Janise Anderson's Blog, page 3

F.E.A.R. Failure #NotToday

It’s not fun to fail, but I seem to manage to fail at something every day.

Sometimes it is something small, like yesterday when I completely forgot to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer or today when I tried to casually parkour into my kitchen and almost fell on my face. But sometimes I fail at bigger things, like when I fail a class project, let down a teacher, or fail a friend when it really matters.

For me, failure is when I try but I am not good enough. When I do not reach my potential. When I disappoint those around me.

But the worst thing is when I fail God. 

The fear of failure can really lock me down. If I don’t try something new, if I don’t stick myself out there, then I can avoid failure.

It’s easy, really, to not-fail if you stay in the safe zone. If you keep doing what you’re good at and only that. But I ’ve seen how much I miss out on when I allow the fear of failure to hold me back.

Instead of fearing failure, I am trying to embrace it—to laugh at myself when I play volleyball for years and still manage to catapult the ball far beyond the net, to groan but smile when (like today) I accidentally submerge my iPhone in a sink full of warm soapy water.

I’m a mess and I’m a failure, but if I want to get better, I have to try new things and do things I’m terrible at. One thing I am trying to work on is public speaking.

It’s not something I like to do and it’s not something I’m good at. But I decided that if I am asked to do it, I won’t say no. Simple things like class presentations or giving small speeches on campus still shred my insides with nerves. But I do it anyway, and the confidence-part catches up, usually a minute or two into my speech.

This past semester, I completed a Professional Writing Portfolio as part of my senior credits needed to graduate. Then, at the end of the semester, I read some of those written pieces at a formal reading. The Portfolio was fun—something I’d looked forward to since Freshman year.

My theme was Chasing Life (throwback to my Chasing Life post from September) and I centered many of my pieces on living life boldly and overcoming fear. I wanted my writing to inspire people to do more and go farther, to chase after life.

But the night of my Portfolio reading, nerves built up inside me. Everything was set and ready, but my confidence had high-tailed it out of there. That Friday night, as I walked alone across campus to set up for my reading, an overwhelming urge to run away swelled up inside me.

Worries and doubts, and ever-present fear pushed against me, warning me that I could very easily and, in all probability, epically fail during my reading.

I told myself that I couldn’t run away, because if I did, it would completely discredit everything I had been writing and encouraging others to do. If I let fear hold me back from sharing my words with a group of strangers and friends, then my words lost their meaning.

So, I went, nerves and all, and I stood in front of the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces. I felt extremely torn up and nervous inside, but then I started to read, and with every word, the nerves loosened. The fear receded from my mind and that night turned into one of my best memories that semester.

The true failure is when you let fear hold you back from trying.

But if you do try, even if you do not get as far as you want to or do the best you wished you could do, then you have still succeeded.

Here are a few lines from another of my anti-fear songs: Not Today by Hillsong United.

“Whenever I say Your Name Jesus

Let the devil know not today

Not now not ever again

Your love stood down death

Crushed the devil’s head

Fear is just a liar

Running out of breath”

 

Fear is a liar running out of breath! What is something new or difficult that you want to do but you’ve let the fear of failure hold you back? Tell the devil “Not Today.”

In 1 Chronicles 28:20 King David tells his son Solomon, “Be strong and of good courage, and do it; do not fear nor be dismayed, for the Lord God—my God—will be with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you, until you have finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord.”

Okay, wow! I love this verse. The Bible is full of verses telling us to be strong and courageous, and to not fear. If God keeps reminded us not to fear, He understands how often fear strikes at our heart. But NOT TODAY.

We’re not going to let the fear of failure hold us back from trying. Life’s too short to wait on the sidelines, where we neither fail nor succeed. God’s got our back, so let’s live today fearlessly.

 

 

 

 

F.E.A.R Failure #NotToday

It’s not fun to fail, but I seem to manage to fail at something every day.

Sometimes it is something small, like yesterday when I completely forgot to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer or today when I tried to casually parkour into my kitchen and almost fell on my face. But sometimes I fail at bigger things, like when I fail a class project, let down a teacher, or fail a friend when it really matters.

For me, failure is when I try but I am not good enough. When I do not reach my potential. When I disappoint those around me.

But the worst thing is when I fail God. 

The fear of failure can really lock me down. If I don’t try something new, if I don’t stick myself out there, then I can avoid failure.

It’s easy, really, to not-fail if you stay in the safe zone. If you keep doing what you’re good at and only that. But I ’ve seen how much I miss out on when I allow the fear of failure to hold me back.

Instead of fearing failure, I am trying to embrace it—to laugh at myself when I play volleyball for years and still manage to catapult the ball far beyond the net, to groan but smile when (like today) I accidentally submerge my iPhone in a sink full of warm soapy water.

I’m a mess and I’m a failure, but if I want to get better, I have to try new things and do things I’m terrible at. One thing I am trying to work on is public speaking.

It’s not something I like to do and it’s not something I’m good at. But I decided that if I am asked to do it, I won’t say no. Simple things like class presentations or giving small speeches on campus still shred my insides with nerves. But I do it anyway, and the confidence-part catches up, usually a minute or two into my speech.

This past semester, I completed a Professional Writing Portfolio as part of my senior credits needed to graduate. Then, at the end of the semester, I read some of those written pieces at a formal reading. The Portfolio was fun—something I’d looked forward to since Freshman year.

