From a Panic Attack to God Singing Over Us at an Airport in India

Two months ago, the night before our flight out of Atlanta, the first physical step in thousands of miles we were to take in the direction of our Pearl, I slept for barely two hours.

The burdensome weight of years of waiting for this moment to come, coupled with the reality of what we were actually doing the following morning, combined with the overwhelming sadness of being separated from Gloria and Grace for two weeks finally caught up...and overtook me.

Every kind of emotion, all the excitement, the anticipation, the fear, the tears, and yes, even nausea came out.

What I know now, but didn't comprehend then, was that I had a panic attack.  And it was bad.  Very bad.

Even though the anxiety inside me was greater than either my body or my mind has ever experienced, even though I was balled up on my bathroom floor, I still heard a very specific, very real command spoken to my spirit.

"Stand firm."

It was one I'd noticed God emphasizing, highlighting to me from His Word for weeks leading up to that moment.

"Finally, be strong in the LORD and in His mighty power.

Put on the full armor of God

so that you can take your STAND against the devil's schemes...

Therefore put on the full armor of God,

so that when the day of evil comes,

you may be able to STAND your ground,

and after you have done everything, to STAND. 

STAND FIRM then..." Ephesians 6:10-14a

 

In those middle of the night moments, I wavered. I doubted. I lost faith. Every promise God had given us, all the miraculous deeds He'd done on our behalf, all the hope of the future nearly flew out the window.  I was weak and crippled by fear.

"Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ's power may rest on me...

For when I am weak, then I am strong."

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

 

The very same One whose powerful words spoke all of creation, all of life into existence, spoke to me, cared enough for His daughter's trembling heart, to speak and to comfort and to infuse courage back into it.

 

And the next morning?

 

Though weeping may remain for a night, rejoicing comes in the morning!

 

 

 

Exhausted, yet elated, we boarded our first flight and left America behind. We flew about nine hours, landed in Frankfurt, Germany, had a six-hour layover and then boarded our second flight. We flew eight hours and finally landed at the Delhi airport in India.

 

It was just after midnight when we arrived. Though beautiful and exotic, nothing was familiar. We truly felt like the foreigners we were in a distant land.

 

 

We stood in line to get our boarding passes for our next flight, the one to Pune, where Pearl's orphanage was located.  We went through security and began our long trek to the other side of the airport where our next departure gate was located. 

 

Since we had several hours before our connecting flight, we decided to find a quiet place to take a moment to collect ourselves. We found just that in a more secluded area of the airport, right in front of a coffee shop.

 

Most of this side of the airport was still asleep. The refreshment stands and restaurants were not open for business, it being 3:00am local time. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful. Just what we needed after all the hustle and bustle through which we'd just come.

 

The coffee shop was just opening their doors for the business of the day.  Derek and I sat down at a table several yards in front of the store. 

 

Derek began looking over some of our important documents, the itinerary, etc., while I put my feet up and reflected over all that we'd been through the past 24+ hours.  All the travel, all the roller coasters of feelings I was still battling, all the requirements that still had to be met to get our girl.

 

We'd only been seated a couple of minutes when someone, somewhere, turned on some music. Just a couple of notes played through the speakers, breaking the eerie silence, when Derek and I looked up from our own personal revelries, locked eyes and gasped.

 

We could not believe what our ears were hearing.

 

In the middle of Indira Gandhi International Airport, in the capital of India, in the midst of all things Indian, this is what we heard from a voice we recognized immediately:

 

"Oh, I've heard a thousand stories of what they think you're like

But I've heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night

And you tell me that you're pleased

And that I'm never alone.

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

 

Oh, it's love so undeniable

I, I can hardly speak

Peace so unexplainable

I, I can hardly think

As you call me deeper still

Into love, love, love...

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am."

(Chris Tomlin)

 

Familiar words from a familiar voice. In a foreign land, far away from all that was familiar to us.

