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?
