living God’s truth | Elaine Olsen

a worthy clutching…

October 8, 2010

When we first moved here in June, I had it in my heart and mind to lead a new Bible study with the folks at our new church. I didn’t know if it would take… if there would be any interest in their hearts for the same. We have a few takers.

In addition, upon our arrival I had no idea I would be diagnosed with breast cancer. After receiving the news, I wrestled with the idea of forging ahead with the Bible study. I always want to give it my all when facilitating, and with Bible study days following chemo days, it seemed a bit of a stretch for my flesh. Still and yet, there was something about the study (chosen long before receiving my diagnosis) that stuck with me… that made sense to me… that seemed in keeping with every unveiling step in my journey.

Priscilla Shirer’s Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted.

So with faith at the lead, we forged ahead. This past Wednesday was our second session we had together. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a difficult struggle for me.

But God. He prevailed in spite of me, and in the end, I was the one most blessed by our round table discussion and the message from Priscilla’s heart.

Isn’t that how our Father works on our behalf, even when we least expect it? He is faithful to honor his commitment to the Word… to having it all work out for our good, even when we are sometimes unaware of its benefits while “walking it through”? Long ago, I made a decision to keep to the Word, solely based on the faithful promise if Isaiah 55:10-11. I may not know what God’s Word is working in and through me in the moment of my reading it, but I have a holy promise that it’s sowing kingdom truth within the soil of my soul that will one day flourish more fully into blooms of faith.

And with that kind of guarantee, friends, I’ll keep to the Word every day. It is here for me… for you. I hope that you’re anchoring your heart alongside me today in the fresh-breathed words of God, and that his truth is alive and active in your every moment as you keep to the road of faith.

As I’ve read through the book of Jonah (it’s only four chapters… go ahead, you can read it in one sitting), many new wonderful truths I hadn’t seen before are jumping off the pages to engage with my thought processes. In particular, two beautiful verses that are now inscribed upon my heart:

“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs. But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.” (Jonah 2:8-9).

Worthless idols.

What would qualify in your case? What are you clinging to today to help you get through today that, at the end of the day, might have had your forfeit some of the daily grace of God that is rightfully yours as a child of the King? Maybe they aren’t bad things. I’ve certainly had a short list in recent days.

Drugs.

Family.

My Bed.

Internet.

Countless books on cancer.

Phone calls.

Food choices.

All manner of accouterments to ease my transition in this season.

I imagine your list to look a bit different. I’ll allow you your expertise on this one. Safe to say, none of the things I’ve listed above are evil in themselves; however, if they are the only things I’m clinging to in this season of shifting health, then at the end of the day, I’m left depleted. Perhaps not fully bankrupt, but more depleted than had I not taken time to first cling to the one thing that will safely navigate me through this journey of grace.

The cross of Jesus Christ.

When word was released about my cancer to the pastors of the NC Annual Conference of the UM Church, we had several gracious replies from many of our contemporaries. In particular, Rev. Michael Hobbs sent me six clutching crosses (one for each member of my family), made by his own hands. Rev. Hobbs is a cancer survivor as well, and upon his recent retirement, had taken it upon himself to handcraft these crosses as a ministry to those who are currently going through a difficult season of pain. My cross sits bedside and has been in my grip throughout many of the nights since August 23rd. I don’t in any way hold it as an idol. It’s simply a piece of beautifully carved, cedar wood.

Rather, I hold the cross as my reminder. As of way of focusing in on my anchor in this time of great tribulation and testing, so that I can say in unison with the Prophet Jonah:

“But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.”

The constant prayer of my heart in this season is to never lose focus of God’s perfecting work in me. To get to the end of this all, whether it be the projected four more months of treatment or something further, and to have not allowed God some of his power to be shown more clearly in my extreme weakness will feel a bit wasted to me. I’m not sure how he is going to work all of that out. My immediate thoughts are that my worse days are ahead of me. That being said, I’m fully taking God at his Word, daily reminding him of the promises he has made to me in his Word, and trusting (as best as I can) that what he says will, in fact, come to be.

That beauty will arise from ashes, and that “the God of all grace, who called [me] to his eternal glory in Christ, after [I] have suffered a little while, will himself restore [me] and make [me] strong, firm, and steadfast. To him be the power forever and ever.” (1 Peter 5:12).

