Freedom

I couldn't sleep last night. Odd thing, really. The reason for my insomnia was even more strange. I was thinking about a novel that I'm reading as part of my book club. It's called Though Waters Roar, by Lynn Austin. It's not uncommon for books to find their way into my bed; but what is unusual is for a book to remain locked in my mind hours later.

Though fictitious, the characters and situations seem so incredibly real to me. Without going into a great amount of detail, the author describes a scene where a little girl and her mother are hiding two runaway slave women. "Bounty hunters" are encircling the tiny town in search of the runaways and with the hopes of securing a handsome reward in exchange for their capture. This prompts the mother to do a very bold thing.

After placing a wooden box into the family's horse-drawn wagon and gently instructing the two slaves to hide inside it, the woman and her daughter carefully fill the wagon with firewood, covering the box. One log at a time, they determined to make it look as though their mission is to deliver firewood - as well as the two refugees - to an awaiting family, who live about sixteen miles away.

The four souls traveled in broad daylight, and the heat of the day became unbearable throughout the bumpy ride. At one intense point in the story, two bounty hunters on horseback were seen looming ominously in the distance. Eventually, the men approached the wagon, unaware of its hidden "contents."

Demonstrating unimaginable fortitude and faith, the woman stopped her wagon. She calmly asked the two men if they were "lost," all the while appearing unruffled and unshaken. And all the while she silently prayed and held on to the only thing she could truly grasp: trust.

Oh, and there's one more thing that I forgot to mention: The men brought trained dogs along with them to sniff out any escaped slave. Dogs! Imagine the terror that the women - the runaways as well as their protectors - experienced during the unrelenting barking. The two men surveyed the wagon, their minds focused on one thing: receiving a reward in exchange for human lives!

Oblivious to the ruse, the men eventually went on their way. At this point in my reading, my heart finally slowed down to its normal resting rate once again. But the reason I had been unable to sleep later is because I was thinking about the poor women hiding inside that box.

Even though the actual story was fictitious, we all know that situations such as this one were not unheard of. But what I couldn't get out of my mind as I tossed and turned was what the poor slaves must have been thinking and feeling as they hid inside a coffin-like box and waited patiently for the wagon to move on. How many prayers had they undoubtedly prayed, pleading to God for their release and safety? Weren't they feeling even a little bit claustrophobic, figuratively and literally speaking, while locked inside that box? How did they endure all of the emotional stress? Had they ever really known what blessed freedom could possibly feel like?

The bravery and courage that the women displayed humbles me, and it makes me stop short. These days, how many of us would truly risk life and limb to save another human being?

Courage...Hope... Submission... Determination... Trust...

The four women exemplified all of those traits.

We could learn a lot from our past and from those who have gone before us. Freedom is something we should never, ever take for granted.

Obstacles

"Do I really have to do this?" is the question that her bright eyes and adoring expression begged me. Our little one had a tough time first thing today. Never experiencing snow before today, Mystie, our ten-week-old Havanese puppy, was quite perplexed and fearful. For her, going outdoors in the 8+ inches of snow at 5:30 in the morning seemed nearly impossible.

I opened the back door and encouraged Mystie to cross the threshold into winter, the biting wind, and the falling snow. She surveyed this new and frigid environment for a moment and at one point refused to go outdoors at all. After some coaxing on my part, she relented, did her business, and turned around and scaled the mounting peaks of snow in order to return indoors as quickly as her little legs would carry her. Her tiny paws and face covered in snow, Mystie hopped inside our home while wagging her tail furiously, even though she was cold, shivering, and obviously uncomfortable. I immediately praised her and cradled her in my arms while gently wiping the snow off her trembling body with a dry washcloth. My husband got up out of bed and began shoveling a path for her to walk along the next time she has to go outdoors.

Sometimes, we think that we just can't do something. We just don't have the strength to take yet another step or to forge ahead through the obstacles that are blocking our paths. I remember thinking those thoughts when I was in the midst of receiving chemotherapy. It was hard, very hard. And even now, years later, I still sometimes feel defeated, or I worry about what the next test will show. Viewing a little puppy who's venturing out for the first time into the elements of cold weather pales in comparison to the struggles we face on a daily basis, but the point is that we are both strong and we persevere. We have to persevere, for there really isn't any other option. Breast cancer has taught me to never give up, to never look at the gale-force winds that continually try to strip me of my fortitude ... or my faith. Cancer has shown me that the only thing to focus on is God's love for us all, and to anticipate His warm arms cradling us, as He wipes away our tears, melting our fears. Once again.