My theme was Chasing Life (throwback to my Chasing Life post from September) and I centered many of my pieces on living life boldly and overcoming fear. I wanted my writing to inspire people to do more and go farther, to chase after life.

But the night of my Portfolio reading, nerves built up inside me. Everything was set and ready, but my confidence had high-tailed it out of there. That Friday night, as I walked alone across campus to set up for my reading, an overwhelming urge to run away swelled up inside me.

Worries and doubts, and ever-present fear pushed against me, warning me that I could very easily and, in all probability, epically fail during my reading.

I told myself that I couldn’t run away, because if I did, it would completely discredit everything I had been writing and encouraging others to do. If I let fear hold me back from sharing my words with a group of strangers and friends, then my words lost their meaning.

So, I went, nerves and all, and I stood in front of the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces. I felt extremely torn up and nervous inside, but then I started to read, and with every word, the nerves loosened. The fear receded from my mind and that night turned into one of my best memories that semester.

The true failure is when you let fear hold you back from trying.

But if you do try, even if you do not get as far as you want to or do the best you wished you could do, then you have still succeeded.

Here are a few lines from another of my anti-fear songs: Not Today by Hillsong United.

“Whenever I say Your Name Jesus

Let the devil know not today

Not now not ever again

Your love stood down death

Crushed the devil’s head

Fear is just a liar

Running out of breath”

 

Fear is a liar running out of breath! What is something new or difficult that you want to do but you’ve let the fear of failure hold you back? Tell the devil “Not Today.”

In 1 Chronicles 28:20 King David tells his son Solomon, “Be strong and of good courage, and do it; do not fear nor be dismayed, for the Lord God—my God—will be with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you, until you have finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord.”

Okay, wow! I love this verse. The Bible is full of verses telling us to be strong and courageous, and to not fear. If God keeps reminded us not to fear, He understands how often fear strikes at our heart. But NOT TODAY.

We’re not going to let the fear of failure hold us back from trying. Life’s too short to wait on the sidelines, where we neither fail nor succeed. God’s got our back, so let’s live today fearlessly.

 

 

 

 

Live Fearless #notafraid

During this past semester, my sister Krista and I ate lunch together every Friday. On our walks back from the cafeteria, she would usually have a new song for me to listen to. But one Friday half-way through the semester, she reminded me of an old one, a song I had not heard since my high school years in Peru.

We parted ways and as I walked to work, I played the song: “(I Am) Not Afraid Anymore” by Twila Paris. It was one of those moments where the world fell away until I was alone under that Pensacola-blue sky. It was just God and me, and He spoke to my heart.

If you have a moment, stop and look up the song! The first lines are:

“I said I belong to You

But in a secret room, I kept a secret list

I said, “Anything for You”

“Anything but this, anything but this”

All semester, I wrestled with my heart, with surrender and with hidden fears. Sometimes fears hide deep inside us, defining our actions and decisions before we realize the fear is even there.

I kept telling God, “I belong to You. I am Yours.” But fear tugged my heart away from His, forcing me to hold back pieces of my heart.

As I look back over this past semester, I can see how many times fear stopped me from doing what I should have done, from stepping out and saying things and loving people the way I should have. I didn’t want to risk my heart, even though that was the anthem of my writing. For over a year now, I’ve been specifically seeking out different fears and trying to overcome them, fight them, move beyond them.

But it seems that every time I win over one fear, several more sneak back into my heart. I’m tired of living afraid, of hesitating. I’m tired of asking what God wants of me, then pretending not to hear what He tells me. Fear doesn’t keep me safe, it keeps me imprisoned behind walls I build for myself.

When I was doing ministry with Muslims in Europe, I remember laying in bed every morning, and feeling the weight of fear pressing against me. I didn’t have the strength to get up. I didn’t have the courage to speak out and step out and share God’s word with boldness. I was weak and fearful and shy. And all the doubts and fears and worries would torment me in those first few moments when I lay awake in bed.

But then I would close my eyes and pray out the fear. I would whisper, “God, I can’t do this. There is so much fear inside me. Take it all away. Strip away all my insecurities and fears, my worries. Take away any trace of hesitation or shyness. Replace my fear with courage, Lord. Give me insane boldness today and confidence in what words to say.”

As soon as I prayed, the fear would completely leave me. I would jump up and get ready, with a song of joy where fear had once frozen my heart.  If fear tried to tiptoe back into my heart that day, I would immediately pray again and find courage again.

To me, courage from God is a miracle in itself. 

I can not fight fear on my own, and yet somehow I still try. All I have to do is pray out fear and God will give me courage to bold and to live fearlessly.

2019 is a new beginning, and I love new beginnings. But I know I’ll drag my same mistakes and sinful tendencies with me into the new year. That’s why I am grateful that God’s mercies are new every morning.

“Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not, they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” 

Lamentations 3:22-23

If you are tired of being manipulated by fears, if you want to live fearlessly today and tomorrow and next year, then join me this week.

In these last 7 days leading up to Christmas, I’m going to be studying out fear and how to overcome it. It’s not easy, but we’ll go through it together, one day at a time, praying out fear.

