Wednesday mornings I arrive at the door to the chemo lounge and take a deep breath.  My quiet prayer is usually something like, “Ok Lord, here we go.  Give me courage and strength to do this.  And help me love the people around me well.”

This past Wednesday looked no different, save for the happy little Christmas tree in a corner and colorful lights lining the windows.  As usual, the dark green pleather recliners were filled with sick people receiving potent medicine to battle a common foe, cancer.  Some folks were chatty, while others sat with their eyes closed, huddled beneath a blanket.  The shadow of death always looms.  Even still, we all exchanged smiles and nods of tacit understanding about what it’s like to sit in that room.  I felt a new weight to our “Merry Christmas” greetings.

Christmas doesn’t offer a break from the battle, but I’ve been thankful for this season of Advent, a time of reflecting on the coming of Jesus, our long awaited Savior who entered our hurting, fallen, cancer-stricken, sinful world to redeem us.  It’s remarkable, isn’t it?  Our majestic, holy God took on mortal flesh and lived among those He came to save and redeem.

I love this insight from Tim Keller about Christmas:  “The gift of Christmas gives you a resource–a comfort and consolation–for dealing with suffering, because in it we see God’s willingness to enter this world of suffering to suffer with us and for us.”

2 Corinthians 8:9 may be the best summary of the meaning of Christmas in scripture…

“You know the grace of your Lord Jesus Christ that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.”

I need Christmas this year.

I don’t need the fun holiday parties. I don’t need the presents. I don’t need the glee and sweetness of Christmas morning with all the merrymaking. I don’t even need to feel good on Christmas. But boy do I need Christmas. I need the reminder that God loves me. That He sent His son Jesus to rescue me. Not just from this broken world. Or my broken body. But from my own broken, sinful heart.

Emmanuel – God with us – changes everything.  Jesus has walked these shadowlands before me.  He is with me as I settle into my green recliner and go to battle with an enemy.  And you know what? I can’t wait for the second Advent of my King, when the once lowly, suffering Servant, who was laid in a manger at his birth and died a shameful death on a cross, will come again in triumphant glory, once and for all removing every trace of sin and sorrow.  Cancer of the body and cancer of the soul.  GONE, forever and ever.

This Christmas, Isaac Watt’s famous hymn is more encouraging to my heart than ever before…

“Joy to the world!  The Lord has come!  Let earth receive her King!  He comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found…  He rules the world with truth and grace and makes the nations prove the glories of his righteousness and wonders of his love…

and wonders of his love…

and wonders, wonders of his love.”

THIS is the Christmas I need.

PS – Our kids are bubbling with excitement about Christmas morning. Though I will not be feeling well, the little joys sprinkled throughout tomorrow will help!  Next week marks the 2/3 completed point in this chemo plan.  Just four more weeks of the “Clean Up Crew” to go.  I received an early present when I found out my blood counts are strong enough to skip the immune system booster shots this round.  Translation:  no achy bones side effect to weather the next few days.  AND my hair is making a strong comeback!  Even had bed head when I woke up this morning.  Good gifts from the Giver of good things.

Merry Christmas!

Anne

 

When the going is tough, I think that’s what God’s grace often looks like.  

So said I to Anne one evening last week, when we were both feeling under the weather and a bit beat up by the vagaries of life. A smile, nod and “YES” were all I needed to know she felt the same. Framed in the positive, grace in suffering is doing the next thing in front of you, even when every fiber in your being is saying, “um, no thanks.”

Our pastor has been preaching through the book of 2 Corinthians, a letter written by the apostle Paul to the church in Corinth. What Paul wrote regarding his own hardship in the letter’s opening captures what I mean:

“8For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. 9Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. 10He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. 11You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many.”

After having had a week off to let her body catch its breath, Anne goes in for chemotherapy tomorrow. Alas, she got my cold, which she’s had a harder time kicking given her body’s weakened state. Even still, Anne’s generally in good spirits, for which I am truly thankful, especially after walking alongside her through intensive chemotherapy, two surgeries, and now this second course of chemotherapy.

Friends, we feel so buoyed by your prayers, notes, gifts, and meals. Thank you, a million times over. You make grace and mercy tangible to us. Put wind in our sails. Remind us that we aren’t alone in this fight. 

I hope to update you again with less time passing between posts. 

In the meantime, please pray for Anne’s healing, for strength to endure, and for God’s comfort and peace, which knows no bounds, to invade her heart daily. 

Ain’t nobody giving up over here. 

Merry Christmas!

Van