Please don't take it away...

The freshness of day has dawned. The dew is still lightly wetting the ground which needs no saturation after the rains. The sun shines. Birds chirp. Bunnies hop across my yard searching for their next morsel. These and a thousand other gifts have already been "unwrapped" today.

But their lurks on the horizon, if honesty and transparency are actually in practice, something concerning. Haunting, perhaps.

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Rom. 8:18). "That I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead" (Phil. 3:10-11).

No one wakes up in the morning and decides to get out of bed because a cold shower and a worthless breakfast awaits. Sure, there is duty in waking, but there is also delight. I know of no one who takes the sound the alarm clock makes (you know the sound, the one that can take you from a peaceful sleep to a racing heart in a matter of seconds) and creates a playlist on their iPod from it just to enjoy. Beds are warm, pillows are soft, covers are gentle and comforting. We set it up that way. We like comfort. Usually, it drives a great portion of our decisions. Not in a "path-of-least-resistance" way but in a "how-can-I-minimize-hardship" way. The crazy thing with comfort is that it provides a blanket of security... or so we think.

The concern that lurks on the horizon for me is that comfort would return. I know what you may be thinking, "Doug, comfort is nice - cushy couch, warm vacations, a nicely grilled burger, a car with no mechanical problems, and health...most of all health - would that not be nice? Is that not what you desire right now?" This is where it gets complicated. You see, the answer is yes and no. Kind of. Let me explain.

Yes, I want this to be over - I want normal. Yes, I desire something that is not constant. Yes, I would love to look at my daughter with hair and have friends over, and not go to clinic and a million other things we used to have.

HOWEVER

Normal is not what has caused us to love Jesus deeply. Comfy couches, well maintained cars, juicy burgers, and health are not the ingredients for perseverance. Predictable and visible are not what comprises HOPE and FAITH. So, while I desire this to be over and have a return to life as we once knew it - with a far greater degree of purpose and intent I don't want it over. I look on the horizon and I see that the removal of trial and suffering brings with it the potential for comfort and that scares me. I want to, as Paul says, "know you in your suffering." He does not say, "I want to know you when you feet were propped up and people served you grapes on a platter in the shade of willow tree."

Maybe you too echo with me this concern: "Lord, don't remove affliction simply because it is hard, give me a reprieve that I might catch my breath before I go deeper into knowing YOU!"

I remember...

Its been said before and it will certainly be said again, clinic days are never our favorite. Yesterday Jada and I set out for clinic to have bloodwork done and see about possible admission for chemo. As is our custom, Jada and I spent the first 5-10 minutes of the trip discussing any fears she may have and then we pray.

As we stepped into the clinic we immediately saw Jada's favorite friend Cora (side-note: if you don't know Cora, you really must. She's a sweet girl who loves Jesus and is going through this living nightmare a 2nd time with all the grace that only God can supply...her parents are pretty great too) and settled in. To get turned away from clinic for admission is not uncommon for us, happening at least 4 times. The day went much as it always does: crying children, questions from Jada about how long things will take, GREAT conversations with parents and nursing staff about the Gospel and so on.

Imagine our disappointment (still half expecting it) when we were told Jada's counts were too low to be admitted AND she'd have to have a transfusion - a minimum of a 3 hour extension to our time already spent at clinic. I called Jess, returned our packed bags to the car, and settled in for the afternoon. When all was said and done, we made our way to the car after we shared our secret shake - Jada and I have created the "cheek it, lip it, love it" (she kisses me on the cheek, lips then hugs me) - just one more way to provide comfort in a time where its very presence is at a premium.

What happened once we began driving home is that which has cemented my view of Jesus entering into human suffering. Jada says as we pull out of the parking deck and staring blankly off into space, "I remember the first time we came here, that was sure a struggle." "Really, do you struggle with much now," I say. She carefully replies, "well, there are certain things I don't like to take because it tastes weird, but you know dad - going to clinic, getting chemo, its all pretty fun." At that point my jaw was dragging on Glen Oak Ave. "Jada, do you think all the blessings of God in this (I explained what that meant on her terms) have made it fun?" Yes dad, because it shows that he really, really loves us."

In John 11 Jesus' good friend dies and the shortest verse in the Bible contains one of the deepest truths. "Jesus wept." This verse has been of immeasurable comfort as of late for us. It means that the outcome (death overcome) would produce immense joy which of course Jesus knew. Yet, moved as he was by the whole scene at the home of Lazarus, he still wept. His love is so deep and so pure that compassion has always been one of its most defining characteristics. God did not set this world into motion with one fail swoop of sovereignty . . . He is presently and actively sovereign. He knows your outcome (whatever you may be experiencing) but He still weeps, as it were, because compassion is in the very fabric of His DNA.

"I hate mortality"

"I hate mortality." The words flew off my tongue as I kissed Jessica goodbye with my arms loaded up full of bags and a 6-year-old...and I walked out the door. That was only 2.5hrs ago.