Our time here in this wondrous world is fleeting and priceless. I’ve lost too much to fear to allow myself to lose more. God’s courage is here for us to fall into.

So here’s a Sneak Peek of this week of FACING & FIGHTING FEAR: The next four days will be on F.E.A.R: failure, excluded, attacked, and rejected. Then we’ll get to two blog posts I’m most excited about: TRUST (the antidote to fear) and then Holy FEAR.

I’d love to work together this week as we figure out how to say “I am not afraid anymore.”

I’ll end with my favorite lines from the Twila Paris song I mentioned: 

“You knew the more I covered up my heart

The more I didn’t know myself

I am not afraid anymore

You have opened all the windows

Opened all the doors

I am not afraid anymore

I feel the wind of freedom like I never did before.”

Overwhelmed by LOVE

God wants to be loved by me. He gave me the desire to love and be loved because He made me in His image—and He has that same desire to love and be loved.

Why else would He tangle with us? Why else would He craft a brilliant universe for just a few billion people? Even though we only live a few decades, God wanted us to each feel loved. That’s why He shaped the stars and flung them into the darkness, that’s why He paints a one-moment-only sunrise and sunset every day, that’s why puppies are soft and perfect, why music romances our souls, why the waves of the ocean crash at our feet.

God’s love for me isn’t an afterthought or byproduct, it’s all consuming and overwhelming.

I can’t even begin to grasp the thought of how much He loves us and how long He has. He sacrificed everything for us, He fought for us, and He sought us out. Even now, after He’s won us and bought us out of sin and shame, He fights still for scraps of our love and attention.

It’s not that He’s weak in any way. His love is His greatest strength—such a powerful and glorious strength. His love is reckless. He made himself vulnerable that we might look up and see His grace.

He is good. He defines good. Who He is establishes what is right and what is true.

His love for us gives us worth. I can’t write of love without writing of Him. God longs for us to turn over our heart to Him. I see Him in every inch of creation and I hear Him every time I stop to listen.

I’ve been looking for love for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried to bury that longing and desire. I’ve tried to numb it by eating and eating until I could no longer feel the ache inside. I’ve pretended I didn’t have that desire at all, but the truth is that the desire to love and be loved defines me.

I prayed for God to strip me of this desire, but if He had, would I slowly forget to desire His love as well?

For weeks I’ve wrestled with words and tears, believing I would have to stain these pages with sadness, with the names of boys I’ve loved and lost, with a list of mistakes I’ve made—to prove that I am hopeless when it comes to romance. But now I realize that this desire is not a mistake.

God has not forgotten me. He never has.

This desire overwhelms me and consumes me, but it also drives me.

Two weeks ago, God asked me, “Am I not enough for you?” He does not ask me settle for less or to bury my desire or to feel ashamed for feeling lonely.

He saw the hurting in my heart and He called out to me, as I walked alone in the gentle rain on a Thursday night. I looked up at the soft drops glistening as they spun down from the night sky.

He gently nudged my heart. “Am I not enough for you?”

There are moments when I feel as if it is only God and me in this great big world. Moments where I forget the chaos and clamor in my heart.

Moments where I stop chasing love and fall instead into the embrace of the One who is LOVE.

My heart fights in vain to resist Him. Every step I take either pulls me into Him or pushes me back into my pride.

“O, God, my God,” I cry out to Him. “I belong here in this life of loving You. How can I ever forget that You are more than enough for me? You are more than anything I could ever want or need.”

I long for a great romance with the One who thought to create me and place me here, to give me the desires—the deep desires—that define me.

God too has a deep desire to be loved by me. I can’t understand it. I can’t begin to comprehend why. I can only cling to this thought, the beautiful promise that God wants me and wants to be wanted by me.

These words don’t hurt me. They free me. They heal me. Hope bursts through me and peace slips into my soul. But more than this, love overwhelms me—LOVE chases me and embraces me and overwhelms me.

Be Still-ish

Whom say you that I am?

In March of 2018, Lauren Pace kept hearing a voice in her head. The question came at her again and again, but Lauren shrugged it away.

“I know who you are, God,” she thought. “I know who you are.”

Ignoring a slight sense of uneasiness, Lauren let life plow on at the high-speed tempo she was used to. For years, Lauren had pushed herself to be everywhere doing everything she could for those around her.

Spring of 2018 came quickly. Like always, the Pace family stayed busy doing everything they could with the time they had. Lauren worked alongside her husband Steve Pace, the pastor at Eastside Baptist Church in North Carolina. Lauren helped her oldest daughter, Leslie, plan her May wedding with Matthew Cross.

There was not a free night at their house, but Lauren didn’t have time to stop or slow down.

As a pastor’s wife who had a hard time saying no, Lauren found her schedule continually crowded. The days blurred into an ever-increasing to-do list. Homeschooling her daughter Brenna. Working eight major cleaning jobs. Volunteering at church events. Teaching children’s church. Teaching the Junior High Sunday School class. Leading a ladies Bible study. Volunteering in the choir. Working with a mission group once a month. Decorating the church seasonally. Visiting church members. Helping Leslie plan the anticipated May wedding.

She needed a break—they all did.

On April 4, Lauren took Leslie, Brenna, and Kristi Ward, Leslie’s best friend and bridesmaid, to Charleston for a girl’s getaway before the wedding.

