Monthly Archives: July 2012

“Beyond Cancer’s Scars” Part Two (writing the book)

“Out of your poverty, Elaine, surrender your pen.”

His words are as clear to me today as they were for me on that Friday night, June 10, 2011. The memory lingers fully . . . beautifully in my heart. Heavenly impressions are not easily forgotten. When God presses his fingerprints on to the pages of our stories—when God gives his directives with such clear and certain authority—there is a grace that comes alongside to solidify that moment and to grant us enough courage and trust to begin our obedience. It takes them both—courage and trust—for us to move forward, because God’s plans don’t always feel reasonable. Sometimes they feel impossible.

Such had been my week when I arrived to that Friday night a year ago, really my previous ten months. I’d stumbled my way through cancer treatments, emerging on the other side of them with more emotional scars than physical ones. Cancer not only strikes the flesh but also strikes the soul—the seat of human emotions. I didn’t notice my soul woundings until the other ones had subsided. It was then, when the silence came, that I began the process of untangling my pain. Some healings require more than stitches and band-aids. Some healings require the salve of time and a gentle Jesus.

On that Friday night, I recognized my profound need. I cried out to God for hope. I’d lost mine somewhere along the way. Oh, I masked it pretty well, even speaking to a group of cancer survivors earlier in the week, challenging them and charging them with hope’s rallying cry. But truth really does speak louder than words, and the truth was, I was losing ground. I wanted to give myself to something better, something higher, something more than the pain that was sucking me under, but I didn’t know how to fully get there. I only knew the first step to take—reading my Bible.

I opened up God’s Word to the bookmarked page and re-read the story I’d been chewing on for the better part of a week. A widow’s story from Luke 21. A story about her offering at the temple treasury—a gift not measured by human scales but a gift counted by God as “more than all the others.” I felt the hand of God squeeze tighter around my soul. It could not be ignored; only acknowledged, only received.

“Out of your poverty, Elaine, surrender your pen.”

And so I did. Right then. I gave God my heart, my insecurities, my words, and my promise that I would be faithful to write the witness of my cancer season, each day, until it was finished. Nothing about that obedience felt reasonable to me; instead, it felt like trust. In that moment, I knew that God wouldn’t fail me; he would help me—his power so effectively working in me would accomplish this, and in the end, it wouldn’t be about what I had done. It would be about everything he had done.

He did do it all. Each day for forty days during the hot, crowded season of summer, God showed up and pressed my thoughts into words and molded my cancer story into something that could be touched, held, and raised to the heavens as my Ebenezer, my “Thus far, the Lord has helped me” (see 1 Sam. 7:12). It was all a bit of a mess at the finish line. Forty days of intense writing leaves little time for editing and critique; that would come later. But on July 19, 2011, I knew it was a completed work and that it wasn’t meant just for me. Down to my last two coppers, I threw my “all” into the treasury of God’s temple, and the healing that took place in my heart can only be explained by the covenant Father who always makes good on his promises.

The writing was done; the hardest part was about to begin. On July 21, 2011, I packed up my suitcase, my messy manuscript, and my growing hope and headed out the door to see about a publisher—to see if anyone else might be willing to latch on to my story and bring it to the public. It didn’t take me long to figure out that writing a book is a whole lot easier than getting it published. But that’s another story for another day, another post—my next post.

Let me leave you with this final thought. If God has pressed his heart’s desire into your heart, if the Father has asked you for a hard obedience in this season (and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s him talking and not his competing counterfeit), then you can trust him with the outcome. Like the widow of Luke 21 and like me, you may be down to your last coppers. But when you do your banking with the King, you can be certain that he will make it count for all eternity. He who began a good work in you will be faithful to see it through to completion.

Count on it. Count on God. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

What’s in your hand, your heart, your dreams? What is God calling you to surrender into his temple treasury today? I’d love to pray for you.

“Beyond Cancer’s Scars” Part One (why I wrote this book)

We’re inching ever closer to the release of my 2nd book, Beyond Cancer’s Scars: Laying Claim to a Stronger Spirit. I say “we” because it has been a collective effort. No words, no stories are written in isolation. They may feel lonely at the time of their penning, but the truth is, our stories cannot be written without the benefit of one another. No one makes it into this world without the assistance of someone else. No one makes it through life without the influence of people.

 

God meant for us to live in community. We belong to one another. Accordingly, my story belongs to you and yours belongs to me. It’s how we grow; how we change; how we move forward and into a greater understanding about all of life. Oh sure . . . there are a few stories I could have done without (some authored by me, some written by others), but even in them—the skewed, chaotic, and unbalanced ones that foster similar responses in me—I grow. And I am grateful for it all, even when the story is painful. Especially then. Why? Because pain (when allowed) has a way of exponentially growing a heart that exceeds the normal route usually taken to get there. Not that we ask for it, but as pain arrives, we cede its reality to something greater, Someone greater, expecting that on the other side of our tears there will be more to the story than what currently wrecks the heart and stretches the soul.

