Hear Me Roar

So there I was again.  Cranking up to get ready for my next follow-up appointment with my oncologist.  And just let me tell you I reached a point on the day of that visit where I simply turned to The Lord and told Him that I was sick of focusing on me all the time. 

Have you ever felt that way?  Where you get sick of yourself? 

I am sure in a way, it breaks His heart.  Because I am His creation.  His child.  And He adores me through and through.

But He also sees what I can be, and I sometimes only see what I am.  And I can get pretty frustrated with myself. Especially on days when I am going for a follow-up appointment with my oncologist, and I know I have not sufficiently given it all into the hands of The King of Kings.

So I asked Him to help me find a way to stop focusing on myself.  And He was quick to give an answer.

And I laughed in delight!

One of the first times The Lord ever asked me to do something like what He had just asked me, the focus subject was a huge angry-looking black man on the downtown Dallas city bus who looked like he could crush me with one finger and a thumb.  Another time, the focus was the entire population of the bus.

At least this wasn’t a request He had made that involved a bus…

But His reply to my question was so simple.  So perfect.  So not about me.

And I felt immediate relief because the focus of the day was no longer about me.  It was about them.

So when I got up to the waiting room to see the brilliant Dr. Klemow at UTSWMC, I asked for everyone’s attention.

And with shaking knees, but strong voice, I told them this.  I told them that through the Grace of God and this clinic, I had become a cancer survivor.  That it was hard, but I made it through because my creator is faithful.  And that they are going to get through this season, too, just like I did.  Then I told them that I would pray for them to be encouraged, and accept His love for them.

The room was silent for a moment, and then erupted in clapping and “thank you”.  I didn’t even get a chance to sit down, because some of them came up to me immediately and wanted to tell me they really needed to hear that today.

Because people are attracted to those who know how to roar.

And my Emmanuel let me go through some stuff so that I could roar for Him.  He tells us all that should be our response in Psalm 107:2.   

So guys, shake the dust off those vocal cords and let’s hear some roaring out there.  The world is hungry to hear you.

My Capacity to Fail

I teach our large group sessions for 5^th and 6^th graders on Wednesday nights at church.  It was never my intention to work with 5^th and 6^th grade.  In fact, last year in August, I had decided I was going to take the year off from teaching on Wednesday nights and join a women’s bible study as I had just finished my cancer treatments and thought I should have some time to recover.

The Lord had other plans, and I listened.  And let me tell you, I am completely crazy about those kids! This IS my mission field for this season of my life.

But this past week I was really struggling to get a handle on what we were going to talk about at large group.  Our theme was “tell others about Jesus” and the Bible story was about Paul witnessing to Festus and his royal buddy, I can’t remember his name.  Planning for those large group sessions comes fairly easily to me, and when this one became a struggle, I went straight to the Lord and asked Him what was going on.

And The Great Teacher laid it out for me what we were going to do.

Scared the socks off of me, because it required no planning.  And I wrote to my leadership team about what we were going to do, and nobody replied.  Freaked me out, and I started to panic.  What if it all failed?  What if it was a miserable flop?  My capacity to fail that night was sky high, and I was not feeling very confident.  So I just went to The Lord in prayer.  A lot.  Just in constant communication with Him, and all I got was affirmation to do it the way He said to do it.

So we got there Wednesday night, in a room packed with kiddos and this is what we did.

We opened with a worship set as usual.  Then we showed a video of a young North Korean girl telling her story about how her father had been killed in North Korea for talking about Jesus and that The Lord was preparing her to go back there and do the same thing.  Then each of our adult leaders gave their powerful testimonies without any coaxing.  Even the new guy who didn’t get the email “heads up” gave his testimony.  Then we broke into our small groups, and gave each kiddo a chance to tell their story, pick the one that was most impacting, and then those kiddos re-told their story about how Jesus has affected their lives back in large group.  There was not enough Kleenex in our small group room, let me tell you.

And then seven boys accepted Jesus right there.  On a Wednesday night when I hadn’t planned a thing.  I’m sure the look on my face must’ve been ridiculously entertaining.  I have never been in a room where 7 people got saved at one time.  And I saw that happen on a night that I thought would be a failure.

And I was reminded that although my capacity to fail is absolutely saturating, The Lord’s capacity to fail is NON-EXISTANT. 

His plan is always perfect, Beloved!  Lay yourself down, and let Him work.

Tending to the Broken

Lately, I seem to be collecting people with broken hearts.  Don't get me wrong, it is not a collection that I am creating myself.  It is a collection that comes to me that way.  A friend whose husband of 52 years passed away.  A friend who was hurt badly by another.  A friend whose husband left her.  A friend whose child is quite ill.  A friend who lost a job that he tried so hard to keep.

And more recently, we have collected two short people who were taken away from their family for a time.  Their hearts are broken.

So I have rolled up my sleeves and become the hands and feet of Jesus.  Ministering to the broken when I myself have only recently experienced healing.

