Re-thinking Re-learning

There are certain life lessons that I need to relearn over and over again. It's frustrating. I feel stuck in a rut, spinning my wheels on the road to personal development and Christian growth. I'm embarrassed by my thickheadedness, my lack of progress. I imagine God as a long-suffering schoolteacher, sighing and saying, Didn't we already cover this material? We had a whole unit on this last year.

Case in point: I was thinking this morning about my son's difficulty understanding that my love for him transcends his behavior and accomplishments. He tries hard to please me and feels terrible after misbehaving. He craves my praise for perfect math scores, completed projects, good penmanship, beautiful drawings, well-made beds, fast running, clever invention ideas. He even feels the need to confess to me his wrong-doings, even if they don't relate to me, even after making proper amends, and even though we've talked many times about God's freely-given forgiveness upon our confession to Him.

Yes, this transparency can be reassuring. I often know exactly what he is thinking and how he behaved at school. But it's uncomfortable to have that sort of power in his life and to realize that my imperfect parenting can have potentially devastating effects on his psyche.

Why does he crave my approval? I realize it's partly my fault: his behavior -- good or bad -- and his accomplishments are what I comment on most often. They are tangible and visible and are often windows to his soul and mind, which are what I really love. I love my son for who he is, not what he does.

I sat on the couch this morning after doing my devotions and tried to assess whether I've been doing a good job of getting this point across to my son. Why does he still crave my approval? I've told him many times "I love you for who you are, not what you do", so what more can I do? Are my actions or words are sending a different and wrong message? What must I do to get him past this?

Then it struck me: that's exactly what God is trying to teach me. Again and again, I worry that I'm not accomplishing enough in my life, that I'm not bearing enough spiritual fruit or using my gifts properly, that I'm not making decent time on the road of life. But God doesn't love me for what meager ways I serve Him or for what legacy I might leave on this earth. He loves me for who I am regardless of what I accomplish or how I behave.  I need to learn the very lesson I'm trying to teach my son.

But why did this thought strike me as being so new, so important? I've already had an in-depth lesson -- a whole unit of lessons -- on this very topic. Let's go back a mere nine months ago and there it is: a lesson well-learned during chemotherapy about how God loves me even when I'm stuck on the couch in extreme, drug-induced exhaustion, unable to serve my family or work or do much more than stare ahead at some mindless television program. I even wrote a devotion for MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers, International) on this very topic. How hypocritical to have written about an important lesson learned, only to find myself struggling with the same concept less than a year later. I must not have properly learned, since here I am again. The disappointed teacher in my mind crosses off the A+ on my paper and writes a big red F for failure.

I know this mental image is wrong. God is not a strict schoolteacher grading my performance. I want to develop a new, more godly attitude toward this purported failure, this spinning of my wheels. I can see how God can use my need to relearn as a way to continue His good work in me. Here are some thoughts to incorporate into a new attitude:

1. The need to re-learn is a lesson in humility. I can use each lesson to remind myself that I am a sinner doing what sinners do: sinning. I need God constantly, I am not ever going to outgrow my need for Him.
2. My re-visited lessons are not the same every time, not like a child's board game where an unlucky spin of the wheel takes you back to the first square. Each lesson builds on the foundation laid with the others. A lesson re-visited is a signpost pointing back to God's faithfulness along the road. I look back and see that God has been patiently paving my road with His patience and goodness, and He will continue to do so along the road ahead.
3. I need to think of re-visited lessons not as ruts but as themes. Just as a well-written book has themes, so can a well-lived life. A theme is meant to be revisited over time and in a variety of different ways. One of my life themes is that God loves me regardless of what I accomplish. He is developing this theme and building on this theme in rich and varied ways through my life experiences. My legacy can be a record of His patient faithfulness to a stumbling soul.

When my son gets home from school this afternoon, I will tell him again how much I love him, regardless of what he accomplished or how he behaved today. I will try to tell him this every day, to make it a theme in our relationship and to use it to point him toward our God who loves us perfectly: who is able to forgive the same sin over and over again and re-teach the same lesson over and over again. I will continue to monitor my imperfect parenting and to gently point my son toward God (not mom), but I will not look for proof of progress; I will not expect my son to "accomplish" in this lesson. Instead, I will strive to reflect God's patience by a willingness to revisit lessons for my son in unconditional love.

In His Palm

[Part of this post was later adapted into a chapter for a Chicken Soup of the Soul book. The book chapter uses a pseudonym for Reagan.]

It's been a rough fall. I started tamoxifen on August 1, with much dread. Nonetheless, the first weeks were a breeze; my worries seemed unfounded.

