Smile at the Storm

When we found out that the diagnosis was cancer, it was a truly horrendous day.
A dark day.
A deep in the pit of despair type moment.

We sat in the car, out the front of the specialist offices- and we cried.
We made some tough phone calls to let family know- and we cried.
We stumbled our way into the office of our pastors and friends- and we cried.
We held hands and we tried not to think about our sons- and we cried.

It was, on the whole, a rather dreadful day.

And the next day was ordinary.
And the day after that was slightly worse.

It was a season of bleakness and sighs.
I didn't know what to say.
I couldn't find the words to bring before God in any semblance of a prayer, so I sighed.
A deep, million-words-worth sigh.

The days stretched out.
It was like time had suddenly slowed down.

In one conversation with a well meaning stranger, they slowly shook their head and stretched out a hand in comfort.
"Well... That's the worse news ever... Just horrible."
And with a sad half smile, they left me standing in a state of somewhat semi-shock.
Really??
Seriously??
Was this life altering, time slowing, sigh inducing, tear wrenching event actually the WORST news?
I had a moment of mild panic.
I felt like a terrible, uncaring wife.
Because, in my sadness and through the sighs and amongst the tears I had never, NEVER classed this as being the WORST news.

Unexpected? Yes.
Life changing? Yes.
Difficult? Yes.
Worst news ever? No. Negative. Nope.

What would be worse- not having a chance to fight. And we are fighting.
What would be worse- never having found each other. And we found each other.
What would be worse- not knowing the joy of salvation. And we know that joy.
What would be worse- not having the anchor of hope. And we are anchored to hope.
What would be worse- oh so many things and tragedies could be worse than the battle we are fighting.

And here is my conclusion to WHY this cancer diagnosis, this unexpected redundant employment situation, this house-less (not homeless..we always have a home) state we currently are experiencing is NOT the WORST thing that can happen.

It's because we said so.
We decided.
We put our heads together and decided that everything happening in our world was not going to be defined as the WORST THING EVER.

Quite honestly, we are rarely going to totally and completely control what happens in and around our world. It's just foolish to think otherwise.
We had little control over the growing and spreading cancer cells.
We had no control over the unstable nature of the mining industry.
We held limited control over the ability to maintain a costly residence with depleting supply.
Everything in our world seemed to be crumbling and yet we remained fairly stable.
We are rarely going to control what happens in and around our world, but we do get to control our reactions.
We get to control our responses.
We get to decide where our hope is anchored.
We get to decide how trustworthy a promise made by Commander-of-the-angel-armies actually is.
We get to decide to have a good old sob, an ugly-face type cry, and then stop the tears. And find something to smile about.
We get to choose life.
We get to choose hope.
We get to choose to be emotional, but not be ruled by those emotions.

I get to choose to be heartbroken and heartmended all at the same time.
I get to choose to laugh at the future, not cower at the thought of tomorrow.
I get to choose life, with the surety of the painful weaved in with the beautiful.
I get to choose to say with an assurance that is neither logical or rational that everything is going to be absolutely fine.

About two days before we got the official cancer diagnosis I had a vivid, felt like real-life sort of dream. Sheldon was driving and a massive black cloud started to swirl in front of us. It was a scary looking storm. He turned to me and took my hand and I asked him, "Have you ever driven into such a big storm?" And he looked at me ( even in my dream I could tell we were both a bit frightened), and he said, "no babe..". And with that, we drove straight into the storm- a headlong hurtle.

I sang a song when I was little girl.
It had actions and everything.
You might know it.
"With Christ in the vessel I can smile at the storm,
Smile at the storm,
Smile at the storm,
As we go sailing home.."

Smile at the storm.
You can.
It's your choice.

And when you decide to smile at the storm, the storm is not the WORST thing EVER.. it's just the storm.

We have Eternity.

Here is the drop in the ocean..
Here it is.
We hold onto this drop in the ocean with ferocious tenacity.
This drop in the ocean, this life.

This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.

Imagine that forever was represented by a beach.
A never ending beach that stretches in golden sand magnificence.
And this life is a single grain of sand.
A speck in the multitude.

Imagine that forever was represented by a monsoon.
A relentlessly raining, pelting and thundering-without-ceasing storm.
And this life is a single drop of rain.
A drop in the multitude.