 

We knew the lyrics of the song well. 

 

By heart actually.  We humbly join in worship with other believers, other children of the Most High, to sing that song regularly at our church.

 

We know the Good, Good Father well, too. 

 

Individually, and as a married couple, we've walked with Him for years.  And yet, He still blew us away with this "tender whisper of love in the dead of night".

 

Tears fell. From both of our eyes. We were speechless. And overwhelmed. All we could do was remain still.  His presence so thick we were nearly undone.

 

In a country, in an airport where contemporary praise/worship-filled music most certainly is not the norm, He showed us He was there. Immanuel, God with us. That He sees, that He knows, that He cares about every single detail.

That He goes before us, fights for us and would indeed be our "cloud by day" and "fire by night" on this journey. And most of all, that He is the Father to the fatherless.

 

That moment gave us an unexplainable, incomprehensible peace we hadn't had before, erasing anxiety and fear, causing an immense, all-encompassing, bold-as-lions courage to swell inside our hearts.

 

How could we ever forget that moment?

 

The moment when God proved (once again) how perfect He is in all His ways.  When He took over the sound system, the intercom, in a Hindu-dominated country so that His daughter and His son might be encouraged with familiarity, with Truth, and the closeness of His presence.

 

Only His mighty arm is that strong and only His Father's heart is that personal, that intentional and that attentive to what His children need at just the moment they need it.

 

Only a Good, Good Father does that.

 

"The LORD your God is with you,

He is mighty to save. 

He will take great delight in you,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing."

Zephaniah 3:17

 

 

**For the record (or for any doubting Thomas's out there),we sat and listened to hours of music following this incident while we waited for our next flight.  NEVER was there any other song similar to this (or even sung in English for that matter) played over the airwaves while we were at the airport.**

 

 

Sky High

Privileged to be a guest contributor at 5 Minutes for Faith again! 

 

Here's my post for the day:

“Step.  Slide.  Hang on tight.  Breathe. 

Okay.  Good.  Now, repeat. 
One more thing. 
Whatever you do… don’t look down.”

I whispered these words to myself as I stood on a wooden bridge, high in the air.  I was attached by a simple harness and pulley system, facing a fear I didn’t even know I possessed.

Going to Stone Mountain Park was my idea that hot summer day.  Standing in line for Sky Hike, the adventure ropes course, was my idea, too.  But fear was never part of the agenda. 

Following each platform pit-stop is a pair of apparatus.  Each climber must choose which path to take.  One is deemed easier.  One, a tad more challenging.  Every time, I went with the simpler path.  I was determined to take the easy way out.  Literally.

Until Billy saw me. 

 

Billy worked at the park.  His job was to help those with weak and shaky knees cross the ropes.  He came straight toward me, pointed and said, “Try this one.”

I replied, “No thanks.  I’m good.  I like this one.  It’s easier.”

His reply, “I know.  But this one is more fun and you’re almost at the end.  You should know how it feels to cross this rope before you’re done.  Don’t worry.  I’m right here.”

He extended his hand. 

I looked.  I thought.  I refused. 

I shook off his offer of help, but not his suggestion for a challenge.  I took a couple of steps onto the more difficult, one-inch tightrope, and then I froze.  I thought I could do it by myself.  I reasoned that after his pep talk, I was ready to do it by myself.  Wrong. 

Still watching me with extended hand, Billy waited.  As awkward as I felt relying on a perfect stranger for help, I reached for his hand.  Still moving slowly, I let him guide me across the remainder of the rope and onto the safety of the deck. 

I was finished with level one, but not with my lesson for the day.  Throughout the course, I saw that when faced with a decision, I yield to the easy path.  I shun the hard stuff because…well…it’s hard.  And sometimes, I refuse to accept help when I need it most. 

Since then, our little daredevil family has returned to brave Sky Hike two more times.  The last time, I courageously conquered all three levels—climbing, balancing and mastering the course, suspended 40 feet above the ground.  While exiting level three, an employee asked me, “So…how was it?” 