God is the restorer of my flesh, of yours as well. He, HIMSELF, will do the work in us because he is the One who created us for more than our fleshly temples. He created us for his heavenly one. We are the flesh and blood of the living God, put on this earth with the single responsibility of pointing others to the way home—

the cross of Jesus Christ.

That is why I clutch mine closely in my grip throughout the night, for I’ve found that the nighttime is when I need its witness the most. Perhaps you understand.

Thank you for breaking a little bread with me this morning. I really didn’t think I had the internal strength to write a complete thought, but I needed to, wanted to desperately connect with you and let you know that God is alive and active and ministering to my heart in tender ways in this time. I’ll spare you all the details regarding the many ways this chemo is now beginning to attack my flesh. But may I always be faithful to tell you that God’s daily grace is sufficient to see you through… whatever is eating away at your flesh today. Put your focus there… on God’s daily grace, and clutch the promise of Calvary close to your heart.

Make good on what you have vowed. Salvation comes from the LORD. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Some of you have mentioned your interest in Rev. Hobbs clutching crosses. If you’d like to talk to him further about securing 1-2 crosses of your own for someone in need, please e-mail me personally, and I will send you his contact information. Rev. Hobbs gifts these crosses as a ministry and puts a great deal of time into making each cross. Therefore, the amount of requests he can take at one time is limited. He’s also written a year-long book of reflections entitled A Servant’s Song. You can find it by clicking here. Thank you, Rev. Hobbs, for reaching across the miles, entering into my pilgrim journey, and blessing me with the work of your hands that has now made its way into the soil of my heart. You are sowing good kingdom seed. Shalom.

Deep Waters…

September 20, 2010

“The purposes of a man’s heart are deep waters, but a man of understanding draws them out.” (Proverbs 20:5).

A couple of years ago, I attended a women’s conference where I had the privilege of meeting a few of my blogging friends. At that time, I was fairly new to blogging, so the depth of relationship with other bloggers remained somewhat superficial. (It takes time to build depth of relationship, does it not?) I’ll never forget a comment I received from Lelia after spending some time with her one evening.

“Elaine, I thought you would be this deep, philosophical, thinking kind of person, but you’re really normal and fun to be around.”

I immediately understood what she was saying, and after a hearty, belly laugh we went shopping… for underwear. Yes, it didn’t take long for me to dispel any myths regarding my ponderous estate, and I was glad for the disclosure. Why? Because I sometimes think it is easy for us to paint a picture with our words in our blog posts that misses the mark regarding who we are in our day-to-day, real life. I never want to be accused of “writing someone” that I’m not. Accordingly, I’ve tried to keep it real here at the blog, even as I try to keep it real in on the pavement of my everyday life.

Am I normal and fun to be around? Ask anyone who knows me. They’re the accurate judge on the matter. On the contrast, am I a deep, philosophical, thinking kind of gal? I’ll let the archives of my some 350 blog posts tell the story. I am a woman who loves to laugh and who loves to ponder. Laughter and thinking are compatible sojourners on this pilgrimage of grace. They balance one another… knowing when to defer center-stage status to the other and when to step in as a replacement. I don’t have to be one or the other. I can be both.

And just this morning, I came across the above verse from Proverbs which seems to grant me permission to keep pondering… keep thinking… keeping digging deeply into the recesses of my heart for the hidden mysteries that reside beneath. God mysteries. The ones that belonged to him first; the ones that belong to me now because of my status as his child.

“However, as it is written: ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him’—but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10).

I’ve got some “deep waters”, friends. So do you. You may think that you don’t… that somehow you’re just an average thinker with an average heart that doesn’t dip too far below the surface to mine the treasures of God—to contemplate his heart, his thoughts, and his perspective. Some of you feel ill-equipped for the task, perhaps even wrong for wanting to try. God is big… really big, and you feel comparably small. Digging below the surface to get to the heart of God may seem dangerous to you… even treacherous, almost as if to “go there” would be to cross some spiritual boundary or to break some religious law that wrongly states, “You can go this far with God and no more.”

God doesn’t put limits on what can be known about him. Certainly, in this season of our lives we see in part, live in part, know in part, walk in partial understanding. Fullness of understanding will come when we get home to Jesus, but until then, we have the freedom to dig.

Deeply dig.

To dip our buckets into the well of perfect understanding and to wait for God to fill them accordingly. We get to live deeply because we anchor our personal ships in some deep waters. When our lives were formed and fashioned in the secret place (Psalm 139), they were created in depth, with depth, to live depth. There was nothing shallow about that moment; in contrast, your conception represents, perhaps, the deepest, most hidden moment of your existence. When God weaved you together in your mother’s womb, he variegated your flesh with colors and contrasts and intricacies that can only be discovered with your willingness to go deeper with your Creator.

