Here we are, well into 2023 already! Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this blog, and I really am going to post more Africa chronicles in the months to come… But for now, I just want to share a recent experience, along with some reflections, that I hope will be insightful and maybe even helpful for you in your own journey, as we step into a new year.
I hope you believe – I mean I hope you are convinced in your heart of hearts – that God in his infinite kindness is always seeking to do you good. In a world where we go through so many hard things, where loss, grief, trauma and difficulties of all kinds seem to be par for the course, He is actively at work – often unnoticed by us – arranging circumstances and setting us up to receive exactly what we need, even when we don’t what that is. It was this way for me recently.
In the course of my work I had been assigned to help out with a project in Baltimore, Maryland for 2 weeks. To be honest, I was not especially excited about being away from home for this chunk of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Working in a busy warehouse, in close contact with hundreds of volunteers each day – this made me anxious as well. Being on monthly chemotherapy for multiple myeloma makes me a bit more susceptible to catching colds, flu, or even Covid, and this did not seem like an ideal scenario from a health standpoint. On the other hand, I’d been traveling internationally all year long, moving through busy airports and sitting on full flights for hours on end, and had managed to stay healthy (mostly). So off I went to Baltimore. Not Atlanta, or Denver, or Chicago – which were all possibilities, and I could have been sent to any of these locations.
volunteers in a Baltimore warehouse.
Baltimore is special, because this is where Cindy and I lived for 25 years before moving to the mountains of Western North Carolina. The warehouse where the project was going on was just down the road from the church where I served as pastor for 16 of those 25 years, and where we remained deeply involved until I left in September 2019. Happily, I was invited to preach there while in town for the project, and this would give me an opportunity to catch up with this dear group of people with whom we had experienced so much over the years – triumphs, tragedies, change and growth and all the ups and downs of following Jesus together in this broken world.
I was excited not only for the chance to bring everyone up to date on the big happenings of life and ministry over the last three years, but also to share a Word from the Lord that seemed so appropriate for this family of believers. What I was not prepared for was the flood of emotion that hit me as people began to arrive – these precious, dearly loved saints – that I had not seen face to face for far too long. Someone would come in, we’d look at each other, and the tears would start to flow. I could not stop them as people hugged my neck, and even as I stood up in front of the congregation to preach. As I looked out over this gathering, with each face I was seeing a story – stories of brokenness, healing, survival through crushing loss, restoration, miracles of mercy and triumphs of grace, so much growth – all the various ways God had shown Himself faithful in individual lives over the years. Often, I’d had a front-row seat as a helper, hand-holder, counselor and friend as these stories had unfolded. Love demands so much, but the rewards are rich and deep.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that this gathering on the first Sunday of December was cathartic, at least for me. I was being healed in ways I didn’t know I needed to be healed. It took me a few days of reflection to process and to understand what was happening. There is a backstory of events that were, in their own small way, traumatic. Unexpected, unintended loss – things that had wounded my soul, events that I had pushed through without much thought in my forward-looking, ‘let’s get on to the next thing’ way of moving through life.
When I left the Baltimore area in September 2019, I had no idea it would be more than three years before I’d be able to return. I’d planned to return – even to make several trips – during the ensuing months, so that Cindy and I could get our house sold, pack up our belongings, have those farewell visits and a proper send-off with our church family. Because of events beyond anyone’s control, none of that happened. For the first several months I was just busy getting settled into my new job and traveling in Central Africa with Operation Christmas Child. Then without warning, my cancer numbers doubled – the multiple myeloma was quickly coming back. (Up until then I’d been coasting along with no treatment, in remission or close enough, for a few years). About the same time, Covid lockdowns began AND I started weekly chemo treatments, with Cindy still in Maryland and me in North Carolina. No one could go anywhere, we all started working from home, and I was alone. The situation wasn’t impossible, but it was a new kind of hard. Eventually Cindy was able to join me in North Carolina. The health journey continued to be an adventure involving difficult decisions. While going through screening for a stem cell transplant it was discovered that I had colon cancer. I had surgery for that instead of the stem cell transplant, and started a new course of chemotherapy for the multiple myeloma, all before 2020 came to a close. With the new chemo regimen, I had to work from home for the first four months of 2021. For an extrovert who thrives on connection, this kind of isolation was another hard thing. So that’s the backstory. Eventually things eased up, I returned to working in an office, and also to travel in Africa, and we forged ahead without a backward glance.
It’s called resilience – the ability to bounce back, to push forward, to keep your head up and keep going in the face of hardship. It’s a great quality. But I was mostly unaware of the holes all these hardships had punched in my soul: the sadness of farewells that were left unsaid, and the send-off that could never happen; how deeply I missed my church family; the trauma of bad health news, bone-marrow biopsies, starting another round of chemo – this time with not a friend on hand to offer a hug (until Cindy was able to join me). And so many major changes in a relatively short time. Was God faithful through it all? Absolutely! Faithful and merciful. But the emotional impact, the loss – those holes in my soul – were also real, even though I was hardly aware of them. I kept assuring everyone that I was fine. But I needed some patching up, some closure, some comfort and healing that I wouldn’t have known how to arrange, even if I could have. So the Lord lovingly arranged it all for me in a place where the tears could flow and people would understand. I’m still, weeks later, reflecting, praying, unpacking some things from that special Sunday morning. The hugs, words of encouragement, people sharing with me the impact I’d had on their lives and their walk with God – all of these were unexpected gifts that day.
Why am I sharing all this? It’s not simply to talk about myself or to impress on you what a hard time I’ve had – everyone goes through hard times. My point is this: we all go through seasons and experiences that leave us with wounds, losses, and accompanying heartache or trauma. Often we are so busy just trying to navigate through these seasons and keep our heads above water that we hardly notice the impact on our souls. We keep ourselves anesthetized with activity and simply plow ahead to the next thing, maybe breathing a sigh of relief that we made it through. Eventually, however, those losses never grieved, wounds never addressed, pages of our story ripped out of the book rather than gently turned – they become weights that make life heavy, or locked doors that seem to block us from forming new friendships, or an unease that makes quiet meditation and stillness almost unbearable. So this is a call – an invitation – to quiet, personal reflection on your journey, and maybe to healing.
In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, where he talks plainly about some of his own hardships in the course of following Jesus and serving God’s people, he calls God ‘the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort others with the same comfort we have received.’ Comfort is an intangible, but nonetheless essential and powerful element in our emotional well-being. If you never receive it, you are not equipped to give it. Without taking you through an extensive Bible study, I’ll just say that comfort – both receiving and giving it – is a key concept in Scripture. Without it, the qualities of strength and resilience that we admire so much can turn into hard-heartedness and cold stoicism, and that’s not Jesus. We are all of us more fragile than we realize or like to admit, but our Creator understands us. ‘He remembers that we are dust’ according to Psalm 103, and He has compassion on us like a father for his children.
He is always ready to comfort us, whenever we are ready to recognize that we need it and open our hearts to receive it. Comfort doesn’t undo what has been done, it doesn’t compensate the losses or turn back time. But it eases the pain and validates the grief. Comfort says, ‘what happened matters, it’s signifiant, you are significant, your are not alone, and one day, all will be made right.’ For me, that makes all the difference, and maybe it will for you too. My prayer is that God in His kindness, who knows just what you need, will lead you to that place as we make our way forward in 2023.
Know This Love 