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!

40 Days

It sounds Biblical, doesn't it. 40 days of treatment is what I'm referring to - chemotherapy and radiation started on November 5th and, God willing, should finish on December 14th.

Is the coincidental total of '40 days of treatment' a 'sign' that this is divine preparation for something big? Probably not. And that is the point of this blog update - ponderings about the desire to be useful contrasted with focus on God, the Rock.

The context in which I write is a sense of disappointment in having decided to put off my assignments for the part-time study I'm doing. I really want to get this study done, because I want to make a difference in the world and think it will help. I feel somewhat 'guilty' (irrational though that be) taking life slowly for the duration of this medical venture, achieving very little along the way.

Today I went and sat by the river with a blah coffee. It used to be such a treat, that coffee, but now it tastes like nothing. That's the effect of the chemotherapy I'm told. Strange, isn't it, how a coffee-addict can be turned off coffee within a week? That's okay. The time by the river was inspirational despite the coffee.

I said to God, "40 days, Lord. Do you have some big thing ahead for me? Will you use me to save a whole people group or at the very least to facilitate others to do that? Are you working something special in me for that purpose? That would be very nice, to say the least."

Now let me backtrack ten minutes. As I sat by the river with my blah coffee, I had also just finished my BSF questions based on Deuteronomy 32 and Moses' final speech before his death. I made the description of God as 'rock' the topic of my riverside meditation today. In Deuteronomy 32:4, Moses says:

"He is the Rock, his works are perfect,

    and all his ways are just.

A faithful God who does no wrong,

    upright and just is he."

The water flowed over and around the rocks. How long has water flowed over these rocks? What dramas have been acted out in the lives of generations of people from around the world by the banks of this river? Today, I sat there, my white British skin sensibly covered from the Australian sun. Plenty of Chinese tourists fed ducks just up the river. In history, of course, it would have been local Aboriginal people who lived and worked the river here. 

God is the Rock.  His faithfulness doesn't depend on me. His work doesn't depend on me. I'm just like one of those little yellow flowers that pops up for a brief time. (Psalm 103:15-16)

Don't get me wrong. I'm not being pessimistic about the hoped for success of the 40 days of discomfort.  His Word tells me that He uses such experiences to mould us (Romans 5:3-5) I DO still hope that He will use me in some small way in terms of unreached people groups. He certainly used Moses in ways that have reverberated for millenia, though I dare not liken myself to that great saint. Nevertheless, what matters is that He is the Rock and any of us are just like flowers which are here today and gone tomorrow.

Yes, I want to be useful. I dream of being somebody whose legacy goes down in history in terms of gospel outreach. But when I put that in the context of eternity, I realize just how little am. He is the Rock. I'm just a flower. 

Yet in His kindness, may this little flower yet make her mark in terms of His work to reach that people group.

Why?

'Why' is a silly question, really, because it is too big for my little mind.

In BSF this week, we studied the passage including this verse: "The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law." (Deuteronomy 29:29 NIV)

The context of this verse was the renewal of the covenant with Israel, and in particular the consequences for disobedience and for obedience. The surrounding nations would ask 'Why?' when Israel suffered consequences for straying from God. In my case, I am fairly confident that I'm not being punished, as was the context for the quote above. But I do take the point that these are the 'secret things' of God and I am not going to grasp them. What I can grasp is that which He has revealed clearly, and that is all I need to follow Him wholeheartedly. 

If there is a Scriptural principle for my situation, I prefer to think of the blind man of John 9, where Jesus taught a powerful visual lesson about Him being the 'light of the world': 

"As he (Jesus) went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” (John 9:1-5 NIV)

Jesus, of course, healed the blind man, and I hope and anticipate that He will do so for me too, though through less earthy means than soil and saliva.

Even though the 'Why' probably belongs in the category of 'secret things', I can't help but ponder this question. I'll elaborate on my conclusions below.

