A Promise Made A Promise Kept

I took out my phone and snapped a picture of the last bag of chemo as it arrived in the room. Not really the emotional response I was figuring on. However, the inner elation was unreal. It's almost as if my mind had to convince my heart that this was a big deal.

LAST BAG OF CHEMO

Well, it wasn't long until my heart realized its bluff had been called and it put all its cards on the table. That moment came during the post hydration phase - after chemo is infused Jada must receive 2 hours of IV fluids to flush her only remaining kidney. Chemo started around 2:00pm - infused for 1/2 hour and then Jada had post hydration. 

Jada, the whole day, was blissfully unaware of the approaching magnitude. That is until about 15 or so minutes were showing on the screen of her IV unit. She began to get a little slap happy and bouncing around. 

At exactly 11 minutes remaining SHE GOT IT! 

My heart was reminded of the valleys, which on account of their depths had kept hidden the certain hope awaiting us. Jada too was reminded and in what I can only describe as a surreal moment her eyes locked with mine . . . and they told a story. A story of height, depth, length, breadth, and width of a Father's love - your love oh LORD! 

At exactly 11 minutes remaining Jada locked eyes with me, climbed up onto my lap, and her head just caved into my chest. I read all of Psalm 136 as a prayer of thanksgiving. Then, for the remaining ten minutes or so I rocked her in my arms and we both just cried. That same familiar phrase chanted SO MANY times throughout this began again, like waves on a beach - slow, methodic, inviting and overall just therapeutic - "Jesus is our strength" flowed off my tongue. 

Jada's last to-do list

You, Father, have kept your promise. You are near to the broken hearted, the humble, and the afflicted. Thank you. There is still a lengthy journey ahead but with you a promise made is a promise kept. 

With

"We approached the pre-operation room with a fair bit of trepidation, who doesn't? But we knew going into that it was going to be a difficult ordeal. "Ok," you say, "it's gonna be hard." So, Jessica and I wheel our lovely 5 yr old back to the room and begin to tell her stories. A line of different doctors come to see her. You can see it in her eyes and witness her body language. The time is drawing near. Just moments before our daughter goes under the knife to have what later would be known as a "huge" tumor (10 inches x 6 inches) removed she motions for me to come near.  Her tiny little body is covered in blankies and all the comforts we can afford physically while her heart is held up in prayer. As I get right next to her lips - she whispers soft and gently, "Daddy, I don't want to cry." and then she begins to briefly shed a few tears."

These were the words first shared on this blog as I set out to chronicle the journey of our daughter's fight for life. Tonight I sit in a chair just a few feet away listening to her labored breathing - noticing that her and her doll have matching outfits - one would expect nothing less. The significance of this day cannot be overstated. You see, on December 30th, 2010 Jada was diagnosed with kidney cancer and shortly thereafter we were informed that it would be about an 8 month journey of surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy. Now we are just two more infusions away from being finished with treatment, tomorrow and Sunday (July 30, 31st).

Eight months on nearly any other terms seems so doable and like a drop in the bucket of time so-to-speak. In fact, the whole thing (8 months actually being a relatively short time versus how the time felt) reminded me a quote Kramer had in a Seinfeld episode years ago. In the span of eternity it is literally next to nothing. In the reality of our hearts it was FAR longer. When someone tells you that they had an experience that was emotionally draining. . . believe them. 

So what is it about this experience that has got me thinking in ways that I never have before? Prior to this, it was easy for me to shuffle someone's suffering into the deep recesses of my heart and dig it up in some rote prayer or small display of compassion - not always, but it did happen. Now, I must confront the idea that this whole trial: the surgery, the chemo, the vomiting, the fevers, the blood transfusions, the broken arms, the radiation, and the mortality - the constant draining and heart-deadening weight of thinking in terms of life or death for your firstborn - is ending. Sure, there will be days ahead of anxiety or fear: every three months for two years, etc. where scans and blood tests will be done (with cancer you are never really done).  But largely, this trial has run its course. 

I know the reader of this is thinking, "Doug, get a grip - your family seems to have been the target since January of many trials...don't you WANT this to end?" Yes, I do, make no mistake. I want this to be done - I long for waking and going to work and coming home. But that is not what I'm talking about when it comes to what I must confront. I am confronting the fact that I have conversations with many folks for whom there is not a foreseeable closure to the suffering.

I think of a woman down the hall whose son is experiencing what we did just a month back - it all seemed so distant until the reality of it looked me in the eye and spoke tenderly of her family and the toll it's taking on them. I think of my dear friend Cora and her family - fervent though they be in prayer many hurdles remain. They are coming to grips with the kindness of severity - that He is known best when He is needed MOST. I think of another little girl named Jada who has a rare and challenging cancer, and her parents really love Jesus. My mind is captured by all of the faces and my heart riveted to the core by the stories which accompany them. For many suffering continues - and it may for my family again.  