In doing so—in mining the treasures beneath your surface—you discover some of the mysteries that better enable you to live your life with sacred perspective. You discover the wise counsel of God which sheds light into your plan and your purpose for being on this earth. Without the dig comes the risk of remaining shallow—of living the rest of your days with surface understanding.

For some of you, that’s enough. You don’t have to think too far beyond current wisdom to be secure in your faith. You’re happy with the knowledge that you hold, and it will be more than enough to carry you through to glory. I celebrate that in you. I wouldn’t want you to be someone that you’re not. But I will tell you this one thing because, just maybe, you haven’t realized this about yourself.

You’ve got some deep waters bubbling beneath the surface of your heart this day. A big, huge cauldron of wet waiting for you to dive into in order to discover some hidden truth that you’ve yet to hold as your own. To get there, you need to be willing to get wet—to ponder and to think with your heart wide-open before God. You’ll need to ask questions in prayerful pause. You’ll need to wait for our Father’s response. It won’t be immediate, but as you are faithful to press into the heart of God, he will be faithful to fill yours with a ladle or two of his personal mystery.

And for that, friends, I’ll keep digging. I want to know Christ. I want to live the resurrected life while my flesh yet tarries in this land. Today is the day of salvation, and we have a God who can be known… deeply known. And for as much as I can know God on this side of eternity, I’ll keep dipping my bucket into his well of grace.

“The purposes of a man’s heart are deep waters, but a man of understanding draws them out.”

Even so, Lord, make me a woman of depth this day. Keep me drawing from your well and keep me believing that with every personal, intentional pursuit of knowledge that I make will come further understanding into the deep things of you. Forgive me when I choose less. Bless me when I choose more… choose big… choose deeply… choose you. I thank you for your mystery. Even greater, I thank you for allowing me to hold some of it as my own. Amen.

Peace for the journey,

elaine

PS: Many of you have asked regarding my schedule for the week and how you might pray for me. In the future, I may initiate a “caring bridge” page to keep you updated on the medical trail I’m traveling, but for now, here’s the latest:

Tuesday: Genetic counseling and BRCA testing in Chapel Hill.

Wednesday: PET/CT scans locally

Friday: MUGA (heart) testing, along with chemotherapy counseling locally.

In the next week, a follow-up meeting with my oncologist, the placement of a port-a-cath, the beginning of an eight-cycle regimen of chemotherapy over the next four months.

Please pray for continued healing from my surgery… still very sore and the thought of implanting a port-a-cath sends my stomach reeling! For strength enough, peace enough to courageously walk into this new chapter of healing. We love you each one and covet your prayers as we go forward. Now, how might I pray for you? Shalom.

the mysterious path of a generous grace…

September 6, 2010

{photo compliments of Shirley}

I have a confession to make… an honest, writer’s confession to bring to the table before one thought is brought to you this morning:

I have a lot I want to say; I just don’t have the words to say it.

They got lost somewhere in the middle of my night… somewhere between my Percocet and my pain, reminding me, yet again, that there isn’t a perfect guidebook regarding how this “thing” is going to go—how this cancer is going to unfold for me on a personal level. I’m five days post-op; still and yet, it doesn’t seem real. Instead, it seems as if I’m standing on the outer edges of my life looking in. As if I’m on the perimeter watching the drama unfold while others are meandering in and out of the scenes of my life with little notice of my side-line status.

I am the lead participant in my cancer, and yet I seem to prefer the shadows of it all—the “behind the scenes,” balcony approach to living it. To watching from the director’s chair, yet knowing that what is required of me is my “down below”—the getting my hands dirty and being willing to engage with every angle of the drama. And it’s frustrating… exceedingly frustrating because today all I want to do is to crawl away from it and live differently. Today I want to live without the reality of:

Drain tubes to empty.

Pain to manage.

Body odor to disguise.

Expectations to meet.

Uncertainties to ponder.

Decisions to be made.

The emotions of others with which to contend.

Today, I want a different option on the table… one that doesn’t require so much of me. One that is content to let me “sit this one out” while others do the hard work of recovery.