“It was scary, but I finished!  Do I get a sticker?  Or is there a bell I can ring?  A bugle to blow?  Something to announce to everyone that I did it?”

She laughed and said, “We should.  But I’ll shout it for you.  ‘She did it!  She finished!  Great job!’”  Triumphantly, I walked away knowing this was so much more than just a great activity at a great park.  It was also a great life-lesson.

I can choose to face the hard stuff in my life because my God is already there, just ahead of me.  He sees me panic-stricken and trembling in my soul.  He knows the moment my faith freezes and He comes. He sees me looking down at my circumstances instead of up at His face.  He waits for me to take His hand. 

And when I do, He will guide me through it to the other side, declaring, “You did it!  You finished.  Great job!”

With this news…encourage those who have weak knees.
 Say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, & do not fear, for your God is coming…He is coming to save you.”

Is. 35:3-4 (NLT)

 

I Have a Feeling

The last few weeks, I've had a strange feeling in my gut.  I might compare it to a word of caution, a "heads-up", or even a warning to heed.

In my mind, I'm at the beach on a gorgeous, green-flag day.   Basking in the sunshine, I kick off my flops and begin to stroll along the shore.  I cannot help but smile as I wade farther into the salty water.  Like a dry sponge, I soak in the calm surrounding me.

But suddenly, in the midst of all that is beautiful and serene, I sense a quiet rumble, an unfamiliar stirring.  The once-tranquil waters have begun to churn, becoming choppy and suddenly precarious. And just over the horizon, I can see a storm gaining momentum.

I pray I'm wrong.  But still, I have a feeling.

You see, we've spent the past month completing the final responsibilities of the Home Study phase of our adoption journey, specifically the education phase.  Reading, reading, and even MORE reading.  Books, blogs, more books, more blogs, and the mandated, 12-hour, on-line Hague Convention training have nearly consumed me.

I love to read and I love to learn.  I take advantage of opportunities to grow in my knowledge on any given subject, but the last couple of weeks takes the cake.

I've had to read about orphanages, institutionalized children, developmental delays, soothing behaviors, sensory processing disorder, reactive attachment disorder, bonding, neglect, abuse, fetal alcohol syndrome, malnutrition, cognitive and emotional concerns, and post-adoption depression syndrome, just to name a few.

With knowledge comes understanding and with understanding comes empathy.  I get this. Indefinitely, this information will help prepare me to parent our little girl.  But this knowledge also ties up my mind and stomach in knots.  Bottom line: I'm afraid and I'm anxious.

And those are two things I despise:  fear and worry.

They also just happen to be two things I'm commanded by my Lord not to do.  Remember these often-repeated words throughout scripture?

"Do not fear."  
"Do not worry."  

Yeah. I do, too.

And yet...I find myself consumed with both.

I worry about my daughter's physical health.
I worry that she is not being fed nourishing foods or protected from diseases.
I worry about her mental state.
I worry about her lying in a crib for hours and hours, neglected and understimulated.
I worry about her emotional needs not being met.
I worry that she is not being held enough or kissed enough or doted over enough.

I'm afraid she won't attach or bond to us quickly when she comes home.
I'm afraid of the "honeymoon" stage wearing off too quickly and the hard reality setting in.
I'm afraid of sleep-deprivation...again.
I'm afraid I won't be able to meet her needs, especially when she is grieving the loss of all she's ever known.
I'm afraid of being isolated during the "cocooning" phase.
I'm afraid our family and friends won't understand.
I'm afraid I won't have the strength, the patience, the perseverance, and most of all, the love I need to be my little girl's mother.
I'm afraid one day my husband and I will look at each other and say, "What the h--- were we thinking?"

And deep down, I am afraid that even though we will take our child out of the institution, it will be a struggle to take the institution out of our child.