As Lauren drove, the sunlight slipped away, and darkness settled over the road. The stress and exhaustion of the past few weeks—of the past few months—settled through her, weighing her down with a deep sense of tiredness.

Tightening her hands on the steering wheel, Lauren tried to follow along with the conversation. Around her, the girls talked and laughed, their light-hearted words a warm contrast to the sickening ache pulling through her.

The world seemed to tilt and Lauren felt as if she was strapped to the top of a high-speed rollercoaster. She couldn’t fight the sensation that she was about to crash down, to careen through the sky. But she wasn’t on a rollercoaster; she was driving—just driving! Why did the world spin around her at a dizzying speed?

When Leslie saw how off-kilter her mom felt, she immediately switched with her. Lauren climbed into the backseat with Brenna.

Holding up her phone, Kristi leaned over from the passenger’s seat. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” Kristi kept asking Lauren medical questions until Lauren realized that Kristi was texting Lauren’s symptoms to her mom, a certified nurse.

After 35 minutes, Lauren felt okay-ish, as okay as she could after such an unprecedented rush of dizziness. The girls went on with their trip. Although they checked into their hotel late, the hotel let them sneak in a hot tub visit that night. The next day, they explored Charleston and celebrated Brenna’s 13th birthday.

After the relaxing getaway, Lauren returned to work and immediately resumed her ever hectic schedule.

The following week, on April 12, Lauren and Steve visited a church member in the hospital. Afterward, Lauren dropped off soup for a church family. On her way home, she jerked her car to a stop in the post office parking lot. Her goal had been to open the car door, cross the fifteen feet to the post office, and buy stamps.

A sudden rush of exhaustion slammed into her. Again.

Something was wrong. The left side of her face tingled. Her jaw felt as if a dentist had shot her with Novocain. Her left arm burned with an intense pins-and-needles sensation. Something was wrong. Lauren left her stamps unbought, those fifteen feet uncrossed, and instead she called Steve.

Steve drove her to the urgent care center. As they checked in, Lauren listed her symptoms to the lady behind the desk. The woman didn’t ask for Lauren’s name and personal information. Instead, she pushed to her feet and said, “Come with me.” She rushed Lauren and Steve to a back room.

Doctors and nurses filled the room. They moved swiftly around her. “Smile, smile, smile,” they told her.

But Lauren couldn’t.

Her smile broke. The left side of her face refused to cooperate. Her left eye drooped. Her body seemed to whirr and whirl with warning sign after warning sign.

“We’re taking you to the hospital,” a doctor said. In a blur of strangers and medical terms, Lauren was scurried onto an ambulance. Steve followed close behind in his own car.

In the back of the ambulance, a paramedic jammed an IV into her arm. As the ambulance raced to the hospital, Lauren shifted uncomfortably. Although the IV didn’t hurt her, it just didn’t feel right.

At the hospital, more doctors and nurses raced around Lauren. She went through half a dozen tests. No one seemed to know why her body was, to be blunt, freaking out. Nurses pinched her toes and fingers, asking, “Can you feel this? Can you feel this?” Her entire left side was no longer responding.

A TIA, a transient ischemic attack—that’s what the doctors finally settled on. She’d gone through a mini stroke, they told Lauren. But they had prevented her from going through a major one.

While at the hospital that night, Lauren kept waking up. Her arm throbbed with the IV. Before Lauren was discharged, a nurse pulled out the IV. The IV came out in the shape of a fish hook.

Not how an IV should look.

Lauren went home for some much-needed rest and recuperation. But that next morning, an ugly infection festered around the spot on her arm where the IV had been. Lauren remembered the strange bent of the IV when the nurse had pulled it out.

Jennifer Patrick, Lauren’s sister and a nurse, took one look and grabbed a sharpie. She pressed the sharpie against Lauren’s skin and drew a circle around the IV mark.

“If the infection spreads outside of the circle, call me right away,” Jen said.

That night, Lauren laid in bed. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t sleep.

When morning came, Brenna and Steve got dressed for church. Leslie stayed home with Lauren. Leslie wasn’t sure what was normal for her mom to deal with after a mini-stroke. But something still didn’t seem right.

Lauren struggled to get out of bed. She struggled over to the couch. She struggled to breath while she laid there—fighting back the increasing pain.

Uneasy and unsure, Leslie called Jen, but the phone call went to voicemail. Leslie texted Steve to send Jen.

After several long minutes, Jen pulled into the driveway and burst through the front door. After one look at Lauren, Jen said, “Get up, we’re going to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lauren shook her head. “Just take me to the urgent care again.”

“What? And then get in another ambulance again to go the hospital? No, we’re going. Now.”

So, they did.

Jen texted Steve: I’m taking Lauren to the ER.

At church, Steve received the text the minute before he had to stand up and preach. He knew he couldn’t do it on his own, so he asked God for grace. He prayed, stood up, and preached.

Meanwhile, Jen raced Lauren to the ER. By now pain sliced through Lauren. All she could think of was how she hurt inside. This wasn’t another dizzy spell. This was worse.

Under the touch of the infection, her arm ballooned, making her think of the impossible muscles of the old cartoon Popeye. Her left forearm shifted to a deep red. A massive blood clot marked the spot where the bad IV had been.