I imagine that there are a few of you who understand these feelings… those of you who, for whatever reasons, are living the harsh ramifications of your current realities. Those of you who, like me, want to crawl away from your “disease” and live with your pain in isolation. You may not be living with a diagnosis of cancer, but there are other malignancies that are eating away at your flesh—your heart, mind, and soul. What is happening to you on your “inside” is far worse than what is eating away at your exterior, and you’d like another option on your table for consideration.

I understand. I also realize that with each malignancy comes hard work. There is no “sitting this one out” where cancer is concerned. A life diagnosed (whether with cancer or with a less-clarified disease of the heart) is a life thrust into the limelight, and for our scenes to end with understanding, you and I must be willing to take to the stage, to read our lines through, and to act our part. We must fully live our stories and allow our stories to fully live through us. Should we live otherwise, then we live less. We finish with less.

Less understanding. Less joy. Less faith. Less laughter. Less hope. Less peace.

An outer-edge approach to today’s living isn’t in keeping with God’s perspective. Certainly, there will be seasons when we need to pull back, to investigate our heart’s pulse, and to assess our personal level of involvement with the day’s activities. Today is one of those days for me. But when it comes to assigning our “diagnosis” to someone seemingly more qualified—to relinquishing the hard work that has been entrusted to us to someone else’s guardianship—we must proceed carefully, deliberately, and full of caution. Why?

Because there are some diagnoses that best belong to each one of us. Some that we will be better able to live and breathe and have victory over than others. What’s eating you may not be what’s eating me, but I imagine that the contingencies of your particular disease are better handled by you than me. And maybe, just maybe, drain tubes are more in keeping with what I’m better able to handle today than you.

We are, each one, the lead participant in our stories. No one lives you better than you. No one lives me better than me. And I’m just thinking (perhaps not as coherently as I would like) that maybe the kingdom would be best served by our willingness to live within those personal boundaries rather than wishing for someone else’s. That maybe what happens in you and through you today (because of God’s grace and only his grace) will far exceed what could happen in me and through me should I be allowed a similar walk in your shoes.

Maybe.

Who can fathom the depths of our Father’s wisdom? The breadth of his understanding? The willingness of his heart to entrust his children with so much? This is a mysterious path of generous grace we’re traveling, and while I may not want to live with the reality of my cancer today, I want to live today with the reality of God’s generous grace. That’s the only option on the table worthy of any trade I might make. The only option capable of generating enough kingdom perspective in me so that I might willingly embrace my story—

Cancer and all.

Keep to it, friends. Keep to your story of grace, your malignancies, God’s diagnoses therein, and his healing. It’s likely to “wear” a little worse before it wears better, but in the end, you won’t have to wonder if the hard work was worth it. On the backside of your healing, you will live the fruition of your front-side investment, and it will live excellently. Live perfectly. Live in accordance with a kingdom joy and beauty that far exceeds what your mind and heart can currently conceive. As always…

Peace for the journey,

tomorrow…

August 31, 2010

God is huge… really huge; so huge that it would be impossible for me to shrink him down and cram him into my pint-sized capacity for understanding. Still and yet, there are days when he breaks himself down for me so that my “pint-sized brain” can experience a measure of what it is to know him more fully, more intimately. These past few days have been some of those days for me.

God has tenderly knelt beside me, met me eye-level, and cradled me close to his beating heart. There has been more laughter than tears, more joy than sadness, more hope than despair, more faith than unbelief. I am grateful for my “more” that has anchored in sacred soil rather than in the tainted, diminished earthen sod that cradles my temporal steps. I’ve also been surprised by it… been overwhelmed by the gracious, sustaining hand of my Father who has not only made this cancer diagnosis bearable for me, but even more so, understandable.

I cannot explain the rational, reasonable response of my heart; whereas even a month ago I would have told you that I couldn’t possibly “do cancer,” I’m doing it today. I’m living with my diagnosis, with the stresses and strains of having to make some difficult decisions because of that diagnosis, and with the reality that I’m still a mom and wife with laundry to fold, bills to pay, and homework to be managed. That kind of “living with” can only be filtered through the lens of peace.

God’s peace—Jesus Christ. Not as the world gives (thank you God), but as he so determines. The world’s offering of peace is limited, is budgeted according to fleshly understanding and carnal appetites. God’s peace, however, is limitless and is budgeted according to kingdom standards and based on holier appetites—soul cravings that issue forth from a deep hunger to get more of our huge God crammed into our pint-sized understanding.

