz Bowl practices. At the time, I was too self-absorbed to wonder how she did it all, how she balanced her home life with being an engaging teacher who poured into us day after day.

 

I’ll remember how she saw that I had a gift for math and encouraged me to develop it. Her spunky personality made being a math geek seem much more acceptable than it really was.

 

I’ll remember how she trusted me with the responsibility of helping teach my peers calculus. How she had confidence that I was capable of just about anything – with the exception of her beloved sport of waterskiing, that is. She never could coach me to success there, and I know it drove her crazy.

 

But sixteen years after I left her classroom, our lives intersected again – we were diagnosed with cancer on the same day, she with stage 4 breast cancer and I with angiosarcoma. We both had a slim chance of surviving five years. And as members of a tight-knit club that no one wants to be part of, she became my friend, Jean.

 

We visited a couple of times—once when I was battling cancer, and again after my battle ceased and hers continued. And then in April 2015, she retired from her job in education and her second job of receiving cancer treatment, and she entered hospice care. So I decided to pay her a visit. One visit turned into two, and eventually these visits became a regular part of my schedule.

 

The first couple of visits were spent mostly sharing memories and catching up. But as time went on, our visits were less about two people who shared a past and more about two people who were sharing the present. But looming over our friendship was the unavoidable fact that one of us faced a short future. We talked about family, faith, fear, cancer, and dying.

 

And now she’s gone, taken home to glory, finally healed. My routine is left with a gaping hole. My heart hurts. I don’t want to go to her funeral. I want to pick up lunch from Panera, drive out to her house on the lake, and chat with my friend.

 

In a way, my grief feels selfish. For months, I tried to make our visits less about me and more about what she needed. And now I’m focused on my own sadness. But she doesn’t need me anymore. She doesn’t need anything. She is complete in her Savior. The tears have been wiped from her eyes, and now it’s my turn to weep.

 

And as I do, I will cling to my Savior, who knows how it feels to weep at the grave of a friend. He knows the pain of death, because he endured it to bring me eternal life. He sees my tears and promises that this hurt won’t hurt forever, that this separation is only temporary. He alone is the anchor of hope for my grieving heart.

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On Writing a Book and Why I’m Terrified

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The other day, I was talking to a friend about my kids’ piano lessons. Every Friday, I drop them off at their teacher’s house for almost two hours. My friend asked, “What do you do while they’re there?” I think my answer surprised her:

 

“I’m writing a book.”

 

It’s true. With an hour here and a couple hours there, at Mama Carmen’s coffee shop and the new Starbucks near my house, I have written almost an entire book on how to be a friend to someone with cancer.

 

For the first several weeks of focused writing, I wouldn’t refer to it as a book. I knew I was writing a book – the goal was a book, not just pages – but I had a hard time admitting it to others.

 

My bestie would ask, “What did you do today?”

 

And I’d say, “I wrote some more pages for that thing that could be a book someday!”

 

And she’d reply, “YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK. JUST SAY YOU WORKED ON YOUR BOOK!”

 

But the truth is, I don’t want to say that I’m writing a book. Because writing a book is possibly one of the top three most terrifying things I’ve ever done.

 

(Having chemo that required countless injections, a clinical trial, and blood transfusions every time I turned around was the most terrifying. Giving birth to my first child was a close second. I would stare at my huge tummy and think, “How in the world is that thing gonna get out of there?!? And what will I DO with it when it does?!?!?”)

 

It might sound silly that writing a book makes the list of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done, right up there with pumping poison into my body and becoming a mother for the first time.

 

The reason I’m terrified is that I am an Approval Addict. I want people to think highly of me, and I can’t stand it when they don’t. The things that upset me the most are: 1. death, 2. cancer, and 3. someone not liking me. I’m so ridiculous.

 

And in the arena of earning others’ approval, lots of things could go wrong with this book.

 

– My friends could be disappointed to find out this isn’t the book they were hoping I’d write.

 

– My friends could love it, but when people who know about publishing books (by the way, anyone know any of those people?!?) read it, they could say it’s worthless.

 

– It might not sell.

 

– It might get bad reviews.

 

– People might look at me and see failure.

 

– People might look at me and think I must be a snob who thinks she’s really something because she wrote a book.

 

– People might expect me to be the Best Friend Ever to someone with cancer because I wrote a book about it, when the truth is that I fail my friends with cancer on a regular basis.

 

And yet, I know that God has called me to write this book and pursue getting it published – but not so that I can earn the approval of men. He wants me to write to serve His people and for His glory.

