We live in Western North Carolina, in a small town at the edge of the Appalachian Mountains, and a stone's throw from the Blue Ridge Parkway. On any given day, the scenery from my house is beautiful, but the view from the Parkway defies description, and it changes from season to season, month to month, even day to day, never looking the same. One only needs to look at these hills to realize there is a God, a grand designer for our creation. And of course, when I am driving or walking up there, in that rarified air, the verse that comes to mind is from Psalm 121:
"I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth" (Ps 121, 1-2)
Question asked, and answered, in two short verses.
And while I would like to say that, as a Christian, I always look to the hills of the Lord for help, I have to admit I do not. At times, I look up to the hills of my own choosing, my own imaginings, my own pride. Life doesn't go the way I planned, my expectations are dashed or crushed, or a curve ball is thrown my way, and I resort to the hills of fear and anxiety and dread, turning over the situation in my head time and time again, examining every possible facet, inspecting it, looking at it under a microscope, trying to find a way out, an answer, some help, some peace of mind. Friends, family, books, food, pastimes, distractions, music, the internet--I leave no stone unturned looking for answers, even rationalizing that all these resources are God-given, so they MUST contain the solution. I talk about it, think about it, pray about it, cry about it, even try to ignore it in hopes it will pass me by, or miraculously disappear, when in reality, I am simply trying to change the facts to suit me, argue with the obvious, and in so doing, I miss the beauty of these hills God has placed before me, stupidly and stubbornly denying the glaring truth--that God made heaven and earth, and has designed all things, for His glory. Not unlike the panorama of the mountains here, He designed our lives, our hills, our challenges, our joys. As the creator, the master Designer, only He can help us. He has a purpose for His design, and there is beauty in that purpose, even when the design involves pain and sickness and heartbreak that emanate from a diagnosis of cancer.
Yes, Cancer. The C word. The death knell for hopes and dreams--cancer is evil, ugly, painful, unfathomably cruel. So many times, when dealt the cancer card, God's children waste it, discard it, or try to ignore it exists, instead of playing the card and seeing where it leads. Nearly everyone I know has been touched by cancer, either personally or in their family or their circle of friends. My daughter had cancer when she was 12, I lost many friends to cancer, I have had scares that I had cancer, and most recently, my stepmom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. My first, second, third, heck, even my fortieth impulse is to read about it, instead of reading about the Designer. I turn to Google and WebMD and health websites, instead of opening my bible; I stay up late and worry, or medicate myself with food or wine or exercise, or even ignore it in hopes it will go away, instead of facing it and then giving it back to God. And in so doing, I put my trust in other people, other things, other hopes, instead of seeking to understand how this design, yes, even this horrible disease, could be in God's plan. I mean, God is love and truth and beauty and creation and good and knowledge, so how could something as horrible as cancer come from a perfect God? And yeah, we could ask that question about anything that is ugly in this world, but for some reason, God's children have trouble believing that He created us, designed us, and purposed us to be His, and at the same time, not just that He allows cancer, but that it is part of His sovereign design. That thought simply defies our feeble human logic.
I recently found an article by John Piper, written the night before he was to undergo radical surgery for his own cancer, an article titled Don't waste your cancer" Seriously? Don't "waste" cancer? What kind of cockamamie concept was this guy touting? I mean, don't waste water, or money, or good food, or your time, but cancer??? So I read it, because I am struggling with how to deal with the cancer in my life right now--not just that of my stepmom, or the cured cancer of my daughter, but the heart-wrenching facts and figures and faces behind childhood cancer, a cause with which I am totally enmeshed as a volunteer for St Baldrick's Foundation. Not only do I donate money to this nonprofit dedicated to funding more research for childhood cancer, I organize fundraisers and events and step way outside my comfort zone to raise awareness and money and hope for families affected by childhood cancer, rallying folks to shave their heads and donate money and time and services and their hearts for this worthwhile cause. And in so doing, I get so wrapped up in all the activities and facts and figures and fundraising amounts and details of the cause, I fail to stop and think what God's design is in all this. In other words, what is God's purpose in placing this cause at my feet, in my heart? What else would God have me do, say, represent, in my role as fundraising organizer, as a mom of a child who had cancer, as a daughter of a parent who may die from cancer?
I believe nothing is by chance, or random coincidence--and I firmly believe we are to bear witness to Christ in all we do: our work, our chores, our interface with other people, our play, and how we spend our time and energy and passions. Nothing is happenstance or an accident...it is all part of God's perfect design. Even cancer.
And, no, it is not easy, not by any means--I cannot even count the times I forgot God or turned to other resources when Becky was so sick over 20 years ago. Even now, after talking to my stepmom about her grave prognosis and treatment plan, I want to research the whys and wheres and hows about her cancer, and fight it, curse it, control it. Instead of seeing it for what it is...a blip on the timeline of His plan. The urge to do a google search, to cry about it, feel hopeless about it, even try to steer the ship, is so relentless, so incredibly strong, I can feel my shoulders tighten, my breathing shorten, my neck tense, and my mind race.
God has this, even this. His design is beautiful. Even more beautiful than these hills that surround us.
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