Our family digs in with all we have during this season of our life.  Some days we do it well.  Some days we do not.  Nevertheless, we give it our all.

And I am so glad that our two foster kids have run to us for comfort.

Because the broken do not always run to you for comfort.

Sometimes the broken run to you, but only to hurt you (because somehow that eases their own pain).

Sometimes the broken run away from you (because they don't want to face their own pain).

But no matter what the scenario is for the broken person in your life, the bottom line is that they are broken.  And there is only one healer for the kind of broken they are.

Jesus.

No other name.  Not even yours.

Just Jesus.

So in those sad moments when these two precious short people pour their broken hearts out to me, I hold them close and whisper in their ears.  You are safe.  It's going to be OK.  Jesus holds you tight.

And I can't even count how many times I have sung to them "Jesus Loves Me".  And I praise The Lord that when I sing that song,  and they hear that they belong to Jesus and that He is strong, their little bodies relax, and they start to breathe deeply.

Because only Jesus can heal the broken.

We just get to assist.  Are you tending to the broken in your life?

Living by Numbers

This morning, I sit here at peace.  It is an interesting sensation for me, and I cherish those moments when they happen.  My mammogram came back clean less than 48 hours ago, and I am tucked safely under the wing of My Jesus like a newborn chick.  Ahhh...that feels so good!

I had myself worked up pretty good about that mammogram, let me tell you.  It was exhausting to be that worked up!  I've been running around just like a baby chick, squawking and flapping my wings.

I was focusing on the wrong number.

You see, I have a 99 percent chance of that breast cancer NOT coming back.

But I focus on the less than 1 percent chance that it MIGHT come back.

Gideon lived by numbers too.  His story is tucked in the book of Judges, I forget where.  Gideon was about to go into battle, but he asked for a sign from God that it was the right thing to do.  He got his sign.

Then he asked for a second sign.

Crazy guy.  But you have to admire him for being secure enough in his relationship with the Lord that he asked for a second sign.

And His Heavenly Father, who pours abundant grace on all of us, gave Gideon his second sign too.

And Gideon kicked serious Midianite tail.

But not until The Lord did something exceptional with numbers for Gideon.  God was about to steal the show.

You see, Gideon was going to take twelve thousand men into battle, but God said that if he took that many into battle, they might think they were victorious because of their strength in numbers, and not give the glory to God.  So The Lord helped Gideon hand pick 300 men to go into battle.

Why 300?

In Hebrew, 300 is represented by the letter "shin".  This letter is shaped like a three-prong fork, or flame.  Which makes sense because "shin" represents the element of fire, or spirit.  It is the middle letter in Yeshua, the Hebrew word for Jesus. 

It is also the middle letter in the Hebrew word for Jerusalem.  In fact, the way the land is shaped in Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside looks like the letter "shin". So when you read that God chose Jerusalem as His holy city, well, that should make sense.  His spirit is right in the middle of its name and He carved Jerusalem into the letter "shin", just to be perfectly clear with us that Jerusalem was going to be His dwelling place.

Did you know the human heart is also shaped in the letter "shin"?  Yep.  So when you read that Jesus will live in our hearts, well, that makes sense too.  Because he carved your heart into the letter "shin", just to be perfectly clear with us that you heart is where He desires to live too. 

"Shin" also means 300.

So when Gideon defeated the Midianites with only 300 men, Gideon and his army were reminded the whole time that they won because "shin"--the Spirit of God--was with them.  It was God's strength in spirit that led them to victory.  Not their own strength.

They lived by 300 that day.

So I've been living by that one percent statistic that my cancer might come back.

But I'm not going to do that anymore.  I'm not going to live by that 99 percent statistic that my cancer won't come back either.

No, if I'm going to live by numbers, I am going to focus on 300.  Because "shin" places my focus squarely on THE ONE who has the strength to bring me victory.

What number are you focusing on?

What Little Leaguers taught me about mammograms

 Our family has recently become infatuated with Little League baseball.  We have friends whose son is on a team, and so this week, we have gone to a few of his games.  I am not impressed when a grown man can catch a baseball, but when a five year old does it?  That is miraculous!  And when they run the bases?  Oh my. There they are in their baseball helmets that are bigger than their entire bodies, pumping those short legs with all their might, deep furrowed scowl etched in total dedication to get to their goal.

And there I am in the stands, coming totally unglued screaming, “Run, Buddy, RUN!!” until I have no voice left.

For kids I don’t even know.

And I realize that I am overly excited because these Little Leaguers are teaching me something as they run those bases.

You see, I have my second follow up mammogram this coming Tuesday.  Scans for cancer patients and those who love them are hard on every one.  But I am a cancer survivor.  Yet it is still a scary thing to face.  And I often find myself looking for a corner to crawl into rather than run towards that goal.  Why?

I think the “why” for me is that I have yet to achieve full confidence in The Lord’s provision for me.  If I knew with absolute certainty to my very core that He’s got me hedged in, I would be pumping my short legs with all my might towards Tuesday, confident that He’s in total control of it all.

