NOW OR NEVER
Just one more.
How is it that this impossible season is coming to an end before I’ve had time to catch my breath? Looking back, I wonder if I’ve already told you about the phone call, the one with a sturdy voice gently exhorting me to be strong?
You will need to complete six rounds of chemotherapy,” the voice emphatically shared. “You will lose your hair. And then we’ll just have to wait and see."
Do you want to hear something really strange? I am not ready for it to end. And I find myself asking what lessons I’ve missed entirely or have not yet grasped.
One of my favorite authors, Max Lucado, says that God speaks in a language we can each personally understand. No matter the vernacular there is no doubt what is being said. “Pay attention.” And so, in this season, the pace has been slowed way down and I am seeing the fine details that are impossible to notice traveling at top speed.
The lessons are impatient, they drift by like brightly-colored fish through the glass. Life’s glistening aquarium is not for the observer but for the one who is ready and willing to dive right in.
Do I sound poetic and ethereal? I’m hoping so. If not now, when will we invite the spirit within us to float to the surface and onto our tongues?
If you calculate the journey, it's been twenty weeks from when this all first began. When I wrote my journal entry, “Resuscitators of Beauty,” last October I wasn’t ready to give the news away. But there were clues in my words that signaled something unexpected was about to begin:
—Instead, this is a story about the preservation of beauty in every circumstance…and not only its preservation, but magnification when juxtaposed to something seemingly so “other.” For me, that’s the definition of Sanctuary at its best. Over the years I have seen my share of dust and decay. Abandoned spaces. Forgotten. Boarded up. There is nearly always this sadness of something lost, lingering there. Yet, if I am anything, I am the redeemer of dreams. And picturing what can be, even when surrounded by all the mess, accesses this part of me that feels a bit divine—
What have you done with yourself during all this time? I ask because what we go through is never a singular journey, it’s never just about you or me.
Perhaps this revelation will alarm you but you are reading this for a reason and it’s not just to kick start your Saturday.
We are so good at putting things off. We label it “procrastination” as if implying that the accomplishment of what is intended will come someday. But [and I start the sentence deliberately this way]…
God’s lessons are finite, they pause for a moment and then swim past. We notice the colors and remark, “Isn’t that pretty?” What if the response He is hoping for is, “Isn’t that extraordinary” and then instead of continuing on our journey we fall to our knees?
My knees are scuffed. In fact, from head to toe on some harder days you’d find it difficult to recognize me. And still, I’m not ready for the lessons to end. In some ways I’m so dissapointed. Twenty weeks! What have I done with nearly half a year? What have you done with nearly half of an entire year?
Ironically, procrastinating rarely has anything to do with time or money but more a refusal to bring resolution to subtle and significant issues that eat away at the foundation of our lives. The refusal to make the necessary repairs is a direct reflection of broken relationship…with our God, ourselves, or the ones we hold most dear.
Yesterday, Ron set a wooden beam weighing 500 pounds so the upper floor wouldn’t give in.
The beam was necessary for the home but even more, it was an act of tangible half-ton love firmly directed at me. “Our future is solid,” his actions exclaimed.
Being the sanctuary maker I am, I would be remiss in not putting all of this in context of our everyday lives. In fact, that’s precisely how the original Sanctuary Maker works.
So, what project are you undertaking to undergird your Sanctuary, both the one that surrounds you and the one that resides within?
~Taking care of what needs attention acknowledges that the relationship you cherish has a shared future
~Fixing something broken is a signal that you are willing to let go of what is held as a passive aggressive device
~Mending fences [quite literally] is a beautifully-practical way of admitting fault and asking for forgiveness
~Repairing what sits neglected creates new intimacy from awakened trust
~Attending to the little broken things that surround you repairs the little broken things within
~Restoring the world around you rebuilds the remarkable, immeasurable hope that momentum brings
This Tuesday will be the last time I sit in the chemotherapy chair. The sweet little bell will ring and I will walk away. Yet, I will not receive it as an ending but a new beginning in site. And I will be grateful for the reclamation begun in me.