Spiritual battle: For several years now I've been wanting to work with a particular ethnic group in south-west China, but there has always been one reason or another why I can't do much more than be an enthusiastic spectator. Finally, it seemed, I was able to study more about that group and get involved in hands-on work both here in Australia and in Asia. And now cancer treatment interferes with that plan. Anecdotal evidence suggests that people involved in reaching out to that group suffer a disproportionately high level of physical, relational and other afflictions. Am I another anecdote?  

For over three years now, I've been growing my hair in an effort to 'fit in' with the women from that group. Actually, I've later realized that long hair doesn't matter as much as I once thought, given that the rest of me is undeniably 'foreign'. Nevertheless, when I first received the cancer diagnosis, my immediate reaction was to say, "If I lose my hair through treatment, then I am most certainly blaming The Enemy." Hopefully I won't, but time will tell. I've been warned that my hair may thin and become brittle, but hopefully I won't lose it all. .

(Sorry about the formatting glitch ... I'm stumped with it.)

Growth in holiness: In some reading for the MST subject ‘Spiritual Formation’, I was challenged about how ‘work’ or ‘ministry’ can become an end in itself rather than a way we participate with God in His work.  I admit that this is a temptation for me - one to which I succumb when life gets busy. One passage I read from JI Packer (which I quoted in a newsletter a while back) and which touched me deeply is this:

“One of the disciplines to which the Lord calls us is the willingness, from time to time, not to be used in significant ministry…. Imagine, now, a devoted and gifted Christian woman, whose ministry has been precious to her, finding that for quite a long period the Lord sidelines her so that her potential is not being used. …. It is … a lesson in Christ’s school of holiness. The Lord is reminding her that her life does not depend on her finding that people need her. The prime source of her joy must always be the knowledge of God’s love for her….  Regarding her ministry, what matters is that she should be available to Him. Then He will decide when and how to put her to service again and she should leave that with Him.”

 J.I. Packer, Rediscovering Holiness, pp.199-200 Servant Publications, 1994

Working very hard for a long time: I gave a presentation on the topic of 'work' as part of the 'Pastoral Care' subject I'm doing at MST, and specifically focused on 'overwork' as an occupational hazard for those of us who work in 'creative access nations'. We usually have a number of sometimes non-overlapping roles and there are great expectations put on us by ourselves and others. As part of my preparation, I read an enlightening little book called 'Confessions of a Workaholic' by Wayne Oates. I identified well with it. Over the past few years, I've mostly enjoyed trying to be everything to everyone - working to support foreigners who live there, ongoing language study, working with local people in ways that will always be the highlight of my recent overseas stint, visiting and taking a great interest in people in the mountains near where I lived, keeping up good communications with people back in Australia who enabled me to stay there etc. In the book, 'Confessions of a Workaholic', the author suggested that people like me are more prone to such serious illnesses as they reach their 40s and 50s. (Mind you, I was and remain somewhat of a legalist for taking a weekly rest day.) On top of that, in my role in member care these past couple of years, I heard many stories of people for whom I cared deeply and carried a degree of the emotional weight as a result. I don't regret this one little bit. But I do wonder if all this somehow played into this physical health crisis? I'll never know. And I'm getting a good break from it all now, doing very little for a while. 

The consequences of our decaying creation: Maybe I'm being too deep and meaningful with these 'Why' questions. People develop different health issues all the time, so why should I be exempt? Risk factors for my type of cancer include being overweight and never having had children, both of which are true for me. It's ironic, really, because I live quite a healthy lifestyle otherwise. Okay - perhaps I drink too much coffee, but thankfully, that is documented as NOT a risk factor for this type of cancer. Regardless, I will make a concerted effort to live an even healthier lifestyle in the future, and to carry less weight. I've put this in writing - hold me to it please, friends!

