Homecoming

Tags

Cancer, Faith in God, Hope, Life Journey, Marriage, Unanswered Prayer, Waiting on God

We’re here.

God answered all the prayers we scratched on a few faded-yellow one inch post-its which we stuck on the side of our mirror. Complete remission for Duwayne (check!!!!!!!); a reliable car to take us back to California, (it broke down about half-way, still, it did get us here on time, so check!); a job with benefits that I would enjoy (check); money to make the trip from Tampa to Los Angeles, pay for rent and for Duwayne to go to law school (check, check, check). These are a few of the things we scribbled as reminders to God and ourselves of the things we needed to begin a new life together. Battered by some really difficult situations over the past three years, we felt needful of a fresh start in our marriage; thankfully, God did not hold back in giving us every desire of our hearts – even the ones unspoken and unwritten.

Now, we’re home.

We have a wonderful home erected on a foundation of many miracles and blessings. The warmth of the love of God in our lives saturates every wall, cupboard and piece of furniture in our apartment because we would have none of it without Him. Nothing good has been withheld from us, so much so that the only ‘deficit’ I can think of in our lives right now is a home church through which we can grow and serve. Over the past year and a half, though, we have been tremendously supported by many believers who may, or may not know each other. If you are reading this post, you are likely to be one of those persons who has prayed for us, encouraged us and helped to meet our financial burdens. So, in fact, there is no real deficit, as we are already connected to a wonderful family of faith.

I can’t tell you ‘the full’ of all we have experienced through this medium, however, I do want to express some of how Duwayne’s illness and healing has impacted me. Last March, while on the last leg of travelling to be with Duwayne in the hospital, I remember staring at the airline magazines in the seat pocket in front of me, thinking and just trying to deal with the shock of his cancer diagnosis and what that meant: was he going to die? I think in that moment, I had thoughts about being at his funeral, unable to cry and becoming mute for the rest of my life. I also pictured myself kneeling at the altar of Church on the Rock (Kingston), weeping uncontrollably because God had taken him from me. I imagined many horrible things and worried about the future. I was even concerned about what to say once I saw him for the first time in the hospital bed…

…and in the midst of all the chaos I felt encroaching upon me, God spoke to my heart. He said, “It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but it’s not unto death.” Those words pierced the shadows in my mind and immediately gave me hope. They were like the desperate, wheezing gasp for air when someone frantically surfaces from deep water – they’re still in deep water, but they can breathe, they can breathe.

At the time and especially during the more difficult times in our ordeal, I took those words to mean:
1. God was with us.
2. There would be times to come when I, again, would think Duwayne was going to die.
3. Duwayne was not going to die in his youth and he was not going to die of cancer.
4. God would heal Duwayne over time, not immediately.
5. God was with me.

Now, one year and five months later, Duwayne is cancer free. Hallelujah. Stage IV Colon Cancer? What’s that? God, in the wonder of His faithfulness kept His promise to me. And that’s what I want to leave with you today. There is much more to be shared about our journey, but for today, remember that God is with you in the midst of all that you are going through. He is nothing less than merciful, loving and faithful to meet you at your point of need. He is not blind. He has not forgotten, though it may feel that way at times. You have to come to a place where you just believe that God is who He says He is and that He will do what He says He will do. That has been our experience…

…and now we’re here, finally. We’re home. And we’re very thankful.

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May The Sun Shine

Tags

Dispelling darkness, Happy New Year, Hope, New Life, Prayer, Trials

My prayer for you in 2011:

May the sun shine!
dark clouds break
clear vistas dawn
tended gardens bud
joyful tears fall
silence become song
hallelujah! resound in Heaven.

HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

I Stand

Tags

Faith, God's love, Hope, New Year, Security, Still Standing

Listen to the song below.

This video has carried me through this entire year. Besides the fact that Melinda Watt’s voice can’t help but lift your spirit, over and over the words of this song pointed me back to the core of my faith: my carpenter friend – Christ. The trials of the year two thousand and ten stripped me of many things and threatened to strip me of this single most important part of my life; but it didn’t. 

All the accessories (and forgive me for calling them accessories) are gone right now. The singing (worshipping) throughout the day; daily reading of the Bible for truth; longer, more earnest prayers; ministry and other things that engendered ‘intimacy’ with God and which defined my walk with Him have all but vanished, somehow. I thought my faith was being eroded as each of these practices waned under life’s pressure. With each blow, something else crumbled and eventually, I felt I was left with nothing to stand on.