Psalm 119:67 "Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep your word."

When all is considered there is a side of me that struggles mightily with ease. Essentially, it is the knowledge that there is suffering (or apathy, stubbornness, laziness) still on the prowl while I am enjoying the blessings and kindness of God. C.H. Spurgeon once said, Why is it that a little ease works in us so much disease? Can we never rest without rusting? Never be filled without waxing fat?"

In Philippians 1:18-30 the Apostle Paul experienced something similar. He was at the point of immanent death and desired to be done with the trial. However, he knew it was more beneficial to remain with them for their "progress and joy" in the faith. I can say with UTTER confidence that the Lord has walked WITH us every step of the way in this journey (as have many of you). So, as with Spurgeon I will question ease for it usually means one of two things in my life: either I am forging out on my own in a particular area outside of the precious Christian community the Lord designed for me to walk in OR there is a lack of trial and suffering which would throw me helplessly on my PRESENT Savior. 

I can rejoice that Jada is finishing her treatment but my prayer is that His presence maintain my vigilance with regard to those suffering a life lived without Jesus. 

***Quick note - An acquaintance of mine has written a new book entitled "With: Reimagining the way you relate to God." It will be available in late August - but you can check out the 1st chapter for free HERE - the author's name is Skye Jethani. ***

Please post any comments or thoughts you have - you never know, someone may be encouraged to deepen their relationship with God as a result. 

Eventful VS. Eventual

I will tell you from experience after four days spent in a hospital, an eight hour break is not what you had in mind. That being said, its not one of those negotiable matters in life upon which you may impose your will. So - here goes, again.

Thursday (June 16th) we had the absolute pleasure of leaving the hospital after having a four day stay for chemo. We were barely down the road when Jada started coughing and crying in the backseat. To spare you the details, what followed was my first experience of maintaining the speed limit, staying in my own lane and managing to keep vomit off the seats of my pristine 1998 Olds by way of a collector's popcorn tin (Chicago Bears of course). That was the drive home. Cancer and its treatment always has the capability to throw curveballs which rival any professional in the majors right now.

We arrived home and Jada was not herself. After coaxing her to eat a piece of sweet corn for lunch she practically put herself down for a nap. She awoke screaming. "Not cool," you think as a parent - you would be right. This, however, is not uncommon. Jada to wake crying. What was unusual about this particular episode was simply that of the level of her screaming and apparent pain. Not constant, but major in moments. I called her oncologist and he asked to see her right away. Long story made very short - Jada was immediately re-admitted with a bad case of the shingles. We caught them early - thank the Lord - but there is much pain involved for her. And, the looming threat of yet another unplanned stay at the children's hospital of Illinois.

Once admitted we quickly settled in and are doing as well as can be expected. When I asked Jada today what it feels like (you must know that it hurts mainly when it is touched) she replied by saying, "It feels like someone is standing there with a knife poking it into my side and cutting me." I thought, "wow, that's way too specific to be made up." So, I taker her word for it.

So what now? What are we to make of such things? God's goodness is not lost in such times. We have already had ample opportunity to honor the name of Jesus and speak the Gospel into the lives of those we are coming in contact with. We truly are loving the nursing staff and all their efforts.

You may say, "this is just too much for Jada (and her family)!" Don't. Don't for a minute think that Jess and I have gotten through to this point with some magic formula or cleverly devised scheme which gives just the right amount of poise when necessary. We are where we are PRECISELY because of Jesus. The Apostle Paul speaks of this in I Cor. 15 - God's grace does not nullify our toil and striving - it actually gives them great purpose. We are, by God's grace, redeeming the time. Today Jada and I read (listened) to half of the book of Acts to help her see that those who love Jesus STILL SUFFER and to remind me of the same.

The crux of the matter is this if you believe in Jesus Christ as LORD and Savior: do you focus on the eventful or the eventual? Read those words carefully, because when the Spirit gave them to me today as I read through Titus and Philippians (in particular ch. 3) I was immediately comforted. This IS OUR AGE to experience trial, suffering, famine, nakedness, peril, danger, sword, bankruptcy, strife and all manner of difficulty. That is precisely what makes our lives so eventful right now. Believe it or not - there WILL BE a time when this is most assuredly not the case. Eventually, we will see Jesus face to face - our bodies will be restored, and our joy and crown will be to glory in Him all the day long.

Does it stink right now? You bet. But, I don't have to plant that in Jada's fertile little mind now do I? I can speak life to her through the WORD of God.

Click the "Post a comment" button below and weigh in with your "Eventful VS. Eventual" thoughts.