Pain is a game changer in our lives. There’s no way around this reality. Some changes are good; some disastrous, but either way, pain alters the landscape of our hearts, minds, and souls. Courageous are those who are willing to allow pain to serve as a crucible for heaven’s increase rather than hell’s determined purposes.

So this is what I’ve done, how I’ve managed the torment of my last two years. I wrote my story while living it, believing that somewhere down the road, someone would need it as much as I have needed it. C.S. Lewis once said, “We read to know we are not alone.” If that’s true (and I really, really love his wisdom on this), then I’m inclined to believe that a person writes for the same reason . . . to know that he/she is not alone. The author writes; the reader reads. And when this happens, a community is formed.

Why did I write this book? Two reasons: for me; for you. I wrote it for us. In doing so, I’ve done it for God—the author of community. He wrote his story into mine a long time ago, and he promises to make mine count for all eternity, even when the story is painful. Especially then.

Over the next week or two, I’ll be delving further into the “story” behind the story—the particulars of how Beyond Cancer’s Scars came into being. I’ve been pretty quiet about it all—a silence provoked by need, a silence requested of me by God. But it’s time to move forward . . . to put some words forth so that you might be able to find a few lines of your story written somewhere in between the ones I’ve penned about mine. The ground beneath my feet and my heart has been tilled, and new sprouts are headed to the surface. It’s time to make ready for harvest.

There is life beyond cancer, friends. There is a stronger spirit that lies on the other side of suffering. Beyond Cancer’s Scars is part of my journey to get there. I hope you’ll join me on the road of discovery. As always…

Peace for the Journey,

 

In my next post, I’ll talk about the unconventional process of writing “Beyond Cancer’s Scars.” It really was a God-thing!

the boy I want to be . . .

“When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, ‘Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?’ . . . Peter’s brother spoke up, ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish . . . .’” –John 6:5,8-9

Here is a boy with loaves and fishes. I want to be that boy. A boy prepared to feed his hunger. A boy who doesn’t come empty-handed to a day’s worth of doing.

Here is the Jesus with bread of his own. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus prepared to feed my hunger. The Jesus who never comes empty-handed to a day’s worth of doing.

Here is a boy with a better agenda, not a fixed one. One not chosen for him, but one he chose for himself. I want to be that boy. A boy not conditioned by the daily norm. A boy who sets aside busyness so that he might busy himself with the business of Jesus.

Here is the Jesus whose only agenda is us. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who set aside heaven so that his might busy himself with and immerse himself into our mess.

Here is a boy with expectation. I want to be that boy. A boy who anticipates the outcome on the front side of its unfolding. A boy who understands that the best show in town is passing through and that, should he miss it, he won’t have any stories to tell his friends, his family, the generations to come.

Here is the Jesus who exceeds expectations. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who’s seen it all—from the front side of all’s unfolding until the final curtain drops. The Jesus who is the one show in town that still has folks talking some 2000 years later.

Here is a boy with open hands. I want to be that boy. A boy willing to release his provisions into the hands of Jesus so that they might abate and satisfy the hunger of others.

Here is the Jesus with open hands. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who willingly released his provision—all that he had—to a cross so that he might abate and satisfy the soul-hunger of everyone.

Here is a boy with a witness. I want to be that boy. A boy who knows first-hand the mighty works of God. A boy who’s been given the divine rights and benefits of sonship and who has the awesome privilege of joining his Father in kingdom ministry.

Here is the Jesus who can make it happen. The Son who knows first-hand the mighty works of his Father and who willingly grants us the gift of sacred participation along the kingdom road.

Here is a boy . . . with loaves and fishes; with a better agenda; with expectation; with open hands; with a witness.

Here is the Jesus with all of the same.

When the two collide—the boy in me and the Jesus from God—a crowd gets fed, a story gets written, and the Gospel moves forward.

Here is a boy . . . here is a girl who is ready to take on that role. How about you? Are you ready to be that boy, that girl whom God grants the privilege of sacred participation? The child who willingly releases what you have into the capable hands of Jesus so that he might bless it, break it, and feed it to the hungry?

If you’re ready, then come to the mountain this day. Christ has pitched his tent near yours. The show has already begun, and the crowd is beginning to notice its hunger. You are the one Christ has chosen to fill their need. What privilege it is to be called the sons and daughters of God! This is who we are. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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