I'm not trying to be negative.  Really I'm not.  Just honest.  It's hard, excruciatingly hard, to read what we've read and not let it affect you.

I've had trouble resting the past couple of weeks.  I've gone to bed anxious and have had less-than-pleasant dreams about not being prepared and ready.

Our social worker says to "expect the worst and pray for the best."

We are.

And with every prayer uttered on our Indian daughter's behalf, we squeak one out for us.
We are casting our cares, clinging to the only One capable of silencing the winds and waves raging within us.
We rest and rely on the One who loves our daughter(s) immeasurably more than we could ever imagine loving them.

Storm or no storm on the horizon, we will not drown.  In contrast, we will rest securely in the promise of His presence and His provision, for our daughter and for us.

The God who called us WILL equip us.  No doubt.  I have a feeling.

Would you consider praying for us, too?

I Have to Do This

For the last two months, we have been knee-deep in checking off items on our adoption agency's home study checklist.

By home study, we mean the first official stage of the adoption process involving a heap of paperwork required by both Georgia and the United States.

For those curious ones, here is a sample of our checklist:

*Autobiographies for Each Prospective Parent (four pages)                                       

            *Reading agreement (read 5 or more books about adoption)

 *Medical Reports for All Adults and Children Living in the Home (physicals, as well as, TB tests)

 *Residential History

 *Consent and Request for Criminal Background Check for Each Applicant and Adult in the Home (Both GBI and FBI fingerprinting done)

 *Child Abuse Clearances for Each Applicant and Adult in the Home

 *HIPPA Release Form for Sex Offender Registry

  *Photographs

 *Birth Certificates for You and Your Children

 *Marriage Certificate

 *Most Recent Income Tax Return

 *Copy of health insurance card

 *Statement of Net Worth

 *Verification of Employment

 *Four Letters of Reference

 *Septic Tank Letter & Well Water Test (had to have our septic tank pumped)

Working down our list, my husband and I dutifully made appointments to have physicals done for our medical reports last month.  Following the routine checkup, each of us had to have a tuberculosis test as well. 

Our girls were in the room watching as the nurse inserted the small needle into each of our arms and then pulled it out.  They saw us grimace and they saw the little amount of blood on our skin afterwards.

Naturally, they asked, “Do we have to do that, too?”

Fast forward to this past week.  It was our daughters' turn.  Time for their scheduled doctor’s appointments.  

We told them they were getting a check-up (which they were). 

We told them it was for the adoption (which it was). 

We told them we had to do this so we could bring their new sister home from India (which we do).  
But we purposely failed to relay the whole truth to them beforehand.  The truth that both of them would also have to get a TB test, just like us.

As we patiently waited for the doctor to come in, our youngest just happened to ask, “Do we have to get a shot today?”

My response, “No…not a shot, really.”

“What then?” she rebounded.

“Just a little poke.  Nothing to it.”  I replied nonchalantly.

Now any parent who has or has ever had young children, especially those terrified of needles, can guess what happened next inside that quiet room.

Just as the doorknob turned and the nurses took a step inside, my youngest and normally bravest daughter, began wailing at the top of her lungs, “NO-O-O-O-O!!!  I don’t want to be poked!  I don’t want to!  I don’t want to I tell you!  I’m not doing it!  I’m not!  Do you hear me?!?”

My husband scooped her up and tried to console her.  We both tried to reason with our five year old and help her accept the facts.  She was going to be poked, whether she liked it or not.

In the midst of all the commotion, I looked over at my oldest still quietly sitting on the table.  She had her head down, arms out and ready, tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

 
As I made my way to her I knew exactly what she was feeling in her small eight year old body.  I remember all too well, wrestling with her at her toddler and preschool doctor appointments, holding her legs down so the nurses could give the necessary vaccinations. 

I knew what turmoil she and I have faced together because of her stark, intense fear of pain (see previous post here.)  So my mother’s heart knew just how difficult it was for her to say these words when she looked up at me through her tears.