Lauren strained to fill her lungs with oxygen, but she couldn’t get enough. Her lungs ached with the lack of oxygen. The pressure mounted until Lauren felt as someone had dumped a load of cinder blocks on her chest.

Breathe. Just breathe. It was something simple, something she had done every second but not really thought about until now. Now pain arched through her as she fought for every breath.

For the next two hours, Lauren sat still as doctors took her vitals and put her through a series of tests. The doctors had no idea what was wrong with her. They tested for everything and anything. Blood clots. Gall bladder problems. Heart condition. An ultrasound on the arteries in her neck. Then they x-rayed her lung.

The words lung cancer had just circled the room when Steve burst in. He had left church as soon as his sermon ended. Despite the pressure wrestling her down, despite the pain burning through her arm, despite the worry mounting inside her, Lauren felt a rush of relief when her eyes met his.

Lauren spent the next few days shut up in the hospital. The pain and pressure built and a fever coursed through her. Her body screamed out for attention, flashing every warning signal. Then the blood infection made her body go septic. Her body started to shut down her vital organs. Key word: vital.

Pain weakened her. Antibiotics numbed her. Her lungs felt like sandpaper tearing against sandpaper. Infection clouded her lungs. Because she could not breath on her own, the doctors put Lauren on oxygen.

The doctors did not know what to do.

A massive blood clot. A growing lung infection. Her body going septic. Any of these things could have ended Lauren’s life, but still she held on.

***

Lauren was moved to a Baptist hospital in Winston Salem, where an infectious disease team and thoracic team met to figure out how to help her. Over the next few weeks, they kept her on antibiotics. The days scraped by in painful streaks of pain meds, chest tubes, and a major lung surgery where the doctors scraped her lungs clean.

Slowly, slowly Lauren began to recover.

Steve stayed with her, trading off with Jen and Leslie to hold down the home front and be with Lauren at the same time. For Steve, pastoral visitation kicked up a notch as he visited his #1 patient. But fear lingered on the edges of those slow hospital days.

Although he didn’t understand everything medically, Steve did know that people had died from what Lauren was going through. Whenever the dreadful thought came to him that she might not make it, Steve prayed that she would. He kept saying, “God, You are the One who has to take care of her.”

When Leslie visited her mom, she sat in the hospital and felt a heavy sense of helplessness. She couldn’t do anything for her mother medically. She couldn’t explain what was wrong. She couldn’t take away the pain. She could just be there, be with her, and keep praying.

Leslie tried to keep up with her job, wedding planning, hospital visits, and a growing to-do list. Leslie carried with her a notebook of things to get done before the wedding. During these stressful, hectic weeks, family and friends really stepped up to help out. Lauren’s friends jumped in and volunteered their time to help out with the family dog Jules and to help Leslie settle some of the wedding details.

When Lauren’s mother, Nina Tozour, found out how sick Lauren was, she cancelled her plans and drove up from Pensacola, Florida to help out. For the next four weeks, Nina stayed in North Carolina. Nina got to work, adopting the same generous spirit of service that she had instilled in her daughter. Nina managed the house, helped out with Brenna, the dog Jules, and kept up with laundry, cleaning, groceries, and meal prep for the family.

Nina held down the home fort. Whatever needed to be done she did.

As Lauren’s hospital stay lengthened, the number of days until May 5 shortened. Lauren told the doctors. She told the nurses. She told her family. “I have to be out before May 5. I have a wedding to go to.”

But what mattered more was that she recovered, that she healed after her close brush with death. Should they cancel the wedding? Reschedule? Leslie and Matthew had already worked ahead to be able to leave for their booked honeymoon in Costa Rica. The wedding date had been selected months ago so that Tommy, Leslie’s brother, could attend after his semester at Grand Canyon University.  Over a hundred family members and friends were flying in from around the States and from South America for the wedding.

If Leslie and Matthew were going to reschedule the wedding, they had to do so in time for the 125 guests to cancel their plans and plane tickets.

Running more on faith than fear, the wedding date stuck at May 5. The family waited to see if Lauren would be able to go or not.

By now, Lauren had lost a total of 20 pounds. The doctors and nurses were still shocked that she had survived such an ordeal. While Lauren struggled to recover, the doctors knew she shouldn’t leave the hospital at all—much less to attend a wedding where she would expose her weakened body to the germs and bacteria of over 100 people.

Five or six doctors involved in Lauren’s case gathered to discuss the dilemma and settle on a yes or no. Logically, medically, and sensibly—the discussion kept circling back to a firm no. But then a female doctor stood up and said, “This is her oldest daughter getting married. You can’t make her miss that. She has to go. She has to be there.”

Reluctantly, the other doctors agreed. It didn’t make sense, but they were going to let Lauren do it.

On May 1, Lauren left the hospital.

While she was temporarily discharged, Lauren had a home nurse keeping her medicated. The new medication caused a horrible allergic reaction in Lauren. What looked like giant sores covered her from the bottom of her knees to her ankles. She spent the next few days with vomiting and nausea, and couldn’t bear to eat anything. The hospital took her off medication for the Saturday wedding.

Five different specialist doctors agreed: Lauren shouldn’t be alive and the fact that she was couldn’t be explained medically. This had to be a miracle.

***

May 5.