I’ve been living in kingdom peace these past weeks, and the cravings of my soul have been amply fed by the hand of the King who bends low to listen to the heart cries of his children… who stoops low to “raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap” (Ps. 113:6-7). I am exceedingly grateful for the gift of his sustaining presence and his willingness to be heavily invested in the story of my cancer.

God is so very willing to be part of all of our stories, friends. All he is waiting on is our invitation to him to start writing his memoir through us. You may not think your life particularly fantastic or worthy of print, but when you hand our Father the pen, he scripts authenticity into your story—every chapter, every line, every word, every letter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour. When God is given the publishing rights to our manuscripts, he promises to make everything count—the good, the bad, and all the mess that resides in between these extremes.

I’m taking him at his word; I’m believing him to make my cancer count—not for my sake, but for his. To get to the end of it all, regardless of where that “end” resides, and to have lived it selfishly and without regard to God’s greater understanding is to waste this precious time. I choose not to “live” there. I choose to live better. By doing so, I pray I learn more about my Father… about an intimacy, perhaps, that might have never been shared between us had I not been allowed this road.

I don’t want to waste my cancer. I want to embrace it, and in doing so, become more of the woman that God desires for me to be. If that can be said of me down the road—that in fact I’m further along in my faith journey because of my cancer—then it will have been worth it. If not—if I become a lesser woman of faith because of my cancer—then it will have been wasted.

Pray it’s not wasted. Pray, instead, that it will be my continuing perfection. I love you all and will be thinking of you in this next week as I will be off-line in order to take the next step in this journey.

After consulting with my oncologist yesterday regarding my MRI, we’ve decided to proceed with a mastectomy of both breasts. The surgery will be tomorrow at 1:00 PM. After a time of healing, a chemo/radiation plan will be put into place. Thankfully, those treatments will happen very close to home. I will have an overnight stay at the Surgery Center (can you believe that a mastectomy is considered out-patient surgery… I’m not kidding?!) before coming home. This was an unexpected “gift” to me and has gone a long way to relieve my initial concerns about learning how to care for myself before going home. Post-surgery, I am limited in the use of my arms, and my husband has vowed to make sure that I comply. Accordingly, I won’t be posting, but I’ll make sure that my husband updates you regarding my progress.

Through it all, I am humbled by the overwhelming support you’ve given to all of us, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve not been granted some extra favor from God because of your prayers. I don’t think God and his angels have ever heard my name more clearly than in the past week. I like to think of your prayers simmering there before God’s throne. You, good friends, make me want to be a better intercessor for others. You’re living a good faith on my behalf, and I am blessed by your generosity.

Take good care of your heart in this season. Tend to it; till it, and plant some good seed. The harvest will be good—God’s kind of good—and we will all share in the feasting together! As always…

Peace for the journey,

Running my Peace…

August 28, 2010

“… You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” (1 Cor. 6:19b-20)

I just got in from my run. It felt good… almost sacred. The time is fast coming when I’ll have to put running away for a short season. I can’t imagine myself running then… after surgery. So I don’t… imagine. Instead, I run in my today, because today is all I have been given and because running is a discipline that has been part of my life for twenty-five years.

I’m a runner. Not a fast one, but what I lack in speed I make up for in obedience. I’m a deliberate runner. A runner who chooses to lace up her shoes even when her heart lags behind. Why? Because running is good for my body. In doing so, it also serves the well-being of my mind, heart, and soul. It’s a way of honoring this temporal flesh that, for reasons beyond my understanding, God has chosen to make for his dwelling.

My flesh doesn’t belong to me. Neither does yours. We think that it does; spend a great deal of time and money pretending that it does, but the truth is…God paid a high price for our flesh—the flesh of his One and only Son. Accordingly, it belongs to him… all of it. No body part is exempt. I understand this more fully now; I thought I had a pretty good understanding prior to my diagnosis, but now the focus has become clearer.

In my quiet time yesterday morning, I handed over my flesh to him again. Over the course of my forty-four years, I’ve come to the altar in the matter of my flesh on many occasions. Time and again, God has been faithful to gather up my remnants and cradle them as his own. Today he cradles them again; today he cradles more of me—my all. What remains of my flesh is all that I have left to offer him. Long ago, I settled the matter regarding my heart. It’s been God’s for as long as I can remember, but I imagine my flesh has been lagging behind.

No longer, my friends. No longer. And here’s what I’m thinking about tonight…

God’s kingdom is an everlasting kingdom. It’s an enduring kingdom. It’s going to go forward regardless of my fleshly surrender. Therefore, I have two choices standing before me in this season:

To be a participant in God’s kingdom or to remain as an outsider.