But soon I began experiencing hot flashes. Even though they were more frequent and more severe than the typical patient experiences, I soldiered on. I told my doctor that I could certainly handle that after going though chemotherapy. Many fellow survivors assured me that things improve after a period of adjustment.

However, as the weeks went by, I developed additional health problems that were likely related to tamoxifen's effects but were far more severely uncomfortable than hot flashes. Things seemed to get worse and worse rather than improving. After two months of seeing specialist after specialist and trying treatment after treatment, I was disheartened and upset. I returned to my oncologist, and he took me off tamoxifen. It was a relief to me, even if it increases my risk of recurrence. I am at peace with the decision and am slowly recovering my health.

During the month of October, in the midst of my discomfort, my prayer buddies began to pray that God would bless me with a wonderful November. They remembered that I was diagnosed with cancer last November and that I dreaded that anniversary, November 30.

November 1 came. I was still on tamoxifen and miserable.
Mid-November, my doctor took me off tamoxifen, but the side effects were unrelenting.
Late-November, I resigned myself to an unanswered prayer for a wonderful month. Oh, well, it's not big deal, I told myself. I blamed myself for not insisting weeks earlier on being taken off the medication. And it was my own decision to accept some work projects, which always add another layer of stress onto our busy household and didn't help improve the month.

But the second-to-last day of November, God made my month wonderful. I ran into a neighbor with whom I once served on the local church's council. "I need to tell you something," he said with an air of mystery. "Do you remember Reagan?" I knew he wasn't talking about the former President, but I didn't know anyone else by that name. Seeing my blank look, my friend continued, "He was that homeless man sleeping in the church garage five years ago."

Then I remembered. I hadn't known his name that Sunday afternoon five years ago when we, the church council, had learned that a homeless man was sleeping in our garage. He wasn't a nameless, faceless stranger; he was born and raised in our little town. His mother still lived here, and many older residents remembered him as a boy. But now he was back, but as a broken man,addicted to alcohol and homeless. These are overwhelmingly complex issues, and we -- the church council -- felt inadequate in choosing the best course of action regarding the man sleeping in our garage. We wanted to be compassionate but not enabling. We wanted to protect him but also address the fears of neighborhood parents. We had no idea what to do.

"Remember how you left him your sleeping bag?" Jim asked me. I did. I remember, after our council meeting that Sunday, going home and then returning to church with a sleeping bag from our camping gear. It was winter, and the weather forecast predicted a low of 19 degrees that night. I remember stepping fearfully into that cold, dark garage. I remember seeing no evidence that anyone had been sleeping on that oil-stained cement floor, under that roof so decrepit that it seemed only moss was holding it together. I remember leaving my sleeping bag with a note saying that it was from the congregation, so that -- if he did show up -- he would not feel guilty taking the sleeping bag. At the time, my act seemed shamefully inadequate, like a bandaid on an amputation.

I was shy about following up on my meager offering. But after several weeks, I peeked into the garage and saw that the sleeping bag was gone. There was no way of knowing if it had reached its desired recipient or had simply been removed by a zealous tidier.

I had completely forgotten about the sleeping bag until Jim mentioned it last week. "Reagan came to church this Sunday," Jim told me. "He gave his testimony." Reagan is now sober and has a job and a home. He came to thank the church and the AA group he attends there on weekdays for all their encouragement and support, for helping him turn his life around. "Reagan remembered the sleeping bag," Jim said. "He mentioned how much it meant to him and he thanked the congregation for it."

And that is God's gift. On November 30, my "cancer-versary," I was not dwelling on how harsh my life has been over the past year or how much I've lost. Rather, it was a day of rejoicing about how much has been gained. What a joy and privilege to minister to a child of God on His behalf! How wonderful that a tiny, forgotten act of kindness could have made a difference in someone's life. It's one, small, behind-the-scenes glimpse of how God is bringing about His kingdom on this earth.

When I consider what it means to be held in the palm of God's hand, I have always dwelt on His palm as a source of refuge and strength to people like me and Reagan. It is! But God's palm is even more than that: now I see that it's also where He holds His tools. The people in His palm are those God can use to accomplish all He sets out to do. I was God's tool in encouraging Reagan, and now he has been God's tool in encouraging me. And all without us ever even meeting! Knowing that God works this way in our fallen world, can you IMAGINE how amazing heaven will be?

The Pray and Play

I wrote the below reflection in response to a sermon at my church last week about how Christians are called to profound and meaningful fellowship with each other. The sermon was based on Hebrews 10:24-25,

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

The Pray and Play

It was Carolyn’s idea.

