Sheep and shells - mixed metaphors

What connection do sheep and shells have? 

And how did the saints of old ‘hear’ God’s voice? How did they know it was God’s voice? 

These were not the questions on my mind as I walked by the water yesterday. Instead, against my will, I was somewhat agitated about the quarterly cancer check that would take place just an hour or two later. With dogged determination, the godly part of my mind kept pulling my thoughts back to meditate on Psalm 23 – ‘The Lord is my shepherd’. 

There has been no sign of the cancer now for over a year. But there is still a distinct possibility that it could recur one day, hence the regular checks. 

The phrase that settled in my heart from that Psalm was this: “He restores my soul.”  

“My soul – yes – but he also leads us through the valley of death, where his rod and his staff comfort us,” the pessimist part of my brain stated factually. 

“Stop that train of thought right there and get back to focusing on God, your shepherd,” the more rational part of my mind directed.

*****

Sitting by the water’s edge a short time later, my gaze was drawn to a shell. It was along this shoreline some 18 months ago that God had used a broken shell to encourage me. I was reminded back then that even broken things have beauty and that the battering of the sea can be used by Him.  Now, however, it was not a broken shell that caught my attention, but a complete shell … or so it seemed.  Later, careful inspection would reveal that the edge was just a little ragged, and that the markings on it change quite obviously at one point with a crease marking the change – I wonder whether the creature that had called this shell ‘home’ had been through some trauma or change? Yet it is still whole, useful and beautiful.

Was that my internal voice, or was it a divine nudge? Given that God Himself has put His Spirit in me, it could have been either.

“I have made you whole again.”

Now that is taking the line, “He restores my soul” TOTALLY out of context. It is in keeping with several other special ‘words’ that have been given to me by others, but is it of God? Or is it just what I want to believe?

Squatting on the shell-littered sand, I carefully checked to ensure that ‘my’ shell was empty. Then I washed it in seawater, wrapped it in a tissue and put it in my bag. This is one symbol I shall treasure.

*****

Continuing along the bayside path, I pondered the nature of God as restorer. I often address God as Creator, Sustainer and Redeemer, but of course he is also restorer. In good time, all creation shall be restored – recreated, even – when we finally live in the new heavens and the new earth. But dare I believe that He has also restored my body for a while yet even now?

“The Good Shepherd calls His sheep by name … and His sheep know His voice.” (John 10:3-4) Again, I wonder how much is God gently reassuring me and how much is wishful thinking on my part. The context of John 10 was Jesus speaking to the Pharisees who did not recognize their Messiah. 

That being said, I know that God the Father, Jesus the Son and the indwelling Holy Spirit, know my name – my English name and my Chinese name both, and maybe a resurrection name as well. I was reminded afresh that my Chinese name, Suhui, similar to my English name, includes the word ‘su’-苏- which reminds me that God ‘restores -苏醒 - my soul. My name, in part, is taken directly from the Shepherd Psalm, something which I knew long ago but struck me with fresh force as I walked back along the bay towards the carpark. The last syllable of my Chinese name, ‘hui’, refers to grace.

Dare I believe that God has made me whole again?

What I believe is irrelevant. What is relevant is truth. And the truth is that God can heal and restore, but He doesn’t always – not while we live in a sin-sullied world. Yet I have a sixth sense that He has restored my body, and that it is now up to me to take good care of it.

I left the bayside and turned my little car (which I affectionately call ‘Shelly’ because of the number plate 5HL) towards the cancer hospital. Again, all was well. The young doctor who saw me this time (not the one I usually see) declared me healthy and whole, and also gave me a lecture about the importance of living a balanced and healthy lifestyle. It was almost as if she was reinforcing the ‘divine nudges’ I’d received from my bayside walk just an hour earlier.

With a skip in my step but a growl in my stomach, I left the hospital, passing the display of delicious gluten-free cookies in the café by the front door. Instead, I headed for Subway.  Why would I want a chocolate chip cookie when I could have a colourful and tasty salad? After all, I am Suhui, restored because of God’s grace.

“The Good Shepherd calls His sheep by name … and His sheep know His voice.” (John 10:3-4)

Coffee, cancer and roses

I’m neither Bezalel nor Oholiab. I’m Suzanne.

Mind you, I’d like to have been Oholiab. Beza and Holi (as Aussie peers would have called them had they lived today) were the topic of my reading today in Exodus 35:30 – 36:1. God gave them skills and abilities to carry out the creative work of building the temple and also training others to do so … Oholiab in particular had a real gift of teaching (Exodus 35:34). I'm a little jealous of the rich and meaningful lives they led.