 “I want to get Pearl, Mommy.  So…I have to do this.”

I have to confess I have had many, many proud moments as a mother.  But few can compare to hearing my daughter say what she said, at the moment she said it.

She got it. 

Despite the momentary pain and the minor wound it would cause her, she would do it for someone else.  Someone she has yet to meet.  Someone she already loves.

And then I got it. 

We have One who did the same exact thing for us.  One who would have rather avoided the pain, the wounds, the blood. 

But through tears, He looked up at His Father and said,

"I want them to be free.  I want them to be with me. 

I want them in my family.  So...I have to do this."

And He did.  He carried our sorrows.  He endured the suffering.  He was pierced for our transgressions.  And by His wounds we are healed.

Throughout every stage of this adoption journey I see the gospel more clearly than I ever have in my life.  This journey will require sacrifice and suffering.  Not just for us, but for the daughter we've yet to meet.

"But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, 
this is commendable before God." 1 Peter 2:20b

Thankful for the reminder, I tell myself, no matter how painful, no matter how difficult the task, "I have to do this."

Risky Business

"Family freely assumes the risks..."

While reading and signing the 20-page contract sent from our adoption agency, I found myself zeroing in on one particular word in that phrase. 

Risks.

The document stated that "international adoption is a complex process, often involving circumstances beyond the agency's control..."

Risks. 

Those things you spend your life trying to avoid because you know they could cause trouble or bring you unnecessary harm. 

Risks.

Your lungs are at risk if you choose to smoke.

Overexposure to harmful UV rays increases your risk of developing skin cancer.

Not wearing a seat belt greatly increases the risk of being injured or killed in a car accident.

Investing all your money in the uncertain stock market could be a risk to your stable financial future.

If you use this particular medication, you are at risk for liver damage.

Danger:  Enter at your own risk.

risk - possibility of suffering harm or loss; potential peril; uncertain danger; presumed threat; chance of trouble

I admit my naivete.  I admit my lack of knowledge.  I admit I've thought adoption to be a lot of things.  But the word, "risk" had yet to cross my mind.  Until now.

I had to put the pen down.  I had to think, to really think over all of the possible risks the agency had just listed.  There were a lot.  A whole lot.  Including the whole darn thing following apart all together.

Bottom line:  there are no guarantees. 

Not one.  Not even after all our paperwork is completed and mailed off.  Not even after all our fundraising and payments are processed.  Not even after all our wanting and waiting. 

Adoption is a risky business. 

At the bottom of the last page were two lines marked with an "X". 

My line:
Prospective Mother's signature
X_______________________

My husband's line:
Prospective Father's signature
X_______________________

And above both lines, were these words,

"We have been informed...and freely accept the risks."

Do we?  Do we freely and fully accept the risks?

Both of us stopped.  We held hands and we prayed.  We sought guidance from the One who called us to this journey in the first place.  And in that holy moment, peace prevailed and we were reminded of these simple facts:

Driving a car is risky.
Buying a home is risky.
Starting a new job is risky.
Making new friends is risky.
Giving my heart to another is risky.
Saying "I do" is risky.
Carrying a baby for nine months is risky.
Being a parent is risky.
Stepping out in faith is risky.
Loving big is risky.

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."

~ Jim Elliot, missionary in Ecuador; lost his life by the Waodani tribe warriors

And yet even in the midst of all the possible risks, I rest in these constant certainties:

• Jesus promised, "I am with you, always" (Matthew 28:20). 
• He said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5).
• He will remain faithful, even when I am faithless. (2 Timothy 2:13).

"If anyone comes after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit his very self?"

~ Jesus

All of life is risky business. Period.

But if I never take the risk, how will I ever know the reward?

So I pick up my pen and I sign on the line.  Freely assuming and accepting the risks.  Knowing full-well that adoption is a risky business and we are entering at our own risk.