Praise THE LORD that His protection over me is not dependant on my perfection, but only in the Perfection of Jesus who gave His life for me.  And you.

Paul wrote in his letter to the Hebrews that we should run with endurance the race that is set before us.  (Hebrews 12:1)  One cannot run such a race without training.  And every situation you find yourself in is training ground for that race. 

 

The creator intends for you to run it with legs pumping and brows furrowed as you strain towards the goal, just like those Little Leaguers running the bases.

 

He’s in the stands coming unglued over YOU, beloved!  His love for you is deeper and wider than you can ever fathom!  (Ephesians 3:18-19)  You are precious in the eyes of your creator! (Ephesians 1:4-5)

 

Run, Buddy, RUN!!

How to make half a million dollars while on chemotherapy

It's not common for me to be running down the hallways of the lab dressed in a bright green John Deere Tshirt, jeans and flip flops.

Well, not common for me to be running, anyway.

But what I had just read on my email was too exciting to keep to myself.  I had made a half million dollars!  While on chemotherapy!!

Astonishing, you might say.  Miraculous, I would say.  For two reasons.

One, I did it while on chemotherapy.  I was diagnosed with breast cancer last spring, had surgery and then over the summer, had 4 rounds of chemotherapy.  Now everyone's response to chemo is different.  I had my issues and I was as sick as I have ever been in my life.  But even being that sick, I was still able to do most of the things I normally do.  God really had a hedge of protection around me, and my prayer team was AMAZING. 

Two.  I want you to think back to the absolute worst writing assignment or project you ever had to work on.  Got it?  Now I want you to multiply that by at least a thousand fold and picture working on it day and night for 3 months solid.  Got that picture?  You eat, drink and sleep the thing.  OK, that is what it's like when a scientist writes a grant proposal designed to get an agency to fund your work.

Not sure it ever occurred to me that I couldn't write one of those while on chemotherapy.  And it was a brand new concept too, so we couldn't cut and paste from other ones we had written before.

And I wrote it while I was bald. 

And the award notice came in when I was barely able to get my new hair into pig tails.  I just stared at it.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  I read it three times, and then it finally sunk in.

And so I ran down the hallways of the lab like Paul Revere shouting "WE GOT IT!"  Well, maybe not shouting.  But I had definitely come unglued.

Because we had just been awarded a half million dollars on a new project grant we had written while I was on chemo.

Isn't that just like God?  To take us at our weakest moments and show us miracles.  It just makes me laugh with joy uncontained!

Beloved, be encouraged.  You may be in a season where you feel weaker than you have ever been.  But OUR GOD is a God of MIRACLES.  He enjoys lavishing them upon us.  He enjoys hearing us laugh and LIVE LIFE. 

Just be careful running down the hallways in your flip flops!

Homecoming

I was on a flight less than an hour from landing in New York City when the first plane hit the twin towers on 9-11.  My 9-11 journey had changed me. I was no longer just an American—I had become a patriot with a deep understanding of how precious my freedom as an American citizen is.  And when I was finally able to put my feet back on American soil…well.  That was quite a homecoming. 

Those same emotions overcame me just two weeks ago as we made the long journey to join my family for our 47^th annual Trail Ride in the Badlands of North Dakota.  We had not been able to go last year, as I was in the middle of chemotherapy treatments for breast cancer, and my doctor said I needed to stay within 100 miles of the hospital.  It was devastating not to be able to experience that homecoming in 2012. But here we were…one year later, anticipating a homecoming that had somehow become even more precious because we had been denied our homecoming the year before. 

When we turned onto the gravel road to Little Missouri State Park, Vern and I giggled out loud together.  We had ached for this day, and it was suddenly upon us and our joy was uncontainable. 

5AM the first day at Trail Ride, Jesus woke me up.  “Get up!”  And so I jumped out of the camper, just elated that my king wanted to spend time with me during my favorite time of the day.  I walked the grounds of the park in my pajamas, telling Him that He is my King.  My All.  My Rescuer.  It was the opening ceremony of a precious homecoming, and Jesus was the perfect host.

But the enemy worked on me hard.  Over the precious days of Trail Ride, old fears occasionally lurched to the surface.  But I had experienced that before, and I knew what to do.  I stood up and began to list the names of God.  To claim again and again that I was a child of the Most High God, and that the enemy had no right to be in my space.  The battles were fierce, but the light of THE ONE who lives in me blazed brightly.

The King of Kings had me grinning ear to ear nearly every waking moment of that homecoming.  I had been weary from the journey.  Battered by the enemy.  But Jesus lifted me UP.  Way up, until I giggled with delight like a toddler.

Beloved, He invites us to come to Him—ALL who are weary—promising to give us rest. (Matthew 11:28)  That is what homecomings are all about.

The LORD sure does know how to host a homecoming event.