Baking Cookies

I know it's a bit premature to do this, but last evening my ten-year-old daughter Caroline and I made gingerbread cookies from scratch. I had recently bought a nonstick cookie pan which contains little wells of all sorts of holiday shapes, just the perfect size for making formed cookies. There's a stocking, a wreath, an angel, and many other very detailed shapes for a total of 12.

We added the ingredients one at a time, and as I opened the small container of cloves, I lifted it to my nose and savored the aroma. For a moment I was a child again, too. The cloves smelled like Christmastime. The spice reminded me of pumpkin pie, and laughter, and warm conversations that circled around countless Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners in the company of grandparents and cousins.

Caroline's questions and the burring noise of the electric mixer interrupted my thoughts and nudged me back to the task at hand. I placed the cloves container under Caroline's tiny nose, as she'd sat perched on the counter, positioning herself at just the correct height to see - and participate in - each step in the cookie-making process. Smiling, she also took a whiff of the spice. I couldn't help but think that this particular smell might also be etched into her brain for decades to come. Would she reflect on this time when she's 47 years old and baking cookies with her own daughter or son?

Flour seemed to fly everywhere, and I momentarily remembered that I'd just cleaned the kitchen earlier in the day. But I said not a word about her fumbling fingers and the mess that ensued. (Believe me, it was difficult to keep my hands to myself!) Our time together making cookies might be one of those events that remains engraved in her memory long after I'm gone, so don't spoil it by trying to keep a clean kitchen! I thought.

Finally, it was time to bake them. For Caroline, this 9-minute period seemed endless. She waited ... and waited ... and waited patiently for the oven timer to beep. Finally the seconds passed down to zero, and the long overdue "BING" sound summoned us. The whole kitchen swelled with the tantalizing aroma. After I removed the hot tray from the oven, she almost couldn't contain her excitement. We gently lifted each precious treasure from its warm little cavity. She smiled with anticipation, eager to see how the cookies turned out. And they were just perfect!

I remember vividly making cookies with my older daughter, now 13, a few years ago after I'd been through the heat of cancer. I remember praying and asking God at that time for the blessing of having many more years of making cookies with my children. It's amazing how something so simple can become so monumental in our small minds. Making cookies - no matter how messy it can get - has never felt quite the same to me after that.

God answers prayer. We never know how many more "cookie" times we'll actually have, but we do know that He has planned every day for us and that He already knows exactly how each day will "turn out." We just need to trust Him. Our lives rest ever so gently in His hands, and if we allow it, He will create within us the most perfect shape of all: the heart of Christ.

Listening

My oncologist called me today. I had received a message from her yesterday (my 13-year-old daughter had answered the phone while I was out). Melissa had relayed to me that the MRI scan of my breasts was okay, but that I could call the doctor the following day. I'd thought the message meant that I could call her if I had a question or something. There was, however, a little more to it than that.

As the doctor spoke to me, I became silent. I listened intently because I didn't want to miss one single word of what she was saying. Her thick Middle-Eastern accent was strangely all too familiar to my ears. I should have known better; each time she's ever called me (since our very first meeting three and a half years ago when I was originally diagnosed), her news has always been sobering.

It turns out that when I spoke directly to the doctor today, she informed me that the MRI did show some "enhanced tissue in the right breast" -- the "other" breast. So, the doctor suggested that I have another MRI scan in 6 months, rather than a year from now. She told me that the additional MRI scan is indicated to "keep an eye on things." In a perfect world, the only person whose eyes should be looking at my poor breasts would be my husband's. But this isn't the perfect world anymore. That world disappeared thousands of years ago, when Adam and Eve didn't listen. Well, believe me, I'm listening.

Oddly, I had just posted how happy I was to hear that the recent MRI was normal. And it could very well be -- normal, that is. But there's that black cloud that just won't ever quite disappear from my cancer horizon. Most days I don't even notice it, but today it produced that evil darkness that distorts my perspective and smothers my spirit.

But do you know what the best part of all is? I'm praying to the One who hears my prayer... and listens. And He'll hear every single word I speak. He's in control of my life, and from this day forward, I can't waste one more minute worrying about a dark cloud that may never develop into a tempest.

I just need to keep listening ... to the One who promises to walk every step with me, through every storm.