A thorn in the flesh - a messenger of Satan - displaying God's power:  I don't want to lift myself up to the level of the apostle Paul, but Paul's situation of God glorifying Himself through Paul's 'thorn in the flesh' resonates. Who did Paul blame regarding his ‘thorn in the flesh’? He wrote, “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”   (1 Cor 12:7b-9)

Developing passionate patience:  Finally, I return to what has become my 'theme verse' for this chapter of life:“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!” Romans 5:3-5 (The Message)

Why? It's a complex question and my mind is too small to grasp the answers. I'l just chalk it up to 'the secret things of God' and be content to know that He is working in and through me for His purposes. I think Paul came to the same conclusion, because he wrote these encouraging words in a section about 'present sufferings and future glory': "And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him , who have been called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28 NIV)

Looking Back

Has all this really happened? I am writing this update during the 'lull in the storm', ie the period after mostly recovering from the surgery and before radiation and chemotherapy get underway. It hasn't been a terrible storm, actually - people go through far worse. I don't know how people do it without a faith of some sort, let alone faith in the One who is unshakeable. Hillsong United's song 'Still' has been particularly special to me during this time. The image of being hidden under the wings of God Himself is one I was 'given' over and over. You can listen to the song here if you like. The words are below. The pictures relate to another storm, one I experienced with some special people just after Easter this year, in an area that I'm keen to get back to as as 'regular tourist' once this current metaphorical storm is over.

Hide me now
Under your wings
Cover me
Within your mighty hand

When the oceans rise and thunders roar
I will soar with you above the storm
Father You are King over the flood
I will be still and
know You are God

Find rest my soul
In Christ alone
Know His power
In quietness and trust

(Hillsong United - Still - 2006)

This current storm began in Asia last year but I didn't recognize it for what it was, nor did the medical people I consulted. Fair enough, I'm told - I'm in the wrong demographic - this cancer is usually found in older ladies. It was diagnosed first as fibroids (which were present), then later as a thickened uterus wall (which was a description, really, rather than a diagnosis) and I was given medication to (somewhat) manage the frustrating symptoms, including chronically low iron levels. It wasn't until July 10th that I underwent a day procedure to get to the bottom of it all. I woke up from the anaesthetic to be told that I had cancer, but was encouraged that it was one of the 'better feminine cancers' to get. Cancer? Surely that happened to other people, but not to me, right? Let alone when I was on the cusp of a whole new chapter of life......

After that, there was a lot of waiting. Waiting to have the gynaecologist's diagnosis confirmed and clarified after getting the pathology results a week later. Then waiting to see the gynaecological oncologist. Then waiting for the surgery date, only to have it delayed by 'unclear images' from a CT scan, which necessitated a PET scan. 

I had an annoying cough at the time of the PET scan which had been hanging around for weeks and which gave us all a scare because it showed up on the PET scan as something which needed further investigations. What a relief it was when further tests showed that it was an infection which was healing rather than a growth which was getting worse.  While waiting to see the lung specialist, I watched a family emerge from his office. The husband was struggling to breathe even with an oxygen cylinder which he pulled on a trolley, his wife supporting him with tears streaming down her face. Their teenage son walking behind somberly. In stark contrast, I emerged feeling like the magnolia looked. This magnolia picture (inserted) was taken at the hospital the day I received that good news.

September 14th finally arrived. After an epidural which the anaethetist assured me was so effective that they needn't give me a general anaesthetic(??!!! eeek!), they thankfully put a mask on my face and that was it until I awoke several hours later in the high dependency unit. High dependency?! Apart from my oxygen being a bit low, I was okay and it turned out that I was just 'parked there' for the night because the ward I should have been sent to wasn't open yet. 

That was an interesting though exhausting night. One of the other patients, an elderly man who had just had his larynx removed, was accompanied by his middle-aged daughter. She fainted and an ambulance was called to take her from the cancer hospital to a general hospital with an emergency department. Poor lady. As for her father, he had a terrible night, coughing painfully and quite distressed. After many unsuccessful efforts at communication, the staff brought him a whiteboard and asked him to write down what he wanted. The answer? His mother. The other patient in our ward complained of terrible pain and desperate thirst and vomited all night, despite the best efforts of the staff to make him comfortable, including a midnight epidural and ice chips. Morning finally came, and when the doctors did their rounds, both patients reported that they were doing fine, with a 'thumbs up' from each of them. My doctors finally came too, having had trouble finding out where I'd been 'parked'. They reported that surgery had gone well, that I'd had everything removed, including both sets of lymph nodes near the uterus, all the 'lumpy lymph nodes' up higher (the para-aortic lymph nodes - they can't take them all out but had gone through feeling each one and removing any with lumps) and also my 'fatty apron' simply because it had been in the way. A fatty apron? 