Lauren woke up. She showered. She fixed her hair. She wore a light blue dress, one specially bought with quarter length sleeves to hide the evidence of her hospital stay.

Nina watched her closely. She prayed again and again, “Lord, why are they letting her do this? How will she make it? Keep her safe, Lord.”

Although Lauren came to the wedding in a wheelchair, what mattered was that she was there, surrounded by dear family and friends. Steve set up a comfortable lounge chair so Lauren could still rest.

From the front row, Lauren watched her father-in-law, Tom Pace, pronounce Matthew and Leslie man and wife. After a teasing handshake followed by a sweet kiss, Leslie Pace became Leslie Cross. Leslie walked over to her mom, leaned down, and hugged her.

This moment—this moment was a beautiful miracle, one that God had reached down to give them.

After the wedding, Nina drove Lauren home. For a moment, everything was perfect. They drove through beautiful countryside, talking about the wedding and enjoying the peaceful drive.

But as soon as Nina pulled into the driveway, Lauren stumbled into the house, ran straight to the bathroom, and started throwing up. From then on, she was on and off medication, and then a drip IV. Her body couldn’t handle the medication. She was sick, dehydrated, and suffering from malnutrition.

That night after the wedding, Nina sat with Lauren. She watched her succumb again to the pain. Nina thought, “Lord, I’ve never seen anything quite like this. You just opened a window for her to go. This is the most dramatic miracle I’ve ever seen.”

By May 8, barely three days after the wedding, Lauren was back in the hospital and stayed there for the next few days. Jen and Steve would take turns sitting with Lauren. Steve spent hours by her side, learning basic nursing techniques so he could take care of her. He washed her hair, prayed with her, made her laugh, and just stayed with her.

“It was one of those things you don’t think about,” Steve said. “You just do it because she’s your wife. It’s your family.”

Most days, Jen would come to relieve Steve. She would be with Lauren, so that Lauren did not have to be there alone.

While Lauren was in and out of the hospital, an amazing amount of people reached out to her and let her know that they were praying for her. Friends broke down crying, begging God to spare her, and praising Him when He did. Lauren had always been the one person willing to jump in and help. She truly cared for those around her.

While groaning in pain in a hospital bed, Lauren would still look up when the nurse walked in. She would ask the nurse, “Are you okay? How’s your day?” Lauren kept checking on the nurses and investing in them, even as pain forced her to lay in a hospital bed.

After being released from the hospital a second time, Lauren went home and rested for the summer. Her sickness forced her to slow down and recuperate. Doctors sorted out what she had gone through during the past month. They determined that most of her illness resulted from the IV that had been incorrectly put in her arm during the first ambulance ride.

The IV had caused a massive blood clot. MRSA, an infectious bacterium, poisoned Lauren’s bloodstream and made her septic. Then Lauren went through a quickly growing lung infection and pleurisy, which made her fight for every breath.

“So many things could have killed me,” Lauren said when asked about the illness. “But God said no, it’s not your time yet.”

Doctors later found out that during April Lauren had a serious case of pneumonia but did not realize it. A neurologist told Lauren that stress and high levels of exhaustion could have caused her mini stroke. If she had not suffered through the severe illnesses caused by the bad IV, then the doctors may have not found the pneumonia in time.

“It’s a miracle.” “You shouldn’t be alive right now.” “We’ve never had a case like yours before.” “We don’t know how you survived everything that could have killed you.”

Half a dozen doctors and specialists told Lauren this. Again and again the word miracle surfaced.

“I do know I’m living and no one thought it was possible,” Lauren said. “God does miracles all the time. We’ve gotten so numb about what God does for us.”

***

One night, in between hospital visits, Lauren and Steve were up late talking. Steve mentioned something about church, and a wave of anxiety and exhaustion hit Lauren. She begged Steve, “I can’t—please don’t be a pastor right now.”

“You should rest,” Steve told her.

Lauren went to bed and fell fast asleep. At 4 a.m., her brain turned back on. She lay in the darkened room, listening to the deep silence of the house. Suddenly, the voice in her head asked, Whom say you that I am?

She understood now!

As a pastor’s wife, she had fallen into the trap of believing that everything rested on her shoulders. She felt a constant guilt that she was not doing enough. She didn’t want to say no and she didn’t want to burden volunteers and other church members.

But for over a month, she was in and out of hospitals, spending most of her time in bed, clinging to life. The church went on without her. The world didn’t fall apart without her. God showed her that He didn’t need her or her help.

Whom say you that I am?

Lauren grabbed her Bible and a notebook. She flipped through the familiar pages and looked up different verses about the attributes of God. She wanted to know, to really understand, who God was.

Lauren connected with the simple but life-changing truth of Psalm 46:10, which says, “Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.”

God showed her what it meant to be still, to rest in Him and not to rely on her own strength. That summer, Lauren rested and recuperated. She floated in the pool, spent more time praying, and just being still. Slowly, her body grew stronger, as did her spirit.

Life had changed, but in a way, it was better.

***

(I want to thank Lauren Pace, Steve Pace, Nina Tozour, and Leslie Cross for letting me interview them. It was a privilege to write this story and share it.)

 

Chasing Life

God, I don’t want to die.

The thought plowed through my mind as a sudden fear gripped me. Everything felt shaky inside me.  I walked into my room where Alessia, my roommate and best friend, waited for me.

