Sometimes you meet someone, and you feel like you’ve known them all your life, which gives you deep joy of connection, but there is also sadness because you regret the time that you’ve missed with them. That’s how I felt when I met Marcia. She was living in Colorado Springs temporarily, and my time with her was short, but I recognized her right away as a kindred spirit, as Anne Shirley would say. Our friendship began when she agreed to lead my women’s group in a time of sharing our stories and praying for each other through StoryRopes™. This was a beautiful time for my group, but a particularly healing time for me, and as I got to know Marcia, I got to know her heart for loving women.
from an article originally posted June 30, 2014...
Yesterday I took a picture of one handful of pills I have to take in a day—one of the endless handfuls of pills. I took the picture and cried hot tears. I sent the text to my sister and dear friend waving the white surrender flag admitting to my limitations. Last week was a dream of joy with my family. But behind the scenes I was stomaching a new treatment, struggling to cover pain, and pushing through impossible limitations to live, simply live with my people. Every need was attended to—food, cleaning, children—and I was simply swallowing the new pills. I remember one sweet ride I simply told the wrangler I felt droopy and needed to sit on the back of my horse and let him quietly carry me to a new overlook. Words were too hard. Riding up hill after hill hoping the pills could destroy the cancer that is trying to destroy me.
Confession: I struggle believing that God is benevolent. As a little girl, I suspected that God wasn’t really paying attention to me, but then after my parents died when I was 20, I decided that God was out to get me—he downright disliked me. Losing my parents was enough to convince me that the prosperity gospel wasn’t true; my parents were good Christians and good people, but they still died. I was a good girl and did everything right, going to a Christian college and refraining from drinking and smoking. Oh, sure, I wasn’t perfect, but I believed the praise songs we sang in chapel and even if I didn’t love-love Jesus, I certainly wanted to love him. Yet my parents still died.
God and his goodness does not depend on my acknowledgement of that goodness. His refuge does not exist because I state its existence. No, his goodness and refuge are true because He says they are true. But guess what: I have deeply experienced both his goodness and refuge in a way that I simply cannot keep quiet about them.
At our school we have a 6th grade camp. There are no parents—just counselors and teachers. The kids go off for 3 days and 2 nights. They try some new outdoor activities and have a blast. We've been planning for it all year, but as it neared, I think everyone got a little bit nervous. Kids and parents alike. It's not that we're unable to be separated, it's just that we love these kids and we miss them when they're gone. I admit to being this pathetic parent!