But nothing was further from the truth because I still believed. It’s only as I’ve neared the last day of the year that I’ve realized that I do have something to stand on: the great love of the incarnate Christ, expressed in His crucifixion, resurrection and ascension – the core of my faith. Yes, the great treasure of my life is still mine, still mine...I can’t fully tell you how grieved I have been over this, how lost and guilt ridden. To know that His love still looms over my life without all the trappings I held so dear is amazing to me. Nothing and no-one can strip me of that.

So, as I face the year two thousand and eleven, I know I stand securely on Christ who is the foundation on which my life is built. Don’t worry though, I will work hard to rebuild some of the things I lost this year, but even without them, I stand.

{I DEDICATE THIS POST TO MY GRANDFATHER WHO I LOVE AND MISS. WISH YOU WERE STILL HERE…HAPPY BIRTHDAY}

Every Waking Moment

Tags

Cancer, Dreams, Fears, Hope, Love, Trials

“Hi.” That’s how my husband and I begin our days.

More often than not, I stay in bed for another hour or two after I wake up to allow my husband to get at least five hours sleep. He oftentimes falls asleep when most people in our time zone are stirring. Once he feels the weight of the bed change, or hears my feet brush the carpet, he lifts his sleep mask, we look at each other and smile.

From that point on, it’s just us, all day. Neither of us works right now (but that’s another post); so, we are seldom apart. This has not always been the case, though.

On our honeymoon at Couples, Negril (Jamaica), the hotel staff left a little card near the front door that said, “May you grow old together on one pillow.” Awww, I know. However, in our relationship, my husband and I have had to sleep on separate pillows for a couple of reasons. The first is that no matter how romantic the quote sounds, the one pillow idea is just impractical – for us anyway. If it’s not that he’s at the other end of the bed, he needs at least two (or three) pillows and I need one (or none).

The second reason we’ve slept on separate pillows is that we have spent more time living apart, in different countries, both while dating and married. Four months ago, even with plans to be together, we couldn’t really foresee how or when we would see each other again. Although difficult, we didn’t usually mope about it because we always had a special grace to deal with being away from each other, thanks to my carpenter friend.

This one pillow concept, though, is still important to us because it represents the time we have now been given to build a stronger marriage. Though undesirable, the circumstances under which we were brought together – my husband’s cancer – have allowed us to get to know each other in ways many couples do only after a decade or two.

Naturally, I would love to be able to write without including his cancer but I find that I can’t, no matter how hard I try because every waking moment of his life is my life and vice versa. Confronting his mortality, certain kinds of conversations are inevitable. We explore and share our deepest fears and highest hopes, perhaps no more so than when I ask, What if you die? Or he says, I don’t know if I’ll be around next year, but I really want to be…Life has made us more honest with each other and with our carpenter friend about what we think, feel and believe.

The first time he was made to sit in a wheelchair was one of the most disempowering and embarrassing experiences for him. Even after being wheeled to his hospital room, he didn’t foresee that he would become so frail, barely ambulatory, and unable to do his necessities in the bathroom on his own. Still less, that I would have to assist him. The indignity of feeling stripped of both his manhood and his personhood brought him desperately low.

I am familiar with the details of how he felt during these low points because he told me – and not when he was in good spirits, but while squeezing my hand, in whispers and in tears. I could hardly say much more than “Okay” during those times. Without question, his illness engendered a level of vulnerability and dependence in our friendship that remains and is sometimes too profound for words.

We have seen our marriage blossom despite the challenges we have faced and it is obvious to me that this growth has been at the hands of this carpenter, my friend I keep mentioning. I know my carpenter friend is actively building us up in the tedium and restlessness that comes with two young people being home all day and unable to be productive in the ‘prime’ of our lives. He’s building character and strengthening a marriage that is already a force to be reckoned with in this battle with cancer.

During the ring ceremony in our wedding, the pastor had me repeat these words, “Entreat me not to leave thee.” I don’t think he meant for us to literally spend every waking moment together, but we haven’t gotten tired of each other (and I don’t think that will change). Instead, most days are filled with ‘I love you’s’ (including gestures), and comfortable silence.

At nights, as I lay my head on his chest to fall asleep, trying to avoid his protruding chemo port, we cherish the time we have with that familiar silence, or pillow talk. We hope to grow old together as best friends and as each other’s favourite person…

And as we say “Night hon” and turn over, deep down we know we will.