Three millenia later and my life has taken a few unexpected turns. The fact is that I’m neither Beza nor Holi, nor do I live in their time. I’m Suzanne (sometimes called Suz or Zana for short, depending on who is speaking). Yet the same wise God continues to call, equip and use His people in ways unique to who He has created them to be.

Because I had cancer (and will continue with regular checks for some time), I have become a regular visitor to Moorabbin (the Monash Cancer Centre). Because I go to Moorabbin and it is so close to Brighton, I go for a paddle at the beach there as often as I can. I recently learnt that there is a Tibetan Buddhist Study Centre in nearby East Brighton, and so went to visit. Because I like coffee and they have a sweet little café attached to the centre, I have become a frequent sipper there - there is no cafe at the beach. Because I like roses, a conversation ensued with Julie* (one of the staff who brought in roses) who, as it turns out, comes from a town in Asia not far from where I used to visit. Yesterday, I learned that Kane* (a barista there) dreams of one day opening his own coffee shop near his family home of … (drum roll) … the mountain town where my absolute favourite coffee shop in the world is located. It has been years since he left that town, long before there were any coffee shops in the area.

There are people in Australia from all over Tibet and neighbouring lands. Yet the first two with whom I’ve had any significant conversations come from the same small part of Asia I know a bit, love a lot and hope to continue visiting. What are the chances of that?!

I may not be Holi or Beza, but I am Zana, and we serve a common master. Just as God created them as unique and used them powerfully to create something with a lasting legacy, it is my hope and expectation that God will also use me. I am just a middle-aged Aussie woman who enjoys beautiful places, pretty roses and fragrant coffee. 

Time alone will tell where that will lead. 

(*Julie and Kane are pseudonyms, because I didn't want to identify them on a public blog. Things are a bit unstable in their homeland, which is why they're here.)

Hugged by an angel ... sort of

I lay motionless on the radiation platform, my hands clasping the grip behind my head, one hand up one hand down as required, hoping that the two burly young men who were busy with their measurements wouldn't notice the tears which kept slipping out of my eyes and running down towards my ears. It wasn't like I was sad ... it was just such an anti-climax. And I was a bit emotional.

I'd just finished my LAST chemotherapy session. It had been a long and tiring day, the expected four hours stretching out to over seven due to trouble canulating me (again - this drug really messes up your veins, they tell me), needing an extra bag of magnesium again to try and counteract the way it is being bleached from my body (yet another side effect of the drug), as well as being on a slower drip due to the pump machines all being in use, not to mention my neighbours next to me and across the way both having reactions to their drugs and the one over having a cytotoxic spill as well when she knocked the drip out of her hand. After I finally finished, I still had to wait another half hour for the doctor to give me the all-clear to leave due to having retained more than the maximum two kilos of fluid. I finished about the same time as many of the staff were coming to the end of their shift and they were keen to get me out of there. As was I. But it wasn't a strong finish for she who likes 'closure'. Hence the leaky eyes in the radiation room once I finally got there.

Upon leaving the hospital building, I headed across the car park to the street beyond where I was parked. I spotted my favourite nurse, Shelly, also headed from a different exit to her car. We waved. She has been terrific to me, this lady, exuding care. She hadn't been my nurse this particular day but had smiled encouragingly each time she came anywhere near.  

Shelly jumped in her car and drove across to where I was walking through the car park. Putting down her window, she called out, "Come here, gorgeous. Give me a hug. It's your last day." Embracing awkwardly through the open car window, she continued. "May God bless you richly - really richly." 

It turns out that Shelly is an on-fire Christian woman.  It didn't surprise me to learn that, actually - her words and actions both spoke volumes. On reflection, it occurred to me that she was powerfully used by God to encourage me, as in 'give me courage', not just by some of her comments throughout my treatment (eg "Oh dear God, these things are sent to try us" during one particularly frustrating day), but by virtue of who she was. And that hug was exactly the 'closure' I needed.

You may remember from an earlier blog post how God used a broken shell at Brighton to encourage me. I took that shell home and continued to think about that special moment for a long time. And now, here was a flesh and blood 'Shell' helping me finish at least this part of the journey well. Like my shell from the beach, Shelly isn't perfect - and I'm sure she'd be quick to say that she is no angel. But she IS a messenger of God sent at just the right time and place to minister to another of God's people ... me.  May I have the privilege of doing likewise some day to another, not by doing anything in particular but just by 'being' God's in the right place at the right time.

But today, though, I just say 'thank you' and accept that special touch from an angel ... sort of. 

Chemotherapy is OVER! And soon the radiation therapy will be too! Then it is just a matter of letting the body heal without being bombarded by more treatments. 

