En-hakkore, and 999 more

most of the (tiny) readership and many beyond have been informed and updated regarding my most recent medical scare.

the one person in our church who hadn't been just bumped into me at Panera, so now he's all caught up as well. the one time i needed my main communicator to communicate, he decided not to. (you had one job, Mr James- one job!). HIPPA is so proud.

despite everyone else's better judgement, i felt an intense desire to go to church this sunday.  i knew for my emotional health that i desperately needed fellowship. so 36 hours after discharge from the hospital i returned to my normal pew and just listened to the choir for a final rehearsal and sound check.  i love being able to sing the songs twice; once just isn't enough for some of the classics.

and that's when the biggest wave of guilt rushed up and soaked me, head to toe.  i knew it was coming.  i knew it was deserved.  and i think i know at least some of what i need to do about it now.  open my big ole' mouth.

my devotions have picked up pace a tad, and after dragging through hundreds of Old Covenant laws and the establishment of Israel's theocracy, i am now into the period of the judges.  this is the point where every "good" Christians does the "facepalm" and eye roll at every page.  several times, you can't even read a single page without seeing YET AGAIN the Israelites forget the God who saved them and turn to poles and statues and animals- before falling again into war and disease and fear. then a judge would arise, deliver God's people through his faith in God and God's instruction and grace… and then the judge would die.  it's the "lather, rise, repeat" cycle on every bottle of shampoo. over and over again. 

and then you realize you're no better, and quite possibly worse.

i've had all manner of drama in my past. a lot of it i've been able to block from memory. a lot of it i have not.

but the fact remains that i am still here.  none of the past hundred attempts to take me out has succeeded.  damaged me, yes.  hurt, heck yes. confused, angered, exhausted me- oh, definitely.  but didn't kill me.

tuesday morning at 0800, all i knew was that something was wrong and i didn't feel so hot. 

and hour after that, and for a day following, all i knew was that i had "a mass."  there was "a mass" of unknown etiology in my pelvis. 

it could be "only" a crazy-huge infection.  but it could be a tumor.  there could be meds, therapies, surgeries, medical equipment i've never seen before and life-threatening procedures in my immediate future.  i walked into a doctor's office with a stone entryway, each rock engraved with a doctor's name- every one of them said "oncologist."

my prayer life did a 180-degree turn.  that's when the fear set in. in just a few hours, i went from being a confident NeoICU nurse to a nervous,  shift-change admit patient that every nurse complains about.

i think i did a pretty good job of keeping my mentors and closest friends and family updated.  one of them emailed the sunday school group, someone said something wednesday night at Bible study, and i had a half-decent internet signal to keep facebook peeps informed.

i am ashamed to say what happened inside me, though.  outwardly, i kept up appearances.  i smiled and joked as much as i could.  i helped with the admission form and IV when it beeped.  i took showers and wore my comfortable street clothes as much as i could, staying out of the bed during the day and eating what, and when, i was able.  i never shed a single tear.

i kept up as much as possible with my devotionals, but my enthusiasm for the cities and landmarks of the 12 tribes' boundaries waned to near zero.  i didn't care.  part of me was tired.  all of me was angry and confused and freaked out so badly my hair was about to frizz. i didn't know what to pray.

so i didn't.

i knew other people were praying, and i have seen their prayers answered. i know my prayers are so weak they seem pitiful to me.  i am not good at seeing the answers to my prayers, though i see others'.  i so often want to give up, or rush through prayer the same way i choked down Leviticus.  i hoped like fury that was "good enough."

it's not.  it's just not.

even after the crisis was over, and the pain turned out to be from an abscess and not a tumor, the relief was as crippling as the previous fear.  and i still didn't know what to say or pray.

"En-hakkore" means "The Spring of the One Who Cried Out."  good ole' Samson named that one.  he had just whipped the tails (literally) of a thousand Philistine pagans with a donkey mandible and a mean backhand serve.  after his workout he was thirsty and cranky and told God just what he thought about the situation, demanding water like he deserved it.  God answered, and water appeared out of a hole in the ground.  and Samson's tortured cry of agony turned to one of (moderately) grateful praise.  i came scary-close to a major faith crisis.  i was dry and at the end of my rope.  i cried out for an answer, any answer, but especially the better, safer, easier-to-fix answer.  and after a faithful chastisement i was met with a merciful answer of the best possible diagnosis i could hope for.  my agony and fear melted away and only an awed thankfulness was left in its place.

i sat in the pew yesterday morning and heard, twice, the words to a classic that should never, ever go out of style.

and i felt, twice, the wave of guilt wash over me.  it was followed by an even bigger wave of grace.  i left, thoroughly drenched and thoroughly determined. 

O For a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer's praise!

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of His grace!

My gracious Master and my God,

Assist me to proclaim,

To spread through all the earth abroad

The honors of Thy name.

 Jesus! the Name that charms our fears,

That bids our sorrows cease;

'Tis music in the sinner's ears,

'Tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of cancelled sin,

He sets the prisoner free;

His blood can make the foulest clean,

His blood availed for me.