It was a relief to be moved to the gynaecology ward where I shared a room with a spunky old lady who was almost constantly cared for by one or the other of her family. After that, recovery was slow but steady and more-or-less on track with what was expected. The first time I stood up, two days after surgery, was a bit scary - my blood pressure dropped and I felt quite unwell. The next time was much better though, and before long I was one of the many patients doing very slow gentle walks up and down the hall. 

The first couple of days, I was on a 'clear liquids only' diet, which was a bit sad for someone who enjoys her food. Finally, on day three, I was permitted 'real food'. Porridge has never tasted so good, though I can't say the same for International Roast coffee. Lunch was a real disappointment though, as it was everything that I'm meant to avoid with my fructose issues (cream of onion soup and wheat-laden sandwiches). They helpfully exchanged it for a salad and icecream though left me with only a soup spoon! After that, things picked up.

We hired a comfortable 'lift chair' for the recovery

Finally, the body did all that it had to do (I'll spare you the details) to allow me to go home on Friday, just a few days after surgery. With great delight, I shuffled out and went back to my parents' home, where Mum has looked after me so very well ever since. 

There were still some little squalls to be endured in my metaphorical storm. It turns out that I'd picked up one of those hospital bugs that are resistant to most antibiotics (pseudonomas) and over the following few weeks, my wound got rather messy at times. The rest of me didn't feel so crash hot either, especially if I did anything even slightly energetic. The ladies up at the local medical centre have been fabulous in managing it (a doctor and a couple of nurses there). They've all commented on how positive I am and one of the nurses, also a Christian, and I have been quick to attribute that to the difference it makes being a Christian. And really, it does. I don't know how people do it relying on their own 'inner strength'. 

The waiting game still continued. Ten days after surgery, I received the much-anticipated phone call which I had anticipated would contain the results of the pathology ... except that it didn't. The doctor who called was most apologetic as she explained that the results still weren't in, and it would be another week. The following week she called again and explained that there had been cancer in the lymph nodes, muscle around the uterus and of course the uterus itself, but that all visible cancer had now been removed. Nevertheless, they would need to 'mop up' any remaining stray cancer cells with radiation and chemotherapy. She said, incorrectly, that it would be six cycles of three weeks of chemo, plus six weeks of radiation, but thankfully, it turns out that it is only six weeks of chemo once a week along with six weeks of radiation therapy five days a week. 

Which brings me to now - the lull in the storm. I have six tiny tattoos now (just spots) which are the markers they'll use to do the radiation therapy. Both it and the chemotherapy should start next week, November 5th, God willing. If everything goes smoothly, it should all be over by mid-December, though there will be three-monthly blood tests for a while to ensure that the cancer doesn't pop up anywhere else. Oh, I hope all goes smoothly!

The godly prayer request is that God be glorified in the journey, of course, but He also knows that I'd really like to avoid unpleasant complications. These include infections and hair loss (it's only a low dose of chemotherapy so it won't be quite so damaging as it could be), lymphodema in the legs (due to the removal of the lymph nodes - the risk is highest for the next two years apparently), a low blood count (due to the radiation also affecting the bone marrow) etc. Yet even if He chooses to allow more discomfort, like he did with Paul's 'thorn in the flesh' that wasn't removed despite his ardent requests, I hope most of all that God will be glorified somehow in it all. He was in Paul's case - God's strength was made perfect in Paul's weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). But oh, it'd be VERY nice if He could be glorified in my situation with the minimum of fuss in terms of health issues!

Count your blessings

"When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed....."

"His eye is on the sparrow......"