"If you're not willing to give up everything, you've already lost."

~ film, Act of Valor

Freedom

"F-R-E-E-D-O-M!!!"

It's what I heard my eldest daughter, Grace, yelling at the top of her lungs as she took off down the road all by herself. 

For the first time.  On her bike.  With no training wheels.

She screamed it with such relief, such exhilaration and such joy.  With every ounce of my mothering heart, I felt how much she truly meant it.  I couldn't help but jump up and down, rejoicing with her.

You see, it has taken much coaxing over the years for her to be willing to sit on her wobbly, unstable bike, let alone ride it.  She just wasn't interested.  She had other things she preferred.  But most of all, she was downright scared.  Scared to death she'd fall down, get hurt, and experience pain. 

algophobia--the fear of pain and discomfort

According to what I've read, an algophobic is someone who tends to overestimate how bad pain could be and/or the danger of any given situation.  In most cases, he or she gets very upset and loses control when the threat of pain is present.  The individual often starts to cry and usually expresses symptoms of anger, panic, terror, dread and extreme fear.  Ultimately the algophobic's number one concern in life is to protect himself/herself from unwarranted pain and discomfort.  When he/she feels safe and protected, all is right in the world.

Now I fully realize I am in no position to diagnose my daughter with a phobia, nor do I desire to have her labeled with one. 

I am not a physician, but I am a mom who has lived with my precious daughter for nearly eight years.  

I've witnessed a doctor's office visit in which it took three nurses to hold her down just to give her a shot.  I've seen the dread and panic she experienced this summer during swimming lessons and the death grip she had on the lifeguard when she was forced to go out where she couldn't touch.  

Hunched over, I have run alongside her, holding onto the bicycle seat because she pleaded with me not to let go.  

And I have held her hand multiple times when she desperately wanted to get her ears pierced, but in the end, didn't feel she had enough strength to go through with it.

Through it all, I have prayed for her and have tried to help her battle her fears.

I have reminded her that Jesus promised us that in this world we would have trouble (pain), but we can take heart because He has overcome the world (John 16:33). 

I have spoken the comforting truth that God is with us always (Matthew 28:20b). 

I have reassured her that God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love, and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). 

But to someone who feels trapped, even enslaved, by their fears, it's a struggle. 

To believe.  To rest.  To relinquish control.  To trust.  To take a leap of faith.

So we continue to petition the Father on our daughter's behalf.  We consistently renounce fear in her life.  As we do, we step back and have the privilege of watching God unlock the shackles one by one around her heart and mind.  Every time He does, we witness a miracle. 

As difficult as the battles have been, the victories have been a hundred times sweeter.  And, in the past nine months, there have been many sweet victories.

We have seen Grace face her fears head on and with God's help, overcome them. 

Last fall, we were there when she pushed through her intense fear of pain and mustered up the courage to get both ears pierced.  We were also there when she didn't need to be wrestled down just to get a flu shot, but endured it with bravery instead.  And most recently this summer, we were privileged to witness our little warrior princess pedaling away freely on her bicycle, unencumbered by training wheels or fear. 

After all, it's for freedom that Christ has set us free (Galatians 5:1). 

"F-R-E-E-D-O-M!"  May it be a rally cry for us all.

"I prayed to the Lord and He answered me.  He freed me from all my fears."  Psalm 34:4 (NLT)

Open Water

I have never been a fan of open water. 

Well, unless...
I'm firmly on the shore gazing out at it.
I'm safely in a vehicle riding by it or over it.
I'm in a very large, stable cruise ship riding upon it.

Otherwise, count me out.  Instead, I'd much prefer a good ol' concrete, rectangular shaped, chlorine-filled swimming pool.

I think my hesitancy and fear stem from watching one too many Jaws movies when I was child back in the 80's.  I would peer through my fingers, which covered my face, and watch the hungry ocean creature attack the poor, helpless victim from under the water without her ever seeing it coming. 