 

The only way I can do this is to rest in the truth that in Christ, I am fully approved by God. I am loved by God with an unquenchable, never-ending love – not because of anything I have done, but only because of what Christ has done. When I stand in that amazing love, I can be free to write a book and take this risk with my eyes on His glory, not my own. I want to get out of the way and make much of Him.

 

Would you pray for me?

 

Pray for the courage to finish the book and take the next steps. (I know how to write. But I have no idea how to get a book published. So this is getting scarier and scarier.)

 

Pray that God would use what I’ve written to minister to His people for His glory.

 

Pray that I would rest in His love for me, free from the chains of others’ approval and bold in what God asks me to do.

 

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Three Short Sentences to Say to a Friend With Cancer

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Imagine you are walking down the road one day, and you see a friend at the bottom of a large, dark, unescapable pit. How would you respond? What would you say or do?

 

You could shout down something encouraging, like “God has a good plan for your life!” and go along your merry way.  (And your friend would probably wish they could get out of the pit just so they could punch you in the face.)

 

You could throw yourself into the pit and curse God for putting both of you there. You could commiserate about how terrible the pit is and wonder what in the world God was thinking when He put this pit in your friend’s way. (Your friend wouldn’t be alone, but she wouldn’t feel encouraged.)

 

Or you could jump down into the pit with her and hold her hand and pray with her. While acknowledging how difficult and sad and scary the pit is, you could gently remind her that the truth about God is just as true at the bottom of the pit as it is at the top. As you weep with her in the pit, together you could call to mind God’s past faithfulness and promise to redeem your life from the pit and crown you with steadfast love and mercy (Psalm 103:4).

 

This is how I think about encouraging a friend who is going through cancer or any other crisis.  Your friend is in a large, dark, unescapable pit. How can you love your friend when she’s in there?

 

There is the “God is good” approach.  There is the “this sucks” approach.  And there is my favorite:  the “this sucks – God is good – I love you” approach.  This is what I try to communicate to my friends.

 

1.  This sucks.  

My parents taught me not to use that word. Sorry, Mom, but “cancer stinks” just doesn’t cut it. Your friend needs you to acknowledge the reality of her situation: her life has just been turned upside-down and forever changed by the diagnosis of a life-threatening disease. If you fail to recognize this reality, you will lose credibility as a safe friend who understands what she is going through.

 

2.  God is good. 

After you’ve cried together at the bottom of the pit for awhile, gently remind your friend that God’s promises are still true. God’s Word is the anchor your friend must cling to while the storm rages around her. Speak the truth to her.  Pray the truth with her. Write the truth on notecards for her, write it on her bathroom mirror, text her Scriptures – whatever you can do to constantly keep God’s promises in her mind. She is battling cancer, but she is also battling fear and despair. She is walking through a time of grief.  Those difficult emotions will be pushing the truth out of her mind, and you can help push it back in. Remind her of God’s goodness, faithfulness, power, love, provision and peace!

 

Some of my favorite verses to share with friends include: 2 Chronicles 20:12, 15; Psalm 27:1-2; Psalm 34:18; Psalm 42:1-2, 5; Psalm 46:1-2, 10-11; Psalm 56:8-11; Psalm 62:1-2; Psalm 73:25-26, Psalm 103:1-5, Psalm 112:7-8; Psalm 121:1-2; Isaiah 26:3-4; Isaiah 41:10; Isaiah 43:1-2; Jeremiah 31:3; Lamentations 3:22-23; Nahum 1:7; Habakkuk 3:17-19; Zephaniah 3:17; Luke 12:7; John 14:27; John 16:33; Romans 8:37-39; Romans 15:13; 2 Corinthians 12:9-10; Philippians 4:6-7, 13, 19; I John 4:4; Revelation 21:1-5.

 

3.  I love you. 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, one thing I found strange was that everyone started telling me they loved me. Not just family and close friends – people I never would have expected to say those words were suddenly saying “I love you.” At first, it felt a little weird. Was I supposed to say “I love you, too”? Just say thanks? Were they saying it because they thought I was about to die?

 

But once I got used to it, I found that it was very comforting and encouraging to hear how many people loved me. I felt loved. And when you are facing something difficult, it is great to feel loved! 

 

You may or may not feel comfortable saying the words “I love you” to your friend. But you can communicate your love by letting her know you’re thinking of her often and praying for her. You can tell her you care about her and are in this fight with her. You can show your love by visiting her and serving her. All of these demonstrations of love will communicate to your friend that you care about her and what she’s going through.  She will feel loved!

 

Note:  I’d like to credit an episode of The West Wing for inspiring my analogy about a friend in a pit (Season Two, “Noel”). I love that show! 

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