And that wasn’t even the big one…

I'm an Undercover Secret Agent (and so are you)

It started out as any other normal morning in the Garling house.  Everybody had to get up and get to school or work.  And I should have been suspicious right there because everything that morning went way too smoothly.  So smoothly that I ended up at my gynecologist's office 30 minutes early for my appointment.

I thought Miss Connie, the receptionist was going to fall out of her chair.  I am never on time for much of anything and she knew that well. 

"Why, Nancy!" she said in that cute Texan accent, "Your appointment isn't until 10:30!"  I mumbled something about needing time to just sit around (which made her laugh hysterically--she knows me too well) and took a seat in the waiting room.

The waiting room was packed with women, but one in particular stood out because she was bald.  And I kept looking around the room waiting for someone to ask her about it, but nobody said a word.  A few minutes ticked by, and I started to get that weird feeling that I was supposed to talk to her.  OK, I'll bite.

"Excuse me, did you have cancer?"  I asked her from across the room, "I had breast cancer last year, and just wanted to know how you are doing--are you doing OK?".  She looked up, and all those other eyes looked at her.  You could just tell that they had all been wanting to ask her, because there was an audible sigh of relief in the waiting room.  Someone had finally dared ask the question.

And as we talked for the next 20 minutes, she told us her heart about the whole thing, and words of encouragement and understanding poured from my mouth.  A few other ladies chimed in about their experiences with relatives or friends that had been through cancer treatments too.  Then she left to go see our doctor.

A few minutes later, I got taken back to my room.  Doc burst into my room thanking me for taking the time to talk to her because her entire attitude about her situation had changed. 

That's what happens when you become the hands and feet of Jesus.  You move people.  You inspire people.  You encourage people.  Whether it is apparent or not, you do these things.

When I went to check out, Miss Connie leaned across the desk and said in that incredibly cute Texan accent, "Miss Nancy, I do believe you had a divine appointment right here in this office today!  Gives me goose chills just thinking about it!  She (the other cancer patient) is a changed woman!"

Miss Connie can call that a divine appointment, but I prefer to consider myself an undercover secret agent for the Lord.  You see, now that I have had cancer, I connect with cancer patients and cancer survivors in ways I could never have done before.

You know, some people out there think that I got cancer because I did something wrong.  That it is punishment for some sin I committed.  Oh, you don't think there are folks out there that think that?  You are wrong.  So are they.

The truth is that God intended for me to be a missionary in the field.  Not to Haiti, or Mexico, or even to the soup kitchen in Dallas.  No, my mission field is the countless doctor waiting rooms and walmart lines I am at on a regular basis.  To scan the crowds for bald heads on young bodies, and be ready to proclaim that the only hope worth investing in is what we find in Jesus.  Because guys, it is those who are hurting and sick that need Jesus the most.  I minister effectively to them because I understand what they are going through.  I have never been more certain of my purpose.

Now please don't misunderstand me to say that those who have not been through cancer are ill equipped to minister to cancer patients.  That is not what I am saying at all--I have been personally blessed by my support team through all of my cancer journey, and very few of them had experienced cancer themselves.  They were--and continue to be--a source of great comfort to me, because they cared enough to put aside some time to stand alongside me.  Precious stuff. 

What I want you to hear is that the next time something happens in your life that appears tragic, and you ask God, "Why me?" I hope you will lean into it and realize that the answer is clear.  You are being trained as an undercover secret agent for the Lord.  You are being equipped to connect with the hurting of this world right where they are.

Gives me chills.  I think about my friend Sandy, who lost her son to a car accident a few Christmas seasons ago.  She is devoted to a Grief Share group that need her encouragement--they are drawn to her.  I think about the Hallmark family and the Watts family, whose children are going through cancer treatments as we speak.  They burn with the light of Jesus in those hospital rooms and hurting families going through the same thing are drawn to them.  Their mission field is where the hurting are waiting.

Hands and feet of Jesus.

Nancy Garling, Undercover Secret Agent for The Lord

A man without a computer is like…

Most of you probably think that I have always loved Vern.  Not so.  In fact, I used to beg God to get him out of my life. 

Then we became friends.  Only after I found out he didn’t have a computer. 

And then he asked me to marry him, and I got really mad.  I called my mom. 

“Well, Nancy, did you ask the Lord about this?”  My mother.  She’s so subtle with me, isn’t she?

“Well, NO, MOM. “ Said with definite undertones of sarcasm.

“Then I suggest you get off this phone and go to the Lord.”

Phone went click, and the Holy Spirit was so strong in the air that you could just feel the heaviness.

And so I tried to reason with God.  Because I thought that the Lord and I had a good thing going.  It was just the two of us, and bringing Vern into the picture, well…that was going to cramp things up a bit.   And was He aware that Vern was a TEXAN?  For crying out LOUD...!

But the Lord was going to have His way on this one, so finally I said,

“Ok, Lord, I don’t understand your plan here at all, but I will do it out of obedience. “

Yep, that’s how it all started. 

But it didn’t stay that way.

God had a plan for me and He gave me Vern to help me get there.

