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.