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10 Ways to Pray for Your Friend with Cancer

March 17, 2016 by Marissa 4 Comments

(The following is an excerpt from my book, Loving Your Friend Through Cancer.)

During one of the most difficult times in my treatment for cancer, my friend Sarah had a dream that she shared with me. Here is her description of the dream, in her own words:

“We were in a very large cathedral-style church. The pews were packed with people, some I recognized from church, but many I did not recognize at all. Everyone was praying and writing. They were writing their prayers. At the front of the church the stage was some sort of hospital room and you were lying on a table with doctors and nurses bustling around you. I talked to one woman who said, ‘I don’t know Marissa personally, but I’m honored to be here to pray for her.’ I was amazed at the outpouring of prayer for you and your healing. Everyone was giving you their prayers after they wrote them down as they left the church. I peeked at some of the letters and they all began with praise to God by worshiping his Name (mighty God, everlasting Father, omniscient, all-powerful, etc., just like we’ve learned from Isaiah). SO AWESOME.”

Her dream was an encouragement to me at a time of intense struggle and sorrow, because I knew it accurately depicted what was happening before the throne of the almighty God. Thousands of people were interceding on my behalf, including many I have never met. I regularly received cards from strangers saying they were praying for me. I received dozens of small yellow postcards from the prayer room of a church in Tennessee, letting me know someone had prayed for me. I still don’t know who put my name on that prayer list in Tennessee, but I am thankful.

Nothing is as powerful as bringing your friend before the throne of her creator and redeemer. Interceding on her behalf before the Lord of the universe is one of the greatest gifts you can give her. Long after the doctors tell her she’s cancer-free, keep your friend on your list for frequent prayer. And if the Lord calls your friend home to heaven, keep fervently praying for her loved ones.

Let your friend know you are praying for her on a regular basis. But please don’t just say it flippantly—do it! Your prayers for your friend not only benefit her as you intercede for her, but they will also benefit you as the Lord works in your heart in the midst of your own grief.

Pray for healing for your friend, of course. But don’t stop there. Here are some additional ways to pray for your friend.

Pray for her to feel the closeness of the Lord as he strengthens, sustains, and comforts her (Isaiah 41:10, Psalm 62:1-2, Psalm 63:5-8).
Pray for wisdom for friends and family members to support and encourage her in ways she needs the most (James 1:5).
Pray against the feeling of isolation—physically, emotionally, and spiritually (Joshua 1:9, Hebrews 13:5b, Psalm 42, Psalm 56:8).
Pray for wisdom in making medical decisions so that the patient, family members, and doctors will not have any regrets (Psalm 112:7-8).
If she’s married, pray for God to strengthen her marriage and deepen her connection with her husband, and that she will look to the Lord to meet her needs when her husband falls short (Ephesians 5:22-23).
Pray that she would develop a deep and abiding trust in the Lord, not placing her hope in a particular outcome, but wholly in God’s character—his sovereignty, goodness, and faithfulness to her specifically in this situation (Isaiah 43, Jeremiah 31:3, Romans 8:38-39).
Pray that she will feel free to ask for help and support when she needs it, claiming the promise that God will meet all her needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19).
Pray for joy and peace as she grieves the loss of her health and her “before cancer” expectations for her life, and that she will not be anxious about the future (Romans 15:13, Lamentations 3:21-24, Philippians 4:6-8).
Pray that she will not waste her suffering, but be transformed and sanctified through the experience of suffering for God’s glory (Romans 8:28-29, Romans 12:1-2).
Pray that God will prepare her to comfort others with the comfort she is now receiving (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

You’ve just read one of the chapters of my book, Loving Your Friend Through Cancer. Want to learn more?

Your Heavenly Father Knows Your Struggles {No Matter What Monday}

March 14, 2016 by Marissa Leave a Comment

Psalm 56:8: You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?

When my daughter was younger, I convinced her that I literally had eyes in the back of my head. She couldn’t see the extra pair of eyes, but all evidence pointed to their existence. I had an uncanny way of knowing what she was doing, even when I wasn’t looking at her. Sometimes she didn’t realize I could see her in the rearview mirror in the car or hear her from the next room. Sometimes I made an assumption based on what I knew about how she behaved. Sometimes it was purely a lucky guess.

As much as my knowledge freaked her out, I think it also brought comfort to my young daughter. There is something reassuring about being known deeply by someone who cares about you.

Psalm 56:8 is one of my favorite verses, because it tells me that God knows my struggles, my sleepless nights, and my tears. He doesn’t know these details of my life because of eyes in the back of His head or because He made a lucky guess. He knows each tear because He created me, redeemed me, cares for me, and rules over every circumstance of my life.

When I spent months away from my family in 2011 battling cancer, I filled many of God’s bottles with my tears. When I was weighed down by sorrow and fear, I found comfort in knowing that God cared about every single tear that I shed.

No matter what you face this week, you have a Heavenly Father who knows your struggles and cares about every tear. How does this truth bring you comfort today?

We Never Suffer Alone {No Matter What Monday}

February 22, 2016 by Marissa Leave a Comment

No matter what you face this week, Christ walks beside you in your suffering.

In Daniel 3, God’s people are living as exiles in Babylon. Three of the Israelites, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, face a difficult choice between worshipping a golden image or being thrown into a furnace.

In the minds of these three men, the decision is a no-brainer. In fact, the confident manner in which they defy the king’s order to bow down to the idol sends him into a rage.

After the men are thrown to the flames, the king’s fury changes to confusion. “Wait a minute,” he says, “how many men did we throw into that furnace?”

A fourth man, whose appearance was “like the son of the gods,” walked with the three men in the furnace (Daniel 3:25).

We all know how this story ends: Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego are pulled from the furnace without even a scent of smoke on their clothes. But we know from experience that this type of deliverance isn’t always God’s plan for His people. Sometimes the flames feel like they’re killing us. We may not be pulled from the furnace until we reach heaven. So what can we take away from this story?

Dale Ralph Davis puts it this way in his commentary on Daniel: “Christ did not keep them out of the furnace but found them in it. He does not always shield you from all distresses and dangers, but it is in the loneliness, the betrayal, in the loss that the Fourth Man comes and walks with you.”

If you belong to Christ, you never walk through suffering alone. He has found you, and He will never leave you. Whatever you face this week, your Savior walks with you.

Jean {Thoughts on the death of a friend}

January 7, 2016 by Marissa Leave a Comment

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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