And so here I am.  Healed.  Growing.  Joyful.  Content.  Trusting.  And loved, loved, loved by My God and my husband.  I couldn't have imagined it would be like this!  

But God knew.  And I am thankful to the core for the man He gave to me.

I’m so crazy about you, Cowboy!  Happy Birthday from your country girl.

Oozing like Ethan

I met him last Wednesday night at church.  He was easily recognizable in a room packed with 5th and 6th graders, because he was bald.  Only one 12-year old kid I know that runs with those boys who is bald.  Ethan Hallmark.  Cancer fighter.  Cancer survivor.

Even from 10 feet away, I could tell this kid was different, and I wanted to figure out why. 

And then this morning it struck me.  That young man oozes conviction about the Lord's faithfulness.  He doesn't even have to say one word.  You can just feel his resolve to trust in the Lord. 

And I realize that I want what Ethan has.  I want to be so totally consumed by conviction of the Lord's faithfulness, that it oozes right out of me.  Yeah, that's the kind of relationship I want with the Lord. 

I'm a work in progress.  But I will say that after fighting cancer myself, I know I'm closer to oozing like Ethan.  Learning to cling to Jesus no matter what your circumstances and knowing He will be faithful to you is a process.  It takes time.  You have to learn to drink deeply from that pool of resolve.
And the enemy hates you for it every time you do it.

Make no mistake.  We have all faced the enemy, and done our share of shrinking into a corner rather than call out to the Lord.  But then sometimes--hopefully more often as we learn to trust the King of Kings--rather than shrink into a corner, we choose to look the enemy in the eye and say, "You know what?  Sometimes you make me feel defeated.  But not today.  Today I choose to trust in the Lord's faithfulness.  Peace out!"

He has been faithful to you, Beloved!  He has redeemed your life from the pit, and He crowns you with His love and compassion (Psalm 103:4).

Ooze, Baby, Ooze!

Can't make me shut up

Now, you first have to appreciate that I have presented in front of 500 plus scientists at a time.  Lectured to over 100 post-grad students in one sitting, taught 60 plus 5th and 6th graders a few times, and wrangled a class room of pre-schoolers for ten years before that. 

But nothing made me sweat quite like the presentation I made this morning.

That's how I knew it was from God.  Because Nancy would never have thought this one up.

I had bought a big bag of chocolates to take to work today.  You see, today marks the one year anniversary that I am cancer free.  On this day one year ago, Dr. Leitch at UT Southwestern removed a grade 1 breast cancer with clean margins and no lymph node involvement.  It was a great day, and I wanted to pass out multitudes of chocolates at work today to celebrate.

I'm still going to do that.

But God took it that one crazy step further and suggested in my heart that I do the same thing on the DART bus this morning.  And on the train.  And on the shuttle across campus. 

So I did.

"Can I have your attention please?"  I croaked out as I stood up on the DART bus.  "Today, I am one year cancer free, and I just want to invite you to have a chocolate and remember the sweetness of Jesus' grace and mercy on me today."

They all clapped, and the bag of chocolates started going around the bus.

The lady in front of me is cancer free 9 years.  The lady beside me said a prayer over me.  The man behind me and the man in front of me thanked me for sharing.  Several said that I had made their day.

You see, people crave to hear good news.  And this morning, God used me to give them some.

So do not fear, for I am with you.  Do not be dismayed, for I am our God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.  Isaiah 41:10

He has lifted me up, and I am compelled to lift my life up to Him.

Satan stands in the wings trying to convince me otherwise.

But I am a cancer survivor.  And he can't make me shut up about the greatness of God.

How this cancer survivor stopped letting the enemy into my space

She's so petite, that when she sat at my desk, you couldn't even tell she had sat down.  It was last Wednesday morning, and Rachel, a petite woman with a thick Indian accent had come to my office to ask me a question.

"Nancy, were you sick last summer?"

I sat back and told her that yes, I had had breast cancer last year, and went through surgery, chemotherapy and radiation.

And for the next 30 minutes, the Holy Spirit spoke directly to me through this petite woman with the Indian accent.  She told me that she could feel the Light of Jesus on me, that she knows I have experienced a miraculous and complete healing, and that I continue to let the spirit of fear rule over me.

Wow.  And I didn't even know she was a Christian--and I have known her for 15 years.

"Nancy" she said in that fantastic clipped Indian accent, "When that spirit of fear comes over you, do you know who it is that is pushing that on you?"

She didn't give me time to answer.

"Nancy, that is Satan pushing on you.  The spirit of fear does not come from The Lord, Nancy, that comes from Satan.  You must recognize it for what it is, stand up and rebuke him in the name of the Lord.  You are a daughter of the living Christ!"

She was so excited, I thought for sure she would be standing up.  Not that I could tell from this side of the desk (see the first sentence if you don't get this).

When she left, I remember thinking how merciful The Lord is to send someone in the middle of this very ungodly environment I work in to bathe me in His Word...using a thick Indian accent.  Fabulous!