I’m in… all in with God and his kingdom plan. In this time of change for me and my family, I pray you won’t find me on the sidelines of faith; I pray that, instead, you will find me leading the charge… staying the course and shouting the victory every step of the way. I want to keep running, friends, especially on those days when my flesh cries out for complacency. I want to keep doing what I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember.

I want to keep living Jesus, out loud and on purpose. It’s all I know to do.

I want to close this post with some thoughts from one of my favorite authors, Alicia Chole. In her book Anonymous she shares an important, life-changing truth that embedded its witness into my heart upon my first reading it a few years ago. Almost immediately upon receiving my cancer diagnosis I thought upon it. It’s been my shadow over these last few days. With Alicia’s permission, I share it with you tonight:

Marie was a very private person, but when she opened up the door to her personal life you needed to take notes. I always called her with a journal open and a pen poised. This woman was profound. And like most truly profound people, she was intimately familiar with pain. One day, Marie told me about a friend who visited her in the hospital after her third miscarriage. Trying to console her, the well-meaning friend had said, “You know, Marie, God is going to make you even stronger through this.”

My mentor smiled, thanked her friend, and thought about her words for several days. Relaying the hospital conversation to me, Marie explained that though she appreciated her friend’s intention, she questioned her friend’s conclusion about the purpose of pain. Marie ended our time together that day with the thought: “I feel that trials do not prepare us for what’s to come as much as they reveal what we’ve done with our lives up to this point.”

As Marie considered the pain of her third miscarriage, she realized that her response to this trial was less of a window into her future than it was a window into her past. Her current choices reflected and revealed her past choices. How had she responded previously when her dearest dreams perished in her womb? Did she withdraw from God in bitterness or come near to him with her unanswered questions? Had she tried to outrun the pain, or had she given herself permission to grieve and let the tears wash her wounds? The choices of her yesterdays were revealed through the window of her responses to her current trial.

In other words, trials tell us less about our future than they do about our past. Why? Because the decisions we make in difficult places today are greatly the product of decisions we made in the unseen places of our yesterdays. (Alicia Chole, Anonymous, Integrity Publishers, 2006, pg. 14-15).

What decisions are you making in your today that will better prepare you for your tomorrow? Are you currently complacent regarding your faith? Are you tending to your soul? Are you taking time to study God’s Word and to be in fellowship with other Christian believers who are building your faith rather than tearing at your resolve? Are you working in your churches? Are you praying every day? Are you listening to the promptings of God’s Spirit within? Are you participating in God’s kingdom cause? Are you speaking your faith? Are you loving God, knowing God, celebrating God, believing God?

If you are, then you can be certain that when tough times role your way, you will be well-equipped to handle the struggle. If you’re not, then it is time to start making some better choices today. Time to start deliberately living your faith, friends. Time to step it up and keep pace with the King. It’s what I plan to do in my “next.”

Cancer may be my “next,” but so is Jesus. I’ll be doing them both—cancer and Jesus together. I’ll be living them both with a kingdom view in mind. I pray your willingness to join me on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I cannot begin to express to you my heartfelt thanks for all the many kindnesses you’ve extended to me in the past few days. There simply isn’t any way to make it around to all of your blogs and weigh in with my paltry “two-cents” right now, but as I can, I will visit you, because I dearly love you each one. Every now and again, I’ll give you a health update. Here’s the short version for tonight:

I had an MRI this morning in Greenville. After much thought and prayer, we’ve made the decision to stick with the breast oncologist there. He’s incredibly kind, and the man knows breasts! He’s also a man with a plan who is ready to move on with surgery, etc. We’ll be traveling back there on Monday to discuss the results of the MRI and how we will proceed. I imagine that things will move quickly. I want to take a moment to thank Rev. Homer Morris of Jarvis Memorial UMC for graciously gifting us with a motel room in Greenville last evening so that we wouldn’t have to endure a lengthy travel time this morning prior to my 7:00 AM appointment. I also want to thank my good friend, Judith, for receiving my many cancer related questions like “What is an MRI?” and “What should I wear?” (The bedpants and warm socks were a life-saver friend!). And of course, I want to give a special shout-out to my parents and Billy’s parents for being willing to make the trip to help us with childcare. Truly, you know what it means to “circle the wagons,” and we are so blessed to have you with us to love us as only a momma and daddy can do.

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