He speaks, - and, listening to his voice,

New life the dead receive;

The mournful, broken hearts rejoice;

The humble poor believe.

Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,

Your loosened tongues employ;

Ye blind, behold your Savior come,

And leap, ye lame, for joy.

Look unto him, ye nations; own

Your God, ye fallen race;

Look, and be saved through faith alone,

Be justified by grace.

i do not have a thousand tongues. i have but one.  and it has been silent too long. well, not silent, but not singing like it should be.  i want my "loosened tongue employed." i had old classmates and coworkers visit.  i had daily texts and messages and phone calls from friends and church members who sit waaaaaay across the sanctuary, from those i haven't heard from in months or years, parents of Cubbies.  i got pretty flowers, snack foods to appease my stupid cravings, a soft blanket that finally allowed me to rest well.  daily prayers and posts let me know i wasn't as alone as i felt. i had good nurses.  i had understanding doctors who admitted how strange the situation was, which alone indicates that God had some purpose in me being there. all this from Jesus, who put every one of those people in my life.  the same Jesus who saved Samson and those silly, rebellious Israelites remained ever faithful.

if there is a single person who read my facebook posts or texts and attributed any, ANY, of the pain relief, comfort, love, grace, retreat of the disgusting abscess of monstrous proportions,  increased tolerance of these horribly potent antibiotics--

if for one moment someone thanks the Fates, luck, some unknown Force- for ANY of that, then my tongue has failed.  my single hope is that your tongue will join mine, and that many more will join in.  if there are a thousand people, then there are hundreds of thousands of reasons to sing.  we may be out of tune.  we may not have the gusto that our choir did. we may not even know most of the reasons to sing, but we know enough of them.

Jesus told the religious elite that if His people didn't shout and sing His praise then the rocks themselves would rise up and proclaim His worth.

o, for 999 to join me in song, to silence the rocks and drink deeply from the Spring that appeases all who call upon Him, no matter how thirsty or desperate!

Arnav, Aslan and the Ultimate Father-Abba (Coffee Corner Conversations, #2)

the most recent conversation i've had, in my favorite (only) "coffee corner" in my favorite (only) local bookstore was with a kind Muslim of the non-creeper variety. he's got  double handful of mixed up beliefs about Jesus and the Bible, but for a Muslim he's less mixed up than i originally gave him credit for. 

his pseudonym is "Arnav" simply because a Google searched website said it was the #1 Indian boy name last year.  and it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

of course, with these two faiths side by side sipping cappuccinos, the hinge of the whole 2.5 hour chat was Jesus, His death and resurrection, and hell.  Arnav's belief of "hell" is much more like the concept of purgatory, a time of penance for wrong beliefs and actions before eventual release to heaven, where he says all souls and spiritual beings will someday find themselves.  if God is loving, he claims, then He could never condemn someone to Hell, even for the worst of crimes.  to make his point, he told me his favorite mini parable, retold here:

two men are sitting by a fire discussing eternity as a woman walks by with her child. the first man asks the second if that mother could ever find it in herself to push her child into the flames.  the second immediately rejects the thought of something to repulsive.  the first man replies, "neither could God ever throw one of His children into hell."

short. sweet.  persuasive.

i'm still not good at finding the right words quickly to respond, and it took me a couple days to figure out what about that bothered me so much.  because what he said was true.  God does love His children beyond what we can fathom. 

but it's what he didn't say- that's the catch.

God loves His children.  we'll put that as a fact right here.

God does not chuck His children into eternal fires, just like that mother wouldn't throw her kid into that fire.

if i were the woman walking by the fire, i would put down my basket, take the kid's hand and march right up to Guy #1 and tell him something. firmly.

i would tell him never to question the love of a true mother for her kid. never. just don't do it.  but i would also tell him to NEVER, EVER QUESTION WHAT I WOULD DO  IF ANYTHING THREATENED THAT CHILD.  you had better believe if some football-player type jerk walked up with a knife, or even just a perverted look on his face directed at my kid, i would TAKE HIM OUT.  i would beat the ever-lovin' snot out of him, and i would fight him all the way into the fire until the threat was eliminated.  i would not take his hand and hold it in the heat for a minute, ask him nicely if he had learned his lesson, and then let him walk away.  i'm sorry, but there is no Purgatory for that one.

animals from every Kingdom, Phylum, Class and Order have representatives that are naturally endowed with a maternal instinct, a self-sacrificial, immediate, natural, thoughtless, response to a threat to her offspring. 

any intelligent human who has gone on a hike ever, knows there are a few key rules: bug spray, how to ID poison ivy, bring a map and a buddy, and FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, IF YOU SEE A BEAR CUB YOU RUN LIKE HECK IN THE OTHER DIRECTION.  

the wrath of a mother bear is not a force to be reckoned with, but a force you hope to never face down, because between Mama Bear and Iron Man…. i'm putting money on Mama Bear.