I hate mortality because it is so much more immanent than it ever was in days past. Mortality stands ready to remind each of us that the life we so take for granted is but a breath - each moment that passes can scarce guarantee the next. That, for the sake of my daughter and the rest of my family, is what I loathe. Last night Jada's appetite and demeanor went markedly down hill. This morning she woke with zero appetite and asked me to hold her to the couch from her bedroom.

Anyone knows that Jada Noel Rumbold does not "give" easily in regards to just resting...so this came as a surprise. I took her tempt mid morning and it was already 99. Knowing that 100.4 earns an undesirable trip to the hospital, I kept checking. Within 2hrs it had climbed past 102. If this were Facebook I would click the comment button and type, "DISLIKE!" I called, they (hospital) responded and our bags were packed. Jess and I stood in her bedroom before my departure praying over her - tears streaming down my face, much as they are right now as I write this, begging God for strength and comfort as well as healing.

We arrived and were checked in promptly. I read to her, I prayed with her, and I put her to sleep for a short nap. Now, I count the minutes until she is awake while I pound these emotions out on the keyboard. Despite all the emotional noise plaguing my ears, the Spirit CLEARLY spoke to me - read Ephesians 2.

Obediently I picked up my phone, clicked on the Bible app and began reading.

"...remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having NO HOPE and WITHOUT GOD IN THE WOLRD. BUT NOW in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He HIMSELF is our PEACE..." (2:12-14a)

I may loathe this process of refinement as much as I revel in its benefits to Jess and I spiritually. To dislike the process is human. However, I urge the reader of this to consider the following: how much more hellish would this whole experience be for us (or anyone else) if we had "no hope" and were "without God in the world?" The answer is simple. It would be AWFUL.

It is a sweet refrain when one can sing again and again, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus." I am no longer separate, no longer far off, no longer without hope, no longer without peace. So maybe I don't hate mortality. Maybe, just maybe, its a good thing. Being reminded of my alienation, lack of hope, and distance from God is good. From God's perspective mortality is a wrench, or a screwdriver... a tool used to illustrate the immortality and enduring HOPE found in Jesus.

The sum of all fears... relieved!

Everyone has fears. Some, at times, can seem insurmountable. Others are easily overcome by just taking a step, opening your eyes, closing your eyes, a brief conversation with a friend or confidant, prayer, the memory of a verse, or one of many other ways. The fears that I have had to face in hand to hand combat recently have been relieved. Would you like to know how?

Jess and I have long been the beneficiaries of the love and care flowing from Northfield (my place of employment and family of faith). This trend shows no signs of slowing and in ALL WAYS has exceeded what we ever thought possible. Here is a sampling of some of the ways they have fleshed out the Gospel tangibly for us: they have brought meals, provided childcare, done laundry, sent us money, cleaned our house, picked up groceries, texted us verses, sent us emails, sent us cards, dropped by for brief visits of encouragement, PRAYED, took over my ministry responsibilities without the least bit of complaining, and countless other ways. Oh, and they also have allowed me to stay with my family - my first and most important ministry - while still providing compensation, an unbelievably gracious move on the church's part.

So, with trepidation I took a phone call from the Elders of NCF to set up a meeting to discuss what my work life will look like in our new normal. Jess and I were fretting slightly - wondering what the content or expectations would be.

Fear found a footing.

How will I ever make it work? How will I leave my family and not feel guilty? What will the expectations be and will they overwhelm me? etc, etc, etc. So, as Jess and I approached this meeting with the Elders of NCF two things popped into my mind: fear and authority.

Every man MUST be one under authority and Jesus is our primary example of willful submission to His Father's authority (see the ENTIRE book of John). Fear is that which rightly has no home in the heart of the confessing believer. The fear that I was experiencing was directly related to all that has happened to us and what work will look like in the light of all of it.

The first indication of how it'd go should have been easily identified by the time of the meeting itself; 8:45pm in my home. My kids were all down and things were quiet. As Jess and I poured out our hearts to them, laid out in pain-staking detail the schedule of our new "normal," and shared any other concerns we had we experienced something wonderful... our fears were being relieved and peace was setting in. Without giving undue glory to man - these men of whom I am glad to be under their authority - exhibited tremendous humility. They really listened, they carefully challenged us, and then they prayed with us. In short, the shepherded our hearts with all the gentleness and patience of their Chief Shepherd.

Now, in many respects, my father is my hero. A man devoted first to his God and then to his wife. He has shepherded me for over 30 years now. Never abdicating his responsibility, though not always performed to perfection, he carefully served as an "elder" or shepherd should - in humility and not under compulsion. I have a better view of the Chief Shepherd because of him.

In a day and age when "authority" sounds more like a swear word than the comfy winter coat designed to protect us from the elements that it is - I am joyful. The apostle Paul says it this way, "For an overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach. He must not be arrogant or quick-tempered or a drunkard or violent or greedy for gain, but hospitable, a lover of good, self-controlled, upright, holy, and disciplined." Titus 1:7-8

I have seen it growing up and now I have the distinct advantage coming under it as a gainfully employed adult. In both cases the security derived from the appropriate exercise of it has expelled fear.