Tag Archives: God

That sign God gave me … two and a half years ago

Heidi is scheduled to get Erica’s kidney August 10th.

She’s been cancer-free for a year, and now her other major health problem, the one that has made her despair of living so many times as she has endured dialysis in its many horrific forms, is going to go away. She will be, finally … healed.

As I think about the journey that started December of 2018 and, in many ways, is about to come to a close, there is one thing that rises above the detritus of thoughts and feelings that I have about this period in our lives.

God said he would save Heidi, and he did.

January of 2019, as I cried about Heidi’s horrible new diagnosis, I asked God Are you going to heal Heidi? I have to know how this ends. Tell me. Give me a sign. And he gave it to me–immediately.

As I’ve written about before, it turns out that getting a sign … does not make things easier. As Heidi faced death over and over, as complication after complication made it seem like she wouldn’t be able to get a bone marrow transplant she needed, as we planned her funeral and talked about her wishes and joked about the eulogy I would give, I had to contemplate not just the death of my sister, but the death of my faith.

If God didn’t do what he said, I couldn’t trust him again.

Things between us would be broken forever.

Pretending otherwise was unthinkable.

Early on, I shared what God told me with Adam and my sisters, but beyond that, it felt too risky. Too crazy. I kept the sign mostly to myself.

Then, I realized how cowardly that was. If I was so hesitant to share, that must mean I didn’t really believe it. God had given me a gift, and I was treating it like a shameful secret instead of something incredible. But I couldn’t help thinking, what if he doesn’t do it? What if I share it widely, and he fails me?

Put my glory at stake, God seemed to whisper into my heart. It feels scary, but I’m God. It’s not scary to me.

So I did.

I couldn’t shut up about it for a while. I blogged about it, talked about it with anyone who would listen. And even as my faith experienced a wonderful boost through this process … I remember the looks and responses. People nodding, smiling … and then clearing their throats. Looking down awkwardly. Looking back up to tell me, Be careful. Lots of people think they get signs, but it’s just wishful thinking and self-deception.

Trust me, I get it. I don’t blame anyone for this response. Plenty of people claim to have “heard from God” and predict things like the end of the world next Tuesday. I fully considered that I might be one of these crazies! And I didn’t expect for anyone to accept my word for it, wholesale. Only time would prove the truth or foolishness of my little sign.

But I clung to it anyway. Being cautious and smart had come to taste of a kind of duplicitousness to me. After all, I asked, and He gave it. Why hide that? Didn’t the prophets speak out unreasonable-sounding things all the time?

What proceeded was not some sweet experience of absolute trust and peace. It was two and a half years of standing on the edge of that promise as it seemed like the very earth was crumbling under me, and God’s character with it.

I fell into a profound depression. God was not doing what he said. Heidi nearly died . . . many times over. There was a period of months in which I couldn’t stop crying. I remember sitting in my car in the parking lot at work, late because I was unable to stop weeping. Tears racked my body like the waves of a storm set on destroying me. I wept in the grocery store, at the dry cleaner’s, at the hospital, in my car, on a bus, on my bed. I thought about self-harm, a lot. I thought about ending my life.

I was Jacob, wrestling with God, demanding a blessing for Heidi. And he has given it. But like Jacob, I’m walking away from this experience with a limp. Changed. Hurt. Injured. God has saved my sister … but he has not spared us from breaking.

But the point of this post isn’t to unearth all of the questions, truths, and darkness that I now carry with me. It’s to say,

He did it.

He said “I will do it,” and he did.

You have no idea how incredible it is to write these words, in spite of everything. Like releasing a long-held breath, like finally flopping into bed after an exhausting day, like … rest.

The story has been a heart-pounding thriller, a horror movie with twists and turns jumping out from behind every door. It’s been a heartfelt poem, a shriek of lament, a whipping chaos that felt like it was no story at all. And now … it gets to be a song of praise.

God isn’t just someone who did things thousands of years ago. He does things today. Speaks to us now. And follows through.

Isaiah (the 40s and 50s) has been my book during these past few years. It holds the words I used to beg God to be faithful to us, and the hope I dug my bleeding fingers into as I lived inside this long nightmare. And now, I get to share these words with you that so often I hoped I’d be able to say:

Who has announced from of old the things to come?

Let them tell us what is yet to be.

Do not fear, or be afraid; have I not told you from of old and declared it?

You are my witnesses! Is there any god besides me?

There is no other rock; I know not one.

I am the Lord, and there is no other.

I did not speak in secret, in a land of darkness;

I did not say to the offspring of Jacob, “Seek me in chaos.”

I the Lord speak the truth, I declare what is right.

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is no one like me,

declaring the end from the beginning

and from ancient times things not yet done,

saying, “My purpose shall stand, and I will fulfill my intention.”

The former things I declared long ago,

they went out from my mouth and I made them known;

then suddenly I did them and they came to pass.

You have heard; now see all this;

and will you not declare it?

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,

and do not return there until they have watered the earth,

making it bring forth and sprout,

giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

My sign about Heidi’s healing is much more than just that. It’s a sign to anyone who’s walked this journey with us that God is to be trusted.

He does what he says.

Love you all, and thank you for following along.