in response to my friendly Muslim's parable, i put forth my own (well, someone else's).  it's the story of Taken.

this movie, featuring Liam Neeson, is the story of just how far a father will go to get his kidnapped child back. let me tell you, it's pretty freakin' far.  when he overhears the kidnappers take off with his kid and then challenge him from a continent away, his response sends shudders up the backs of the movie viewers-

i don't know who you are. i don't know what you want.  if you are looking for a ransom, i can tell you i don't have money.  what i do have are a very particular set of skills. skills i've acquired over a very long career...if you let my daughter go now, that will be the end of it.  i will not look for you. i will not pursue you.

but if you don't, i will look for you. 

and i will find you. 

and i will kill you.

then he proceeds, in a very Liam Neeson-like manner, to blast through buildings, vehicles, boats, parties, meetings, gangs, construction sites, hooker-houses, and homes until he arrives face to face with the last man standing between him and his daughter. 

all the other challengers are dead. 

i don't know what foolishness made that idiot stand and put a knife to the girl's throat.

but he died, too.

what i love about this movie is that there is absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind while watching this movie that Neeson WILL succeed.  and there is no pity for the evildoers.  nothing but righteous indignation for Liam as he fulfills his promise with firmness, dexterity, and a fair amount of cussing (he's pretty ticked…).

what i love even more is that later on in his career, Liam would also go on to become the new voice of Aslan, the Lion King of Narnia. 

especially this Easter weekend, as Christians around the world celebrate the best holiday ever, we see the real story put before us that Narnia is the parable OF. 

the story of just how far a parent will go to rescue his child.

the story of a child, taken from his parent, trapped, ensnared, lost, hopeless, tired, starving, wretched, weak, alone and on the brink of death and eternal damnation-

...waiting

...silence..

...nothing- then!!

-who is suddenly, miraculously, completely, eternally, firmly, loudly, always-and-forever saved, redeemed, snatched from the clutches of evil and brought away from the danger of the flame and instead placed in a soft green meadow to rest while the Parent "deals with" the threat. 

there's "that moment" in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - what a great moment!-  when you can just about hear Aslan's voice echoing from that dusty wardrobe- "GET YOUR HAND OFF MY KID, YOU EVIL WITCH!!!"

i heard it again even tonight, as i was listening to part of the Maundy Thursday service.  this service traces Jesus' journey from the Last Supper, through that dinner, the betrayal, His earnest prayer to not suffer what He was about to suffer, His friends leaving Him alone and denying Him, His betrayer approaching and handing Him off to soldiers, His mocking and beatings, the Cross, the one-way trip up a small hill outside the city where people dumped their trash…

at each step, you're watching, knowing that your soul is hanging in the balance- either He takes the punishment… or you do.

at each step, you're hearing it thinking- "oh snap… He's gonna quit.  i'm not worth that."

and at each step, He says, "yes you are." and He takes another step. 

you want to know how far a parent will go to get His kid back?

the answer is "to hell and back."

He took that Cross, He went through Hell and He came back.

i know there's an eternal Hell where souls go forever. 

i know because it's technically where i belong.

i know because it's also where He went so that i wouldn't.

...and since He's the only one who's done that, i'm going to take His authoritative word on the subject.

Hell is there to show both His eternal love for His children that He saves from judgement, and eternal justice for those who willfully despise  Him and His sacrifice, reject His offer of forgiveness and mercy without price and instead choose to bear their own crosses to Hell...only they can't come back.

hard to hear if you think you're Iron Man, but if you're the cub standing behind Aslan the Protector, it's the most blessed and peaceful message. 

if you are horrified by the idea of Hell, it's probably because you're in your metal outfit and think you're safe- but you question that force in front of you.

this is a good thing.  definitely question that force.

...then admit defeat.  you cannot win. give up now- please.

but Aslan is roaring for you, too.  He defeated the evil forever, not just for Eustace, but for you, too.  He challenged Hell and soundly defeated it in a showdown that reverberated throughout all the realms of nature even to the supernatural heights.  the sun forgot to shine, fabric fell apart, rocks shuddered under people's feet, and dead people forgot they were supposed to stay in their graves and NOT go running through the streets on Passover effectively making everyone they shook hands with "unclean" according to the religious law of the day.  yes, there is SO much irony there.  the people of faith were forever cleansed from sin, while the people of the written law were yapping about ceremonial uncleanness because their great-great uncle just touched them while wearing graveclothes.

to my Muslim friend Arnav, i hope he hears Aslan's roar someday, and comes to know personally the Eternal Living God who calls to him as a parent calls a child home for dinner, and who his children refer to as "Abba."  the Father you may never have known in this life is waiting for you to come home to Him.  He can take your Hell- He's been there and won.  let Him take it, and give you in exchange a white robe and peace under His loving, watchful eye where no threat stands a chance.  His victory roar is also His promise.

i hope you hear it, too.

it's  beautiful roar, as long as it's for you.