No wait, she would never agree with that. Carolyn would be the first to say it was the Holy Spirit’s idea. But, as a willing vessel of the Holy Spirit, Carolyn invited Jane and me into her home for prayer starting one and a half years ago. We live close enough together that we could walk to each other’s houses. Jane would probably be the first to point that out. One of her gifts is seeing the big picture of God’s provision in our lives, how He meets our needs again and again, even needs we didn’t know we had, like the need for a close-knit, close-by circle of praying friends.

We aren’t an official church group. We are just three women who worship at the same church on Sundays and pray at each other’s homes on Fridays. At the beginning, we were three-fifths devoted to praying and two-fifths devoted to playing. That’s because two of the five people meeting each week were preschoolers. The background music of our prayer was the chatter and laughter of two little girls. So we named our gathering The Pray and Play. Sometimes the Players would creep into the room where the Prayers were praying. They called it spying, but we called it a joy that our daughters could spy us in prayer. We want to raise children who see prayer and friendship and prayerful friendship as integral to life. And how beautiful that two generations of female friendships could meet under one roof to enjoy closeness with each other and with God.

Praying together gives our friendship extraordinary intimacy and authenticity. We share our raw emotions and inner battles. What a blessing to come before God together; to be held accountable, encouraged, and upheld; to share our burdens and our joys. What a privilege to be a prayer guardian of each other’s children and husbands, siblings and parents, of our church and the people of our church whose names God puts on our hearts. What a blessing to see evidence of God’s care unfolding over the days and months and years in each other’s lives. By checking in each week, we see the delightful ways God answers our prayers, and we rejoice to have been witnesses of His mighty works and constant care.

Many times these prayer friends have been used by God in my life – their arms were God’s arms when I needed a hug and their words were God’s words, often straight off the pages of the Bible, when I needed guidance or comfort. This was most evident during my experience this past year with cancer. By God’s grace, the surgeon’s phone call with the biopsy results came on a Friday afternoon at 1pm, just as we were about to pray. God’s timing is perfect. His beautiful servants provided the arms to hug me and then prostrated themselves before Him to plead on my behalf.

Jane sat beside me during my chemotherapy infusion. If you know Jane, you know that the very air around her is infused with a sense of peace. What better person to have at my side as the needles delivered cancer-killing toxins to my veins? Carolyn organized meals and childcare after my surgeries and during chemotherapy. She is one of those lovely people who never draws attention to herself as she performs quiet acts of kindness. I am blessed to be the recipient of their friendship and kindness! I am reminded of how much more God does for us.

I always leave our weekly prayer time with feelings of peace and strength that last for hours. If only I could discipline my flighty heart to such focused prayer each day! If only I could share this blessing with my Christian brothers and sisters. And that is why I wrote this. This prayer group is one of many ways to fulfill God’s call to radical and profound Christian fellowship. I pray that my fellow Christians will have the courage to invite others into their lives in this manner and that those they invite will have the courage to say yes.

Going Public

I haven't posted for weeks. I've been laying low, still in shock that I had the courage to "go public" with my fight against breast cancer and the spiritual/emotional journey it has been.

Here are the two ways I told my story publicly:

1. I wrote an article for Intervarsity's website The Well, a resource for women in graduate studies or professional careers. It was an honor to write this article, available at here. It was also a huge leap of faith to write for a public forum about my medical and spiritual struggles. It was especially public in my little world, because I shared the link on Facebook with many acquaintances who were not aware that I had cancer and with whom I have not shared deeply about my faith.

The best part about writing that article was not what I expected: the thrill of completing an assignment or being published. Rather, it was the moving responses I received by email. The article proved to be:

• an opportunity to address faith questions with one friend
• a journey shared with other Christian women dealing with their own anxieties
• a "call to faith", as one acquaintance wrote
• a chance to reconnect with people from my past on a deeper level

It was hard to air my vulnerabilities, but I was blessed by the experience!

Any Christian knows that God uses our vulnerabilities to draw us closer to Him. It's a lesson straight out of Christian Living 101. No one gets through life without a thorn in the flesh of some sort, conditions beyond our control such as medical problems, disability, emotional challenges, abuse, or poverty. When Paul pleaded with God to remove his unnamed thorn, God answered "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9). Our thorns remind us that we humans rely completely on our loving Heavenly Father every breath of the day, every step of the way.

But here I learned a equally beautiful lesson that builds on the first. We'll call in Christian Living 201. When I make myself vulnerable, God can use me to bless others and build my relationships with them. Airing my struggles publicly connected me to others in ways I could not have foreseen. How humbling to learn that my experience spoke to theirs.