Then two days later, I was back in that pit of fear.  Oh, you know for some cancer survivors, every little bump or tender spot has the worst case scenario attached to it.  Especially for a professional pit dweller such as myself.

I had let Satan into my space.  And I let him smolder in my space, tasting the ashes of doubt he flung in my air, choking on the smoke of despair he filled my space with.   It took me 2 days before I had the savvy to call a trusted friend and let her know where I was at.

And she called it for what it is by asking me a question. 

"Nancy, that Indian lady...she proclaimed to you and confirmed that God had given you a miraculous healing last year.  Do you trust God to have done it?"

Well, up until that moment, I thought I did.

And Jesus said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace and be freed from your suffering".  Mark 5:34

I don't read anywhere in the Bible where that daughter of the Lord came back to touch His robe again, just in case it hadn't worked completely the first time.  I like to think she left His presence that day, grinning ear to ear and proclaiming Jesus to whoever would listen.

That's where I should be.  That's where you should be.  For we have all been redeemed.

So I stood up from my pink camo chair on my back porch dressed in my pink and white fleece pants and flip flops and I spoke in my teacher voice, "Satan, you are in my space, and in the name of Jesus, I command you to GET OUT. This is NOT your space.  I belong to the most high living God!"

And just like that--I kid you NOT--just like that, the peace of God which passes all understanding flooded my space and I breathed the cool crisp clean air of Jesus.

Everyday is a brand new mercy.  So say Hello to a new you, and stop letting the enemy into YOUR space.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UG6Aa3DIg9Q

Coping with Joy

The best part was Nicole asking me on a fairly regular basis, “Are you doing OK?”  Because I didn’t cry.  Not once during the whole thing.  I mean, I whipped that bandana off, stuck it in my bag, chatted through the foil, teased Nicole during my shampoo, listened carefully to instructions during the fussy part of how to get my hair to look like that again tomorrow, and I was….

Fine.

Until the very end as I was about to step out that door into the street after it was all done. 

And then the tears rushed.  Nicole was pressing tissues into my hand, and stood with me while I stared at that door.  I sensed it was a big moment, and I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

It wasn’t fear.  It wasn’t sorrow.  It wasn’t anxiety.  No, those are big feelings that I am very familiar with.

It was…

Joy.  No, more than that.  It was jubilation.

And I could hear Jesus say to me “WOMAN, THOU ART LOOSED”.

And then I was grinning.

You see, just like the woman in Luke 13:12, I was afflicted with a horrible disease.  And before I even knew I had breast cancer, Jesus answered my need.

But my main need was not to be cancer free.  Oh, I got that too—but the need I really had was to be released from a lifetime habit of living in the slimy pit of Psalm 40:2 and live instead in the joy of being redeemed. 

But for me, that slimy pit was comfortable.  And my bandana reminded me of that slimy pit I was in.  It blanketed me in the comfort of fear, sorrow, and anxiety that came with being a cancer patient.

I know, it may seem backwards to some of you.  But I also know there are more like me out there, too.  People who are more comfortable with their slimy pit epics than they are the joys of a redeemed life.  People who cope with joyful moments, but in the back of their minds are always focused on the slimy pit.

You know who you are.

Make no mistake.  I experience joy and love life.  I am genuinely thankful for the blessings I have.  The smile on my face is not fake.  It’s just that most of the time, I am more comfortable experiencing the slimy pit. 

But in those steps I took from Nicole’s place into the street, I stopped being a cancer patient and I became a cancer survivor.  A woman loosed.  Out of the pit.

It is MY YEAR OF JUBILEE.

I am not sure you can understand what it feels like.  Maybe this picture will help.  You are in a giant box whose walls are covered with paper.  You keep peeling away papers looking for a way to get out, but there is just always more paper.  But you keep on peeling the paper off, and it gets deep around your feet.  But you just know somewhere there must be a door.  Or a window.  Or at least just a little crack of light that you can look out at something else for awhile.  But instead, there’s just more paper, and soon you are shoulder deep in papers that you have peeled off the walls trying to get out.  So then, you stop focusing on getting out, and start focusing on how to organize the papers so that you at least have a spot to sit.  And pretty soon, you are so busy organizing papers, you forget all about the quest for a door to get out, and instead focus on a lower expectation of just a bare spot on the floor to sit on.  And then—POOF!  All the papers and the walls made out of paper are gone.  And you stand in the bright sunlight with green grass as far as you can see and blue skies smiling at you in every direction and part of you is like, “HEY!  Where are my papers?  I worked a long time on that project!” 

You need to learn to cope with joy.

But it takes a while.

It takes a while to realize you are seeing beyond those walls.  It takes a while for it to sink in that you are seeing green grass and blue sky in every direction.  And then you take one step onto that grass.  And then another.  And then your steps get faster, and you are running with all your might across that green grass, pumping your arms and legs with all you are.

And the Father of Heaven who loves you so much is right there next to you running and grinning with you.