It's not unimportant, this speck.
It's not unnoticed, this drop among many.
It is, after all, the life we have been granted.
He gifted us this grain, this drop. He has measured us out, counted our days, set our paths.

And if this life is the one minuscule grain of sand, the one tiny drop of rain...
Then eternity is all the rest.

And we have eternity.
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

Eternity-
It is imprinted into the very DNA of our makeup.
It is written in clear, broad brush strokes on the tablet of our heart.
It is beating a resolute rhythm in the symphony of time, of hours, of minutes, of seconds.

It is whispering, screaming, encouraging, reminding us of its timeless message-
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

Life and living it well is hugely important. It is entirely purposeful.
But often when we are standing in the grain that is this life...
When we are in the middle of the single drop that is our earthly days...
It's entirely all consuming.
This grain.
This drop.
It's often all we see.

We are so focused on this life- this stretch of days and experience, this collection of memories and moments- that we forget.
We forget that we have eternity.
I mean, we know that we have Heaven, but we don't live like we have eternity.

When this life becomes the be all and the end all, what despair awaits.
When efforts and exertions are limited to the here and the now, what futility abounds.
This life was never meant to be the sole focus of our existence.

This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

And when the reality of "We have eternity" dominates the thoughts, the decisions and the reactions of this life....well suddenly this life looks a little different.
Suddenly a glaring light of perspective is cast upon this grain, this drop in the multitude.
Suddenly a clarity of vision is found in the midst of trial and hardship.
When tough times and upsets and goodbyes come around, and they always will, they are seen for what they truly are- reminders that just beyond the borders of this life is the waiting reality of eternity.

We have this hope.... As an anchor for the soul.
This hope of eternity.
This hope of the multitude beyond the miniscule.

My family has faced, no...stared down the inevitable. We have walked a dark valley that is shadowed with the outcomes of being mortal.
And while we steadfastly hold on to the faith declaration that Sheldon is healed in Jesus name, we have also come to this beautiful recognition of what eternity actually means.
It means:
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.

Days have been measured out. Each one.
Paths have been set. Each step.
Eternity has been stamped so eloquently on each of our hearts. Have you heard it?
The purchaser of all eternity stands... He is our Jesus, who waits for us.

What's the plan Stan???

We are on a road trip.
Me and my favourite human being are trekking nearly 2000 kilometres up the east coast of a truly spectacular nation.
In an effort to begin to find shreds of normality amongst the upheaved moments of the past couple of months (yes... It's all only been a couple of months), we are taking one of the cars up north.
And while we drive, we are trying to come up with a plan.
We have no plan.
We have no idea really.

But we are at that point where people are asking us "So what's the plan??"
It's an entirely valid question.
One we ask ourselves..

But...
We have no plan.
We have no idea.

Here's what we do have:
We have happy,settled boys.
We have a family sacrificing to keep them happy and settled.
We have furniture and belongings being housed across Newcastle.
We have a shoe eating, escape artist dog being loved by my buddy Mr. Joel.
We have an oncologist in Sydney, where we also have more family making life easier.
We have these tiny little chemotherapy tablets that could pave the way towards that miracle we long to see.
We have hope.
We have faith.

But..we don't have a plan.

The human race, we are a people of plans.
We love to plan.
We plan our day.
We plan our holidays.
We plan for plenty and plan for none.

I love to plan.
The very act of planning for an event is more appealing to me then the event itself. (Hang around me in the weeks leading up to my sons birthday party)

And suddenly we find ourselves smack bang in the middle of No Plan Land.
And suddenly I need to be ok with the actual inability to plan.

Truth can be found in the most unlikely of places. Mike Tyson (why hello unlikely place) says of plans: "Everyone has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth."
I had a plan.
2013 was all planned out.
Where I would go. ( yes, London. I'm talking about you.)
Where we would live.
What the days and weeks would look like.
It was our plan on how to keep living life like normal.
And then suddenly we got punched in the mouth.

So, there goes our plan.
Our forethought into 2013 went up in smoke.

But I'm ok with that.
I am.

We might not a have a plan.
But the God-of-the-angel-armies does.
He told me.
"Stress less sister..I got a plan!" That's the whispered message I got.

When my plans fall through.
When my plans turn to dust and ashes.
When what I wanted doesn't eventuate.
When we have no plan.
When we get punched in the mouth.

He's got a plan.
He truly, honestly does.