2. That was the heavy-weight stuff; now for the light-weight story of sharing my experience publicly. I took part in a clinical trial for a post surgical product and was asked to submit a testimonial about my experience with the product. The company's photographer took my picture and *presto* I'm a spokesmodel. 
:)
They might use my photo, first name, age, and words in advertising material. Here's one of the photos:

Teeth & Hair: A Joyful Update

As follow up to my post last month about anticipation, here's a photo of my intrepid 6-year-old daughter who got what she has been waiting for. See that gap? Her loose tooth is finally out! Needless to say, she is ecstatic (and very brave for allowing her former kindergarten teacher to pull it out with a piece of dental floss today. Eww.).

I'm ecstatic too, not only because my daughter's wait is over but because mine is, too. I HAVE HAIR!

Now, before we all get too crazy, let me just say that it's just a tiny, fuzzy bit of new growth. But it's really, truly there! My husband even confirmed it. (He is one of those extremely honest people, so he said, "Of course, there are still some bare patches in the back..." The bald truth, n'est pas?)

No pictures yet, because it's hard to see without the right fuzz-friendly lighting.

I'm so happy! And this is another instance of God's great timing: I started taking the dreaded tamoxifen pills last Monday and noticed the new hair growth on Wednesday. Not only did I not immediately experience every documented tamoxifen side effect upon swallowing the pill but got good news (hair!) while expecting bad (menopause symptoms).

Lessons, Tamoxifen, and Hair (Oh My!)

Last Wednesday, something I’ve been dreading finally happened:  my tamoxifen prescription arrived in the mail. Here’s the play-by-play:

1:00pm, my son brings in the mail and tells me there’s a package with my name on it. 

1:03, I pick up the package, realize what it was (that suspicious pill noise), and nearly drop it. My heart drops, too, about an inch in my chest. I’ve been dreading the arrival of my menopause-in-a-bottle for months.

1:04-3:04, I leave the unopened package on the countertop. Over the next two hours, I glance at it suspiciously every time I pass it. 

3:04, I realize I need to get a grip and stop obsessing about the package. I tear it open to break its hold on me. 

3:05, I decide I don’t need to start taking the pills today just because they happened to arrive today. After all, my oncologist didn’t make it sound like a hurry (though he didn’t approve of my idea about waiting until September). I decide that reading the paperwork qualifies as progress toward taking the pills.

3:08, I realize that reading the paperwork was a mistake. “Hair loss” is listed as a common side effect of tamoxifen. Oh no! My heart drops into my stomach. I’ve been doing well at not obsessing about hair regrowth (despite two months and still nothing but glaring baldness). But now I wonder: will tamoxifen compromise my already questionable hair-growing ability? I wish I didn't care about this so much. It's downright embarrassing to start obsessing about hair again (and this long after my junior high years!).

3:09-3:35, Even bigger mistake: I do an internet search to determine just how common this common side effect is. Or whether it's beneficial to wait for hair growth before starting tamoxifen. These sounded like reasonable, perhaps even scientific, queries at the time. Search yields no answers, just chat groups in which people wonder if their hair loss is related to tamoxifen use. I feel worse instead of better.

3:36, Fervent prayer. I need hope! I need answers! I need hair!!! (Okay, want hair)

3:45, Calmer now. Once again, I have to accept that this is beyond my control. It’s in God’s hands, and I trust Him to help me cope with whatever my future holds.

7:30pm, Support group with the local YWCA and Young Survivors Coalition. Other women my age who have been taking tamoxifen for months or years put my fears to rest. They have beautiful heads of hair and beautiful words of hope. 

Hooray! Thank you, Lord!!

Apparently, I'm a slow learner. I can see that my Tamoxifen/Hair Loss Freak-Out serves as a test or progress report, reminding to me that I still have a long way to go toward trusting God with control over my whole life (ie, there's still lots to burnish on this Starry Sheen.) I'm grateful that, although I didn't pass the test with flying colors, comfort mercifully arrived the same day as the pills. God's timing is always great timing.

Teeth & Hair That Just Aren't There (Yet): A Lesson In Waiting

My daughter and I share many traits: we're built alike (okay, I'm taller), we have similar coloring, and we have the same smile. (We even have matching skirts. Thanks, Mom!) We both like animals and laughing and reading.

Lately, we've shared something else: impatience. But let's put a positive spin on it by calling it "eager anticipation".

Here are our similar situations:

My daughter is eagerly anticipating the loss of a baby tooth.
It's an important rite of passage among 6-year-olds, a sign you are growing up.
She has a barely-loose tooth.
She wiggles it several times a day.
Sometimes she asks me to check if it's any looser than it was yesterday.
Sometimes she wiggles it hard, hoping to loosen it manually.