Transplant Day

It’s the day we’ve been waiting for for the past year and a half. Today at 10am, Heidi gets hooked up with needles and infused with the bone marrow Erica donated a few weeks ago. From here, we enter the highest risk part of her journey. But it’s also the moment that her journey of recovery can finally begin.

Of course, we had no idea it would take a year and a half to get to this point. We imagined a couple months–maybe three at most. It’s a good thing we couldn’t see into the future or we might have despaired tons earlier.

From the beginning, Heidi received a prophetic word from her good friend Amanda, who has been a steady source of encouragement for all of us since cancer hit. You can read about that here, but it was essentially Isaiah 54, the promise of complete healing and that God would further Heidi’s ministry through this.

It’s been a long time since I’ve opened to Isaiah 54, but this morning, on Day Zero, it felt appropriate. As I sat in my robe, drinking coffee and looking out at the summer-green trees lining our street, the familiar words hit me in a fresh way.

For the children of the desolate woman will be more
than the children of her that is married, says the Lord.
Enlarge the site of your tent,
and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out;
do not hold back; lengthen your cords
and strengthen your stakes.

The word ‘desolate’ hit me. We didn’t really know what that felt like in December of 2018. But now? Absolutely. And yet right there is the promise that the desolate woman will bear more fruit than the ‘married’ one–the one who has been happily chugging along as planned. Enlarge the site of your tent. Heidi’s pain and suffering WILL bring people to God. Her spiritual house will grow larger–she’ll have to expand–because God will bring more people than she could ever have planned for.

Years ago, way before cancer, Heidi told me that she felt deeply convicted that her ministry wasn’t just being a great mom and raising her kids in the way of Jesus–she felt the calling of Isaiah 49: “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob…I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”

These verses thrilled Heidi. To the end of the earth! And here in Isaiah 54 is that promise–that her cancer journey will tie into this calling she felt long ago. That her house will expand in a way that wouldn’t have happened if she had been the ‘happily married’ woman pictured, with the normal life. Her desolation will produce growth and multiplication.

Do not fear, for you will not be ashamed;
do not be discouraged, for you will not suffer disgrace;
for you will forget the shame of your youth,
and the disgrace of your widowhood you will remember no more.
For your Maker is your husband,
the Lord of hosts is his name;
the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer,
the God of the whole earth he is called.

I am terribly afraid we will end up being fools. That we might be one of those stories of “Oh yeah, they thought that God spoke, but … well, it was a self-comfort mechanism, so let this be a cautionary tale about not speaking lightly about ‘hearing God’.” And yet I see the reminder of ‘you will not be ashamed’ and ‘you will not suffer disgrace’ … and I’m comforted.

Not to mention the disgraces of cancer–the pain, the needles, the weakness, the awful suffering–Heidi will remember no more. That’s how big her Redeemer is.

For the Lord has called you
like a wife forsaken and grieved in spirit,
like the wife of a man’s youth when she is cast off,
says your God.
For a brief moment I abandoned you,
but with great compassion I will gather you.
In overflowing wrath for a moment
I hid my face from you,
but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you,
says the Lord, your Redeemer.

This is the one that got me. For a brief moment I abandoned you. For a moment I hid my face from you. If you’ve read any of my recent blog posts, you’ll know this is exactly (and I mean exactly) how I’ve felt. Abandoned and forgotten by God. Cast aside. And then I read this heartening promise–but with great compassion I will gather you. Yes, God! Gather us up!

O afflicted one, storm-tossed, and not comforted,
I am about to set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.
I will make your pinnacles of rubies,
your gates of jewels,
and all your wall of precious stones.

If there are any words that can describe our journey, but mostly Heidi’s, it’s afflicted, storm-tossed and not comforted.

And then, these words from God … I AM ABOUT TO. Things are about to change. Something big is about to happen.

I was sharing these thoughts with Erica as we talked on the phone while I drove to work this morning. Suddenly Erica said, “now my dream makes sense!”

(Okay, this is when I really start crying)

Last night she dreamed that us three sisters were getting ready to head out of town for a sisters’ weekend together–grocery shopping, getting treats, that kind of thing. Then, Lauren (the transplant coordinator in real life) called Erica and said, “It’s time!” Part of the weekend was going to be the transplant. We were in the parking lot of our apartment complex, where the transplant was going to happen, and there was a tube connecting Heidi and Erica. But it wasn’t blood or bone marrow traveling through the tube–it was life essence flowing between them.

At this point, there were lots of people around. Then, everyone started having babies–people of every color and nationality–people Erica didn’t know or recognize. Erica was having kids, the transplant coordinator suddenly had four children. People were getting pregnant right and left. Erica went over to some friends’ house, and they were like, “oh my gosh, we totally had this baby because of that!”

As Erica described a dream that she at first had thought was just kind of silly, we suddenly realized it was about Isaiah 54. Spiritual fertility. Heidi’s cancer journey resulting in spiritual life and birth that will multiply beyond what Heidi can imagine. The calling Heidi felt in Isaiah 49 all those years ago, fulfilled. To the end of the earth.

I’m terrified. I’m trusting. I’m comforted. And still terrified. Adrenaline buzzes through me every time I remember that today is The Day. I can hardly catch my breath. I want to cry, and I can hardly gather a sentence together to pray coherently. In the end, I only have these words–

God, do what you said.

And I hear the response of Psalm 33–

Let all the earth fear the Lord;
let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him.
For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.

Amen, and let it be so!