“What happened? What did the Graf Clinic say?” She crossed the room in three quick steps.

“I’m anemic and asthmatic,” I said. That didn’t matter though. Iron pills and an inhaler would fix that. I dropped my backpack and looked away. “And I might have cancer.”

The words hung between us for a second. But I didn’t have a second; I had class to go to. My hands trembled as I jerked open my drawer. I stared unseeingly at the messy tangle of shirts.

“Oh, Janise,” Alessia touched my arm. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to miss work again next week so I can get an ultrasound done. Then the hospital will tell me if I have cancer or not.” My sentences came out faster, my words blurred with stress and exhaustion. “I have to go to class or I’ll be late. I don’t have time for this—” I changed quickly, shoved books into my backpack, and scanned the room for anything I was forgetting.

Alessia stood there, watching me. She quietly asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. It’ll be—” Sudden tears clogged my throat. “No, no, I’m fine. I can’t cry. I don’t have time to cry right now.”

I didn’t cry.

I swiped at my eyes, threw my backpack over my shoulder, and ran to class.

For the next few weeks, a horrible uncertainty hung over me. The unsteady feeling came with me to class and work and hospital visits. I wondered and waited and prayed, knowing that whatever the doctors said could completely change everything.

Then one afternoon, I stepped outside of the hospital, looked up at the brilliant blue sky, and called Alessia. She answered on the first ring.

I said, “I don’t have cancer. I’m going to be okay.”

And that time, I did cry.

From that moment, I determined that I would not waste another day.

I promised myself that I would say yes to God, starting with applying for a mission trip to France. Over the past year, I’ve done what I used to be too scared to do. I’ve gone on every rollercoaster at Universal and as I flew up and down the sky, held back by a manmade metal bar, I screamed, “I’m alive!”[image error]

I published a book. I started this blog. I wandered alone in France and handed out Bibles to Muslims for a month. I got lost multiple times. I went ziplining for the first time (and loved it!). I went out with a great guy even though he made me more nervous then the rollercoasters did.

Why do I throw myself at life?

Because a year ago, I was faced with the jarring reality of my own mortality. I don’t know how many days I have left. I refuse to let fear or apathy steal these beautiful, fleeting moments. When something scares me, I push myself toward it, unwilling to let fear call the shots ever again.

Every day I want to keep chasing life.

A year ago, I cried out to God for more time. Now I pray, “God,  I don’t want to waste another day. Let me boldly and fully live in every moment until my last. Whatever you want, Lord, let’s do it.”

God Alone

Words come to me—words like just breathe and fire within.

With dark streaks of ink, I sometimes write these words on the inside of my wrist. The reminder stays with me as I push through the day. When night comes, the ink fades, leaving the promises engraved on my heart.

On the first Friday of my Senior year, two words came to me. I found them, despite the chaos and distraction crowding my thoughts. I gently inked them on the inside of my wrist.

God alone.

I moved the black pen from my skin to the soft worn pages of my Bible. In a margin, I wrote out “My heart belongs to God alone.” I absentmindedly turned to the back pages of my Bible. Years of written notes and quotes covered the formerly blank pages.

My eyes caught on a verse I’d copied onto the top of a page. I read the words once, twice, then again. Months, maybe even a full year ago, I had written out the first half of Psalm 62:5, which says, “My soul, wait silently for God alone.”

Have you ever had that sudden chill that sweeps over you? Or felt spiritual goosebumps when an unbelievable God-coincidence happens? I had chills in that moment. I turned the page and read words I had written months before: “He wants my heart.”

I closed my Bible and leaned back. On my wrist clung the promise of a God who had been calling out to me for months, waiting for me to focus on Him alone.

As my last Fall semester comes at me full force, I want to trust my heart to God and remind my soul to wait silently for God alone. Although I often lose my way and forget what matters, God gives me words. He gives me promises and teaches me to write them on my soul.

Why? Because my heart belongs to Him alone.

 

Good Morning, God

“Good morning, God!” A dozen 2-year-olds shouted every Sunday.

For two years, I worked in the nursery with Mrs. Brown. At the beginning of her devotional time, she would start out with that phrase “Good morning, God!”

Such a simple but beautiful thing—to wake up and direct your thoughts to God before the rush of the day takes over.

While reading through Psalms this week, I found these verses:

Give heed to the voice of my cry, My King and my God,

For to You I will pray.

My voice You shall hear in the morning, O Lord;

In the morning I will direct it to You,

And I will look up.

Psalm 5:2-3

I have to admit I’ve seen more sunsets than sunrises, but last semester I worked an early shift at work. When I would leave my room, the sky was dark and the campus was cold and empty.

But during the walk from breakfast to work, the sun would tip over the horizon, spilling golden light across the sky. The stars would fade, replaced by burning streaks of red and pink across the awakening sky.

And in those morning walks, I felt God near. In the quiet and stillness, while a thousands of college students still slept, the sunrise gently tugged my thoughts toward Heaven.

Cause me to hear Your lovingkindness in the morning,

For in You do I trust;

Cause me to know the way in which I should walk,

For I lift up my soul to You.

Psalm 143:8

To me, mornings are a beautiful reminder that with every day, God gives us a new beginning. Yesterday’s mistakes fade with the stars, and a new hope awakens with the sun. Lamentations 3:22-23 reminds us that the Lord’s mercy and compassion is new every morning.