As a result, I've never had an interest in surfing, scuba diving, or even swimming far out into the deep, blue sea.  On the contrary, I have been quite content to enjoy the water, with all its glory, safely from a distance.

So, how was I to respond when our friends, who happen to love being out on a boat, out on the open water, invited us to join them this past week at Lake Lanier? 

Yes, I know the difference between salt water creatures and fresh water creatures.  In my head, I know there are no great white sharks lurking in Lake Lanier.  But what about snakes, giant fish, or even alligators?  Hmm. 

I was faced with a dilemma.  Do I go with them or do I stay home?  Do I get in the boat, face my fears and try something new?  Or do I avoid the boat, stay afraid and refuse to accept the challenge of enlarging my experiences?

In this case, I chose to be brave.  I chose to suck up my fears for the sake of having fun and spending time with friends.  And I did have fun.  Lots of it. 

Not only did I get into the boat, but later in the trip, I even got out of the boat.  I jumped in the water and swam around with my daughters, out in open water. 

And even more surprisingly, I tried kneeboarding for the very first time.  Imagine that.

Being pulled around behind a speeding boat, out in open water.  Then after letting go, waiting for the boat, out in open water, to return to pick you up. Talk about getting over my fear of open water! 

Will I do it again?  Absolutely.  Why? 

Because, thanks to the Lord and some encouraging friends, I've discovered that going out into the deep, open water is much more fulfilling than only observing from a distance or simply staying where it's shallow. 

In the Storm

Biopsy. CT scan. Surgery. Malignant. Port. MRI. Bone scan. Chemo. Cancer.

Not one of these terms ever crossed my friends' minds two weeks ago. Two weeks ago they were a happy, active family thinking only of all-star baseball, swimming, and making plans to get down to the beach. Now, less than two weeks later, they are striving to navigate the raging winds, the crashing waves, and the drenching rains of the worst storm of their adult lives.

Their six year old son is the one in need of rescue, in need of deliverance, in need of healing. And his parents are right there with him in the fragile boat as it’s being tossed about in the tumultuous waters.

Just this past week my dear friends' son was diagnosed with an extremely rare kind of bone cancer--Ewings Sarcoma. He had not one symptom before, but then a small, suspicious lump on his left jawbone became the first indication something wasn't quite right. Even after ingesting nearly two rounds of antibiotics, the lump continued to grow and consequently, more urgent action was taken.

Now this active little boy is experiencing things no child should have to face in his or her lifetime. He's being as brave and as strong as he possibly can, mustering courage neither he, nor his parents, even knew he possessed. He's already being described as a "hero" by those who know him and love him the most.

No one who has ever battled cancer wants cancer. Not one soul raises his or her hand and willingly volunteers to take on this brutal disease. Cancer is non-discriminative.  It doesn’t care who it attacks—male, female, adult, child.  Unfortunately, over and over again we hear stories of those who are now forced to face this vicious giant head on.  My friends’ son has just now been added to that sacred list.

The journey ahead of this family is unknown. Not even the physicians can predict exactly what will happen during treatment, in between treatments, and even post-treatment. They can only suspect what will transpire. They can only guess. The family can only imagine. And hope. And pray.

So, without hesitation, that’s what we do.  We pray.  We pray.  And we pray.  We appeal to our Father, carrying our burdens, our cares and our worries to Him. And then, we revel in the fact that in a host of unknowns, we know the sovereign One who knows it all-- how this chapter in the story of their lives began and ultimately, how it will end.

As believers in the risen Son of God, we have hope--great hope, “hope as our anchor, firm and secure.” We can trust all of the question marks in our minds to the One who pens the story Himself. We can fall back into His arms, letting go and letting Him hold all things together by His strong hands. We can rest knowing He sees, He hears and He acts on behalf of His children.