Thanksgiving

"Then we, your people, the ones you love and care for,

    will thank you over and over and over.

We’ll tell everyone we meet

    how wonderful you are, how praiseworthy you are!"

Psalm 79:13 (The Message)

On this American Thanksgiving Day, the above verse is what I meditated on at the hospital today as I embarked on my 'long day' of chemotherapy day unit followed by radiation.  Taken out of context, the verse is an ideal 'thanksgiving' verse, but of course it belongs 'in context'.  

In context, the Israelites were being oppressed by their enemies at the time of writing. They recognized their predicament as punishment for the sin of their forebears. In this Psalm, they were calling on God to remember them, to forgive them, and to preserve His reputation by rescuing them ... again. Confident that He would, because He loves and cares for His people, they promised to praise and thank Him when He did come through for them. 

Of course, that was Israel's story. Mine is different. I'm not being punished for the sins of my forebears or even my own. God has already shown His kindness over and over, not least evidenced by the fact that I'm here in Australia staying with family while going through all this treatment,  I still have hair (which, I admit, is an important thing for me), and most of all, treatment is going smoothly. 

As this particular Thanksgiving day went on, however, one thing after another went wrong. Nothing major, thankfully - just annoying.  At one stage, the nurse attending me moaned in frustration, "Oh God our Father, these things are sent to try us." And though I doubt she realized it, she was spot on and her comment was a good reminder to me. Here is a list of today's frustrations which kept popping up as I meditated on the above 'Thanksgiving verse'.

* After arriving before 8.15am as booked (which means leaving home at 7.15am), I had to wait a long time to even get underway. 
* The first attempt to canulate me failed because my vein collapsed.
* I then sat for ten minutes with my hand and arm in hot water to try and get the veins up.
* The second attempt to canulate me failed because my next vein collapsed.
* I sat for another ten minutes with both hands and arms in hot water.
* Another nurse canulated me - she got it in but the liquid wouldn't drip in at adequate speed so they got a pump, which really hurt and wasn't working well either (because of my 'flat veins'), so in the end they removed it. 
* Another nurse - a male nurse, who looked remarkably like my brother (random tangential comment) - tried to canulate me but the vein collapsed.
* The head nurse came and tried herself with a fancy new 'vein finder' light which was fascinating ... but even with that, the vein collapsed.
* A doctor came and had success at last. But this stage it was almost midday, and we were just starting our 'long day'.
* It turns out that I needed an extra bag of IV fluid today because my magnesium levels are low (a side effect of the treatment) ... which added an extra hour to the day.
* At 4pm, four hours later than anticipated, I was finally liberated from the beeping pump, and moved over to radiation. I was set up (quite a process of measurements and minute adjustments), the bed lifted high and put within the orbit of the radiation equipment, where I remained motionless for quite a long time ... because the radiation machine stopped working 3/4 of the way through treatment. They kept trying to get it fixed but eventually gave up, lowered me back down and sent me off to another radiation room.
* After waiting a while for my turn, the staff re-did all the measurements etc and finally finished the treatment. They were very apologetic, but it wasn't their fault. 
* I then went to pick up my medications, but turns out that the pharmacy shuts at 5pm (a hospital pharmacy? What happens if inpatients need medications?). My scripts were inside, including the medication I need to manage the chemotherapy side-effects for the next few days. So back to the chemo day ward I went to beg for help. Thankfully, help was forthcoming, thanks to a kind lady who had finished work but not left yet, and I left with my bag of medications.
* And of course by that time it was peak hour. That's okay - at least I got home safely.

I somewhat identify with the writer of Psalm 79 who wrote:

"Hurry up and help us; we’re at the end of our rope.
You’re famous for helping; God, give us a break.
    Your reputation is on the line." (Psalm 79:10 The Message)

But as in the Psalm, help IS in sight because God's people, then as now, are loved and cared for by God.  

I've been well cared for by God and His people, including family, all along. Yet I am SO looking forward to this chapter of life being finished and moving on  to whatever is next, hopefully with a clean bill of health and when the time comes. With the people of ancient Israel who were rescued by God, I shall thank Him over and over, as per the Psalm. That is the most likely scenario ... but even if health continues to be a challenge, He is still wonderful and praiseworthy, and we, His people, will continue to be the object of His love and care. 

Just to put things in context, my little frustrations are only that - frustrations - and especially so today. Meditation on that Psalm certainly helps to put things in context, as do the stories of other patients and even the staff. Treatment is going smoothly. Side effects are annoying, to say the least, but the poor old body should start to heal after the bombardment it is currently getting concludes mid December. 

As for what is next, who knows?

Fomans 5: 3-5 (The Message) There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!