I am eagerly anticipating the regrowth of my hair.
It's an important sign of healing, visual proof of restored health after chemotherapy.
My head is still sparsely covered with stubble that I never managed to completely shave during the trauma of my initial hair loss.
I check my head several times a day for evidence of new growth.
Sometimes I ask my husband to check if there's any new hair there that I just can't see myself.
Sometimes I even pull a stubbly piece hard, hoping to encourage its growth manually.

(I know, I know. It all sounds cute in a 6-year-old but obsessive in a grown-up.)

In both our cases, the process can't be rushed, no matter how badly we want it. We need to wait for the natural course to run. (Groan!) But, in both our cases, we have every reason to expect our desired outcome. I assure her that everyone loses their baby teeth eventually. It will happen.
I assure myself the same way. I only need to be patient. It really will happen.

But I know the truth: it probably really will happen. Teeth and hair are not sure things. My daughter's dentist and my oncologist want us to assume these eagerly anticipated events will happen because they are the expected outcomes. But anyone who has taken Biology 101 is aware that, when it comes to living creatures, there's an exception to almost every rule.

• For example, you learn that mammals, by definition, give birth to live young... and then you learn that the platypus is an egg-laying mammal. 
• The human heart is on the left side of the body... except in the 1/10,000 of the population who have situs inversus (mirror image arrangement of the internal organs). 

Likewise, if you prodded our dentist, he would probably slap you with a lawsuit for assault and battery but -- more to my point -- he would probably admit that, in rare instances, a person never loses their baby teeth. (Don't tell the 6-year-olds!) You know where this is going: I'm only one ill-advised google search away confirming my fear that some people never get their hair back after chemotherapy.

Even if there were a 99.5% chance that I will get my hair back, that wouldn't be not enough to completely reassure me. There would still that niggling little fear in the back of my mind, shaking its head tragically and whispering that I might be among those unfortunate 0.5%.  After all, I've beaten the odds (that is, been beaten by the odds) before: the risk of developing breast cancer at my age a mere 0.43%.

Isn't it funny that 99.5% assurance still wouldn't be enough? That we can feel overwhelmed by doubt and fear even when the odds are in our favor? It's sadly human to worry about the exceptions and rarities.

It reminds me, though, of what I can and should know with 100% certainty (Here it comes! If you've read this blog long enough, you know a spiritual lesson is about to be delivered...). I know with 100% certainty that God cares for me and will provide for me now and eternally.

Jesus' own words in Matthew 10:29-31,  

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."

These days I just love the imagery of God knowing how many hairs are on my head. I may not see them, but He sees those microscopic hairs forming (or not forming?!) deep in my follicles. I imagine Him smiling every time another one breaks the surface, knowing how pleased I'll be when I finally see a nice crop sprouting. Hairy or not, I can have 100% confidence of God's care for me, even though I can't see how He will provide for me or when He will provide or what He will provide. I can't even see God! So where does this assurance come from? It's called faith, and it's a gift rather than something you need to conjure on your own.

Hebrews 11:1, Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Faith is confidence in what we hope for. And don't diss hope! Christian hope isn't just wispy wistfulness, like hoping you'll get a pony for Christmas or hoping it won't rain on Saturday. It's absolute 100% confidence. After all, these promises were made by God. And, if you can't believe God's promises, what can you believe? Seriously. Every creature and concept and chemical in this universe is temporal and finite, therefore, not 100% eternally reliable. Your body, the person you love most, the pursuit of happiness, Social Security, the United Nations, the ozone layer, our sun, nitrogen atoms -- they ultimately all fail. But God? He is, was, and always will be. And His love for us is, was, and always will be!

Psalm 117:2, For great is His love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever.

I John 3:1, See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!

 100% assurance. It's better than hair.




P.S. Here are a few more irrational hair fears so you can laugh with me:

• Irrational fear #37: As infants, my children wore off sizable swathes of their fine baby hair by constantly turning their heads from side to side while lying on their backs. Of course, I think about this as I toss and turn at night, forced to sleep on my back while recovering from reconstructive surgery.
• Irrational fear #64: While inspecting my stubbly leftover hairs, I notice that mainly gray ones survived the chemo (tenacious little fiends!). Will natural selection (survival of the fittest) play out on my scalp, leaving me prematurely gray? Or could the gray stubble have such a strong head start that they will choke out regular hairs, like weeds in a vegetable garden? Does worrying about gray hairs cause gray hair?