We are not left alone to fight these battles ourselves, because “the LORD is our warrior”. The Word promises He goes on ahead of us to prepare the way. We are told to stand firm, watch Him work and wait for our deliverance.

When we hear of these storms, these trials, these times of suffering in others' lives or we are experiencing them first-hand, we desperately need to hold on, clinging to the One who "even the winds and waves obey." We have to remember we are not alone. Repeatedly, His Word reminds us to "Fear not", because He is with us. His Word promises us we will not be consumed, even when it seems the waters and the rivers are rising around us, even when it seems we are walking straight through the fire. The waters will not sweep over us and we will not be burned (Isaiah 43).

Rest assured.  He is with us.  Always.  He will never leave us.  The "Father of compassion" and the "God of all comfort" is with us.  In the midst of the storm.  Especially, in the midst of the storm.

Holding Hands

“Mom, Dad, come quick!  Gloria fell!  She’s on the sidewalk and can’t get up!  She’s bleeding!”  Breathless from running, Grace provided us with the details of what had suddenly transpired with her sister.  We’d only just arrived at the pool and the girls wanted to go on ahead of us while my husband and I gathered our gear from the car.  Excitedly, both girls took off toward the gate, the younger one trying desperately to keep up with the older one.  Unfortunately, uneven concrete and new flip flops turned out to be a painful combination for my little one when she stumbled and fell face-first on the hard and unforgiving pavement.

“For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again…” Proverbs 24:16

From an outsider’s perspective, this might just seem like any ordinary childhood accident.  And honestly it was.  But my four year old seems to have had countless mishaps, numerous falls in her early life, more than I ever recall my seven year old having at this age.  Lots of bumps.  Lots of bruises.  Lots of scrapes.  Lots of scratches.  More than enough to cause this mama to worry.

In an effort to protect her and to prevent future accidents, I find myself constantly reiterating these words to her:  “Be careful.”  “Watch your step.”  “Too fast.”  “Slow down, please.”  “Look carefully at where you’re going.”

When she does fall down and if the injury is minor, Gloria tries to reassure me by jumping up, brushing herself off and saying in her sweet sing-song voice, “I’m oka-a-a-ay!”  If the injury is more major, tears are shed, kisses are given, and the “Boo-Boo Bunny” makes his recurrent appearance from the freezer.  Band-Aids are applied and some much-needed T. L. C. (tender loving care) is freely lavished upon the one in pain.

“I, the LORD,… will take hold of your hand…” Isaiah 42:6

But the best and most proactive thing I’ve discovered I can do with my little girl when we’re walking down the street, navigating through a parking lot, or making our way through a building is to reach down and take hold of her hand.  In that instant, when her small, delicate fingers are intertwined with mine, I don’t fear her falling.  I don’t worry about her getting hurt.  She’s secure in my grasp.  She is safe.  There still might be times when she’ll trip over something she doesn’t see in her path or even her own two feet, but she won’t fall down—not while my larger, stronger hand is holding onto hers.  Not when I’m guiding her.  Not when I’m there to catch her, steady her, and help her to stand firm on solid ground.

“If the LORD delights in a man’s way, He makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with His hand.” Psalm 37:23-24

In those precious moments, I sense God, kind and tender in all His ways, showing me that in this life, Gloria may stumble.  On her own, she may trip and she may fall down.  She may get hurt.  She may have wounds.  But if she will stay in the strong and secure grasp of her Heavenly Father, walking with Him all the days of her life and letting Him lead her, her stumbles will be fewer and her falls less painful.

Ultimately, I’m learning it’s not how many times we fall down, but how many times we get back up.  The good news is that we have a Father who picks us up, brushes us off, and places the healing salve of His love and forgiveness upon us.  Many times, if the wounds are too great, He carries us before we’re ready to stand firm again.  We should not be afraid.  Not for ourselves or our children.  He is always with us, giving us the strength we need for the moment.  And most importantly, holding our hand as we walk along the path He’s set before us.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10