After an appointment in the area, I headed down to Mordialloc for a gentle walk. The wind was strong but there was a little two-sided shelter on the pier. A fisherman sat on one side, while I sat on the other. I tucked my legs up on the seat, trying to keep them out of the biting wind, and asked God, "Is there anything that you'd have me focus on right now?" Then the sparrow landed right in front of me - see the sparrow picture. I'd already been humming 'Count your blessings' as I admired the wild water. But then I added into my humming the song, 'His eye is on the sparrow' and was encouraged.

For a while now I've been intending to blog the way God has been so kind in this medical adventure, despite it not being what I'd have chosen at this stage of life. And so with the twin themes of 'Count your many blessings' and 'His eye is on the sparrow', here goes......  

• Returning to Australia: Late last year, I felt quite clearly, though unexpectedly, that it was time to return to Australia and make Melbourne 'home base' again. This was not related to health issues (which I had attributed to 'menopausal mayhem') but it just seemed 'right'. I'm so glad to have finished well, with all loose ends tied up nicely. Work - ministry - redistribution of 'stuff' - housing in China - housing in Australia - all the details fell into place extraordinarily well. 
• Divine touches: God has been very kind with special touches over and over just as I needed them. I was 'given' the 'passionate patience' verse after which this blog is named (Romans 5:3-5) quite clearly at the end of April this year and asked my prayer support team to pray along those lines with me. It's been just what I needed to focus on. The weekend before getting the diagnosis (tentative at that time), I went for a long walk in Frankston and was seeking God's direction for the coming months. I felt quite clearly that my 'call' for now was is to simply devoutly 'walk in the light' and be present in the moment (see picture). Again, this was perfect for the season that would begin just a few days later.

  

  'Walk in the light'

  
• Encouragement: After a particularly concerning scan at a time where there was some uncertainty about potential problems with my lungs (which later turned out to be a simple infection and a false alarm), I sat on the step of a beach hut at Brighton and caught sight of this shell (see the shell picture). This shell is now in my house in Mooroolbark to remind me that God uses even the battering of the ocean to make things beautiful in His way ... though I'd still prefer it if the shell wasn't broken.
• Plans (for she who hates her plans to be changed): My plan for this first year back in Australia was to study (0.4 load), build up a bit of a translation business (0.2 load) and start something new with my sending agency (0.4 load though due to some other uncertainties on that front I didn't spend much emotional or other energy on getting too specific with plans for the semester). As it turned out, both my subjects at MST were offered as intensives. This meant that I only focused on the study after settling back into life here. The study also ties in quite nicely with life these days, as pastoral care and spiritual formation are the two subjects I'm taking this semester. Isn't God kind?! 
• Timetable:  Although I was told that it looked like I had cancer on July 10th and was led to believe that I'd have surgery within a few weeks, the operation didn't take place until September 14th, two months later. Waiting was hard. I was rather frustrated with what I saw as one delay after another, but of course, it worked out well in the end. I was able to attend all my face-to-face classes, have a little holiday with a friend, and the timing has worked out quite well afterwards too in terms of staying with family during the recovery and ongoing treatment stage while having friends stay in my house.

I'm aware that this blog is very 'Suzanne' focused, but hope that this little exercise of 'count your blessings' can be encouraging to other friends experiencing various challenges in life too. The truth, for each of us, is that God knows if even a sparrow gets blown off a pier in Mordialloc (though 'my' sparrow seemed just fine). How much more does He care for us who are made in His image? He doesn't whisk us out of the fierce winds of life but He does watch over us in it.

Passionate Patience

'Cancer' is not a word I expected to apply to me until I was a little old lady, if then. I do not want to be labelled as simply a 'cancer patient', or, in time, 'cancer survivor', but I do want to process the journey through writing this blog.  I hope that through sharing my meandering thoughts, others may be encouraged and God glorified. Regardless of what happens in our lives, God remains constant, faithful and unflappably in control.


The Apostle Paul wrote, "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!" (Romans 5:3-5 - The Message)

That's why this blog is called 'developing passionate patience'.