It is your Year of Jubilee.

So…new project.  I need to learn how to cope with joy.  Because I desire to run with all my might across that green grass, just as the Lord intended for me.  To get there, I am going to do three things.  First, I am gong to let the Lord know my intentions.  I want to honor Him by accepting the jubilation He offers me with both hands, and to do that, I am going to need His help.  Second, I am going to read the Book of Philippians every morning for the next 30 days.  Paul the Apostle wrote that book while he was in prison, and it is full of joy—what better way to immerse myself in the idea of joy than that?  Third, I am going to read Beth Moore’s book “Get out of that pit!”   There is nothing more powerful than the testimony of someone else who has been a professional pit-dweller.

Who knew a simple haircut could do all of THAT?

Chemo Hair, Beware

March 1^st is going to be a fabulous day for me.  You see, today is my last day wearing bandanas on the top of my head.   Tomorrow I get highlights and a haircut meant for a girl who wants to grow her hair back long like it was before my chemo treatments.

My hairdresser, Nicole, God love her—met me after hours Tuesday to see what we have to work with.  When I took off my hat—the tears started to flow and that hat went straight back on my head.  Nicole had about a 30 second look at it.  So different from my friend, Judy, who just finished chemo and showed me her bald head right in the middle of church. 

I’m such a baby.

But in my defense, I have had long red curly hair all of my adult life.  This no hair/short hair thing is overwhelming to me.

So now I’m actually talking to my Chemo Hair.  You know, saying things like “We’re going to be fine”, “You’ll like all that goop I will have to put in you”, “You grew in so nice and thick, nothing to worry about there”, “Keep your eye on the goal and keep growing”, “Don’t worry, nobody will look at us funny, I promise”, “Yes, we can put a bandana back on, but only once in awhile”…

And I’m wondering if anybody else out there talks to their Chemo Hair.

Back to Nicole. 

So I slipped my hat back on my head with the tears flowing, and she put her arm on my shoulder and said some very comforting things I can’t remember.  And then she told me the plan, and I felt much better.  But I am quite nervous to ditch the bandana look.  Why?

I’m still thinking on that (which is why this is a two-part post), but meanwhile, I thought that maybe some of you would be interested to read my viewpoint on THE PHASES OF CHEMO HAIR.

Phase 1:  Oh, it’s not going to fall out.  They tell you that your hair may or may not fall out on the cytoxan/taxol chemo regimen.  And so after the first treatment, you’re thinking well, hey!  Maybe I’m one of the lucky ones!  Then one day you get a few more hairs in your brush than what you think is normal, but you dismiss the idea, and then all of a sudden, there’s no doubt that you are going to lose your hair because everytime you pull your hands through your hair, you get handfuls of the stuff.

Phase 2:  It’s not so bad being bald.  Then you find yourself staring at yourself in the mirror.  I mean, who has ever seen you bald as an adult, and when will THAT ever happen again?  You get really sad about not having any head hair, but the perk is that you don’t have hair anywhere, and that makes a summer of swimming suits exceptionally awesome!

Phase 3:  I’m sick of being bald.  Self explanatory.  I mean, there are only so many things you can put on your head, and you still can’t hide the fact that you are bald, or fix the fact that your head and the tips of your ears (that’s perhaps the worst part) are always COLD unless you have your head under a heat lamp.

Phase 4:  Will it ever grow back?  After chemo, there are these agonizing weeks where you wait for your hair to start coming back, and you wonder if it will.  For me, I had these gray hairs that never fell out, and was otherwise bald, so I felt like an old troll most of the time.  I never spent so much time in front of a mirror waiting for hair to grow.

Phase 5:  Baby Chick.  When I had about half an inch of soft chemo hair covering my head, I looked like a baby chick.  It stuck up perfectly straight all over, and people who knew me would stick their hand under my bandana and rub the baby chick hair.

Phase 6:  Orangutan.    When I had about 2 inches of hair covering my head, I looked like an orangutan.  Particularly when I got out of the shower—I had red hair sticking straight up in all directions.

Phase 7:  Chemo Hair, Beware.  This is when you start thinking you need to ditch the head gear, and show off your new hair.  And then other people start asking you the same thing.  You and your chemo hair cringe with the question, because change is inevitable, and the comfort of the bandana must go.  Can cause mixed feelings in some rather high strung red-heads.

I’ll let you know how tomorrow goes.

All Hat, No Cowboy

I’m sure I picked up the phrase from some movie.  We use it in our house as sort of a “catch all” for people that seem really great, but when you dig a little deeper…well, their outsides don’t match their insides.  And at least every cowboy I have ever known—well, what you see is what you get—and no matter how deep you dig, they are who they are all the way through.  Their actions match who they say they are.

But then there are the ones who just wear the hat, and you think they are all cowboy, but once you start talking to them, well….they’re just “All Hat, No Cowboy”.  Their actions just don’t match who they say they are.