This Friday, Chris Tomlin released the song Nobody Loves Me Like You. The song begins with these words:

Morning. . . I see you in the sunrise every morning

It’s like a picture that You’ve painted for me. A love letter in the sky.

Story. . . I could’ve had a really different story

But you came down from heaven to restore me

Forever saved me life.

Nobody loves me like you love me, Jesus. 

I see God in every sunrise, every sunset, every cloud swaying across the horizon. His love for me spreads from horizon to horizon. And it’s beautiful to be able to wake up, forgiven and loved, and whisper, “Good morning, God.”

Because He made this morning. He made me. And I would’ve had a very different story if He didn’t choose to redeem my soul.

He truly loves us like no one else ever could. That’s what makes every sunrise majestic: the daily reminder that His sacrifice gave us a new chance at life.

So, this Sunday morning, before life turns crazy again, take a moment to look up at the sunlight streaming across the sky, and whisper, “Good morning, God.”

Flying Solo

During the last three years, I’ve flown alone dozens of times.

I love it–walking alone in a crowd of exhausted strangers, sitting by the big windows overlooking the tarmac, watching the world from an airplane window.

Fun fact: tarmac apparently is the commonly used but incorrect term for the “airport apron,” a.k.a the plane parking lot. I don’t think I could ever keep a straight face while calling it an apron though. So tarmac it is. 

I’ve been a “frequent flyer” since I was a baby. Literally. Isn’t it a fun to think of the world as our playground, even when we were too young to talk. Back then, my mom said I didn’t like cuddling. I wanted to be turned around so I could stare out at the world.

During Florida hurricane weather, I would wail until my parents opened the door and stood in the doorway. Then I’d gaze out at the torrential downpour and my tears would quiet.

Now when it rains, I still rush to the window and press my hand against the cool glass. The song of the rain still calms me. And 21 years later, I’m still traveling, my stamp-laden passport in hand–desperately staring out into the world.

And doing it my way. Flying solo as far as I can go. Why? Eleutheromania. 

Eleutheromania means the desperate desire for freedom.

Freedom has always been a core desire of mine. It’s something that I crave. The freedom to get up and go at any moment. The freedom to chase my dreams and yank them down into reality. The freedom to write when inspiration strikes.

Today I flew from Albuquerque, NM to Pensacola, Fl. At least, that was the plan. Currently I’m typing away from the Atlanta, Georgia airport.

Delays in NM and weather in Atlanta is slowing down the traffic flow in the “world’s busiest airport.” But because my flight was delayed an hour, when I pushed down my window and looked out at the world, pink clouds surrounded our plane.

I was flying through the sunset. 

What a view. . . to see the sun set the sky afire–while you soar by in, trapped in a burst of pink clouds and blue horizon.

Out of all the times I’ve stared out of an airplane window, I think this was the best.

In a way, every life is a sunset. A brilliant flash of color and brilliance that bursts across the sky and captures the attention of the world. And you have to stop and stare, because by the time you look away, the color has seeped from the sky and the light has cracked, and darkness swiftly descends.

But those few seconds. . . that sunset life is a beautiful miracle.

 

Chewing Lemon-Mint Leaves

On the ground, the vibrant green leaves blend in with the assortment of carefully watered plants.

Under the fading New Mexican sun, Aunt Mary K held out a tiny leaf with jagged edges. “Rub your fingers on it and smell it,” she said.

The velvety green leaf was saturated with the rich scent of lemon-mint. I chewed it, remembering the mint leaves floating in the steaming sugary tea that we used to drink every time we ate at the La Fontaine, a Tunisian restaurant.

Isn’t it beautiful how the same leaves and flowers grow around the world? The same ocean flings shells onto foreign shores. The sky wraps around us all, holding us to this green planet we call home.

And here I stand, my last full day in New Mexico, watching sunlight cast shadows across the cracked dirt and tufts of scraggly grass.

Where does the wind come from? It’s here one moment, gone the next. When it comes, it comes with fury and strength, plowing through the bendy trees, jostling the rows of green leaves up and down. The blades of grass swing from side to side, held in place only by the wind.

To my left, I glimpsed what looked like orange flowers with thin stems. But with a step closer, I realized they were scraps of burnt-orange leaves strung up in a spiderweb. The spider was gone, probably busy roaming around the weeds by my feet–in search of more helpless orange leaves.

Aunt Mary K and I trekked across the yard toward the house. My tan moccasins pressed deeply into the spongy grass. Once in the kitchen, Aunt Mary K filled two ziplocks with marigold and zinnia seeds. She pressed them down. The seeds were from the flower beds in front of the house.

Two months ago, I was in this kitchen when she first received her own zinnia seeds. Now the seeds of those seeds will plant new flowers in my mom’s backyard in Peru.

“It always amazes me to look at the little, wrinkled brown seeds and think of the rainbows in ’em,” said Captain Jim. “When I ponder on them seeds I don’t find it nowise hard to believe that we’ve got souls that’ll live in other worlds. You couldn’t hardly believe there was life in them tiny things, some no bigger than grains of dust, let alone colour and scent, if you hadn’t seen the miracle, could you?”

Anne’s House of Dreams (L. M. Montgomery)