It’s been a while since I’ve made mention of my book, “peace for the journey”; I’m not into self-promotion. That being said, when a blogging friend takes the time to give my book a mention… takes the time to invest some of her energy with my words, then I am honored to share her thoughts with you. Click on this link to read Nancy’s post. Leave a comment there, and I’ll have Nancy select a winner to receive an autographed copy. Shalom!
PS: To order a copy visit Amazon or the Resource tab.
There are a few things I’d like to tell you about today. They’ll make better sense if you have the opportunity to watch the video. I’ll give you ample time; I need a break from writing this week so that I can spend some concentrated time of resting with my Father. We have a great many things to discuss.
First, I specifically felt your prayers over this past week. I am grateful and humbled by your kind words; I needed them. They made all the difference for me as I sought to prepare my thoughts and, then, to deliver them with the full peace and assurance of God.
Secondly, last night as I was reading in Romans, I came across this verse in 10:20. Words first spoken by the prophet Isaiah and then reiterated by Paul:
PS: The winners of Cindy’s cards are Lidj and Cheryl! Girls, please look over Cindy’s cards again and let me know which two are your favorites. Email me your selections. My e-mail has been acting up in recent days, so if you haven’t heard back from me in a while, then chances are I haven’t received your e-mail. We’ll work things out somehow.
Funny how life seems to be laughing at me sometimes. Trust me when I tell you the hilarity is a one-sided affair. I don’t find anything remotely amusing about the predicament I’m in—a responsibility given to me months ago and one I willingly embraced when called upon. Little did I know back then what would be required of me to follow-through in the “right now.”
This coming Sunday.
Me, the keynote speaker for Cape Fear Valley Hospital’s annual Cancer Survivor Picnic.
And here’s the funny part—the moment where the joke cycles back on me. Where the taunting begins. Where the fullness of my previous “yes” weighs heavily upon my back and filters through my mind like shrapnel released from an exploding cannon.
It doesn’t seem that I’m doing very well with my surviving… cancer or otherwise. Some days are just getting through days; some days just pushing through days. Some days just wondering and wandering through days. And I feel so ill-equipped to say much of anything on the topic of survivorship. Certainly, I’ve had a few ideas over the past several months; I’ve chronicled a great many of them before you. But today, just a few days away from Sunday, words fail me.
And that is a very hard thing for me. Why? Because I don’t want them to be just any words. I want to mean them when I speak them. I don’t want to waste this occasion with my “blah, blah, blah” breast cancer dialogue. I want my words to speak better. To lift higher. To raise a toast to hope, not to the current getting through, pushing through, wandering through I’ve been feeling as of late. More than anything, I want to be a hope-giver, but friends, in these recent days, my heart has been living apart from hope. My heart has been simmering just above survival. And it’s been a confusing, confrontational mess.
I’m not sure what’s to blame. Maybe hormones, or lack therein. Maybe the summer heat. Maybe a full house and no room to think. Maybe an accumulation of a great many things. Regardless of the agitators, the end result doesn’t look much like hopeful survival. Rather, more like a gradual surrender to a deep wounding—to a healing process that is going to take far longer than what I had imagined.
Is survival really survival when so much hurt exists inside? When getting through, pushing through, and wandering through is the best you can do? Is that survival? Is that enough to move a day’s doing into the win column? Shouldn’t survival be based on more? Shouldn’t the qualifiers read better? Part of me thinks so; the other part of me, perhaps a lesser part, is willing to cut me some slack.
I’m having a hard time deciding about my days, friends, and I’m having a really hard time reasoning out the hospital’s choice for a speaker this year. I want to rise above the current confusion to deliver a strong confirmation about the hope that I profess to believe. I want this coming Sunday to count for heaven’s sake, not mine. Otherwise, what is the point? Really, what is the point?
Platforms are meant for Jesus; not me. Still and yet, there’s one awaiting my presence this weekend. A grace so undeserved, especially for one who’s just getting through, pushing through, and wandering through these days… wondering if my wrestling brings enough credibility to the discussion of true survivorship.
I know what most of you will say, my kind readers, and I appreciate your affirmation in advance. But I don’t want to just receive your words; I want to firmly believe them. I’ve come to depend on them, for we are the body of Christ. We are pilgrims together on this road of faith, walking side by side and held together by our strong foundation, Jesus Christ. You will be standing with me this Sunday when I step before the microphone and speak my story. You are part of my story, and even when words have failed me, you have not. You share in my survivorship, and I will carry your strength with me throughout this week.
Thank you for not laughing at me when I cry; thank you for not crying when I so desperately need to laugh. But mostly, thank you for giving me a safe place to release my feelings. I’m in a vulnerable position right now, a raw and uprooted place, but I’m still here… getting through, pushing through, wondering and wandering though.
Perhaps in the end, maybe enough of a definition of true survivorship.
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
PS: Winners for the notecards will be picked with my next post. There’s still time to join in; see previous post “PS:” for details.