Grace, our nine-year old daughter, particularly likes to use this phrase if the conversation turns to some superstar like Justin What’s-His-Name.  She will grumble “All Hat, No Cowboy”, and we all know what that means. 

A phrase like that requires a standard.  You know, a reference point.  Who do you compare the new subject to in deciding if they are “All Hat, No Cowboy” or “All Cowboy”?  For Grace, I think her standard is a spectacular choice.  It’s her daddy.  Because he is definitely “All Cowboy”.  With or without the hat.

And his outsides match his insides at all times.

As a family, I think last year we experienced just how “All Cowboy” he really is.  From the very beginning when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Vern kept his faith in the Lord, continued to lead our family with a servant’s heart, and handed out a bus load of encouragement to his wife with unceasing devotion.

He actions match who he says he is.  At.  All. Times.

Looking back, I am not sure that I have thanked him enough.  In fact, I have to confess that sometimes I have treated him like he is “All Hat”.  And I wonder, Ladies.  Are we doing a good job nurturing the cowboy in our husbands?  Because God did not create our men to be “All Hat”.  He created them to be “All Cowboy”. 

The Girl at DEFCON 5

So, I am at my 3-month regular check-up with my oncologist, the quite brilliant Dr. Klemow at UT Southwestern Medical Center.  Everything looks great, you (Nancy) are doing great, you breezed through your treatments, and your recovery was quick.  But wait.  What’s this?  You haven’t had your 6-month mammogram?  Well, let’s take care of THAT.

At first I thought it was quite awesome.  I mean, Classic Nancy-style, if I had actually scheduled the thing, I would have had months to get all nice and worked up about it.  This way, I had no time to get all worked up.  Or so I thought.

I love UTSWMC Imaging.  You get a pink cape and a pink robe—all from the warming cabinet so you are all toasty warm.  Carla did my imaging, and you just have to love her, too.  She is always so upbeat, and sympathetic about the tenderness of a breast that has been through a lot in less than a year.

Sympathetic, but while she drizzles those sincere smiles at you, her hands are busy cranking your girls into pancakes to get the perfect images.

Nothin’ but love for ya, Carla.

So afterwards, I’m waiting for the radiologist, but here comes Carla.  They have found some calcifications and need to do some more imaging to see what it is.

To a cancer survivor, “calcifications on the images” is the last thing you want to hear.  And certainly not for a girl like me who is hard wired to have anxiety. I instantly went to DEFCON 3.

First thing I did was dig in my pockets looking for my scriptures.  But I had not put any of them in my pockets that day.  I hit DEFCON 4 in under a second.  I had been putting scriptures in my pockets, because when I have anxiety, all the scripture I have memorized goes straight out of my head—so I have found it’s just best to write them down and stuff them in my pockets.  I forgot I had a Bible in my purse.

I followed Carla back to have my girls cranked again, totally dazed.  Afterwards, she sent me back to the waiting room.

Since it was the end of the day, nobody else was in the waiting room.  That sick, familiar feeling of panic on a platform of being alone washed over me.  Classic, Nancy.  Just classic.

I couldn’t call Vern—no signal—so I tried to rationalize with myself.  It couldn’t be cancer again.  My surgery margins were clean.  There was no lymph node involvement.  I had chemo.  Radiation.  I didn’t have any of the cancer genes.  I was on Tamoxifen.

DEFCON 5 anyway. 

And that’s when I got mad at myself.  I mean, SERIOUSLY?  After all that God had brought me through, I was going to default to DEFCON 5 in under 5 minutes? I had thought my faith had gotten so much stronger through all of that business, but where was my faith now?  I could almost feel Satan sitting next to me, all smug—enjoying the show.

So I stood up.  I stood up and I simply said, “Lord, I am your child and I need HELP! Remember me!”

Just then, the radiologist came in and explained that I did have a few calcifications at the site of the surgery, and that it is quite common—and they are harmless.  Nothing to worry about.

I don’t remember getting dressed, or walking out.  I remember calling Vern.  I remember how rubbery my legs were.  I remember getting into the truck.  And I remember totally losing it.  Sobs of grief over my unhealthy talent to hit DEFCON 5 status in less than 5 minutes.  Reminded again, that I am unworthy of the Lord’s mercy on me.  And I was never more grateful than I was at that moment that I was a child of God and did not have to earn His love.

And then, knowing I had His abundant love even while at DEFCON 5—well, the tears dried up, and I was grinning ear to ear with joy.

I had reclaimed the good news for myself, and the verse came into my head as clearly as if I had been reading it straight from the Word:

Neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Romans 8:39

Your love is deep.  Your love is high.  Your love is long.  Your love is wide.

Your love is deeper than my view of grace; Higher than this worldly place; Longer than this road I've traveled; Wider than the gap You've filled.

Praise be to God that I can’t earn His love!  Praise be to God that He abundantly loves the girl who can get to DEFCON 5 in under 5 minutes!  He deserves every shred of gratitude in me for that.  Every.  Shred.