After all, Jesus

Will salvage radiation and hormone therapy, subsequent to surgery, cure my husband’s prostate cancer? I don’t know. In this uncertainty, I’m working on resting in the certain promises of Jesus, the incarnate God who weeps with us.

And it is work. It’s work to remember to pray all day. It’s work to affirm God’s unseen hand. It’s work to lie down and rest when the “what ifs” image through my mind. It’s work to remember God will win the war, even if Satan wins a battle now and then. It’s work to keep focused on God’s purposes rather than my preferences. It’s work to feel my sadness and anxiety rather than eat my feelings. (Not doing so well with that.)

On one level, my core beliefs make the work easy. God is good. Better to die from cancer than Alzheimer’s. God’s purposes are worth what they cost. On a day-to-day, “I want what I want” level, the work is harder.  I’m surprised, actually, that God has allowed it to go this far–cancer, surgery, radiation. At this level, reality sucks. And yet, at my deepest heart level, where I am aligned with the purposes of God, reality glows. At my core, I rest in that glow.
Because, after all, Jesus. After all this suffering, all our sadness and grief and loss, Jesus. We are on our way to his embrace, those of us who love his appearing. Jesus, after all, is worth keeping faith with, even though it’s hard work. Because he has counted us worth what we cost him. Glory.


Jesus, thank you for who you are. Help us do the work of resting in you, remembering that after all, you wait.

Promise Keeper God

Spring is compressed in central Illinois this year.  Usually the redbud, dogwood, and crab tree blooms are separated by a week or two.  This year, however, everything is blooming together. In the backyard, the weeping cherry waves its pink blossoms. On my morning walks, I stop to smell the viburnums at the library. Last night, biking back from dinner with friends, the crabs perfumed the air. Bluebells dress the pasture out at Homer Lake. Unlike some years when they turn brown from an untimely freeze, tulip magnolias have bloomed and are spreading pink petals at their feet.

This winter awakening reminds me of an April a few years ago in Washington, D.C.. The tulips painted the ground with reds and yellows around the monuments while the crabs, dogwoods, and redbuds stood in full-dress guard. Another spring we caught the cherry trees around the Tidal Basin. We walked to the Jefferson Memorial as the pink blooms fell at our feet. And once, a very long time ago, the wisteria across the front of the National Gallery was in bloom. Magnificent green and purple against the white marble.

Every spring is different. Sometimes I’m in a different place. Sometimes the sequence of reawakening life is spread out or interrupted. But so far, spring has arrived. Every year.

Just like God promised in the beginning:  “While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.” Genesis 8:22.

Father, you are a God who keeps his promises. Thank you.

Spiritual Battle is Real

Trading Fathers, Forgiving Dad, Embracing God, my memoir of sexual abuse and God’s redemption, comes out in March. In July, my husband is diagnosed with cancer.

I speak about “Finding God’s Heart” at a women’s retreat in late February. In early March, both our vehicles break down, costing $2300 to fix.

I speak to a small Bible study at a nursing home last Monday. On Tuesday, I spend the night vomiting. I’m so sick Wednesday I can’t even read or watch TV. Food poisoning, I assume. I’m still sick.

Just so you know, spiritual battle is real. When we are seeking to take ground back from Satan, he will attack. But greater is he who is in us than he who is in the world. (1John 4:4) The victory belongs to Jesus!

Jesus, you are Lord. You are Savior. You are the Prince of Peace. You will deliver and save and redeem. Glory.