standing in the gap

"i'm standing in the gap with you."  those were the words of my friend missy.  she may not remember, but she wrote those very words to me last year when i was going through cancer.  and now, just today,  she again sent that same message to me as a few of us are trying to help another family deal with newly diagnosed cancer.  but this time for a child.  yes, a child, a ten year old girl named bailey.  a sweet 4th grader just diagnosed with bone cancer.  they went to the doctor's last week to address what they thought might be a sport's injury and came away with cancer. cancer. 


bailey's mom, tiffany, and i did bible study together for a few years.  bailey and her brother attend the same school as our children.  we see this family of six at our church every sunday and are also connected with them in our community of adoption.  they adopted their fourth child from ethiopia and are waiting for a fifth child -- a little girl from china.  the connections are many.  and now this...this cancer.  oh how my heart breaks tonight to pound out these words to those of you who read.  but i desperately do so to ask for your prayers. would you take some time and pray for bailey? i am certain our heavenly Father hears. He is listening to the begging and pleading words of many.  just as my friend, missy, wrote to me earlier that she is standing in the gap, i am asking those of you willing to intercede on behalf of bailey -- pray now.  stand with us in this gap filled with fear and grief and utter bewilderment.


tiffany and i have traded some emails back and forth since this awful news.  we've decided there is no comparison.  i'd much rather take on cancer myself than know one of my children has been diagnosed...and she responded, but the fear of leaving children motherless is almost as bad.  who knows.  there is absolutely no comparing.  it is all hard.  hard. awful. gut-wrenching, bone-breaking, heart-shattering hard.  and unfortunately, our community here in atlanta and at our church seems to know these scenarios well lately.  so many of us are walking around shaking our heads and asking, "what in the world is going on?"


just last friday, friends spent the day fasting and praying for another loved one, laura.  a mother of two boys, who after a breast cancer diagnosis in 2009, has been battling once again.  a year ago the cancer came back -- violent and with a vengeance.  it has moved through her body and is now in her central nervous system.  laura and her family are faced with the hard decisions of treatment or quality of life.  there seem to be few good medical options for her raging cancer.  she has two boys and a husband who love her.  why Lord?


and then there's our friend tom.  tom has been battling cancer for 15 years.  this man seriously defies all medical logic.  considering how sick he's been and how far gone the cancer is, he shouldn't still be here battling....but he is.  God has continued, time after time, to spare his life.  tom has had so many different types of treatment and so many surgeries, he and his wife, amy, say they've lost count.  tom's daughter is in high school and his son, nate, will graduate 8th grade with our son this may.  


another family we are close to has also been blindsided by cancer this month.  headaches and slight cognitive issues turned into a brain tumor and surgery.  surgery showed malignant cancer in the brain -- stage four.  greg is the father of david and anna.  he and his wife, jennifer, were thinking about the idea of adoption a few months ago, not brain cancer.  oh friends...how we weep with the heartache and heaviness of it all.  it seems too much.

i first saw the grand canyon at age 14. that trip created a lot of memories as my parents, siblings, and i traveled by van from ohio to arizona one winter break.  add to that my grandparents came along for the adventure.  and because our van did not have enough seats, my dad strapped down aluminum lawn chairs for grandma and grandpa. my three siblings and i were left to roll around the back of our gray van from ohio to arizona.  all 8 of us traveling out west, day after day.  (i read a lot of nancy drew that trip).  and though i don't remember everything about the vacation, i do vividly remember standing before the grand canyon (finally!) and staring out over it breathless.  when you are 14 and cool, not a lot takes your breath away, but the grand canyon hit me hard.  i wasn't prepared for how massive it was.  it seemed we'd landed on another planet.  this vastness couldn't possibly be part of the same united states which held my elementary school and softball field and favorite ice cream store.  it was completely foreign -- belonging elsewhere, not before my small and somewhat sheltered eyes.  if you've ever seen it, you know of what i write.  it is almost too much, too great, too grand.

"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall 

and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land..." ~ ezekiel 22:30 

and so my friend writes a note, pledging to stand in this gap -- this incredibly large canyon of pain.  and i think to myself, but the gap is so great.  it is so vast. so big. so beyond me.  i look at that gap and feel myself lost in its enormity.  but that is exactly what God asks of those who follow Him.  He asks us to stand in the gap for each other.  He asks us to be the bridge in times of trouble.  simon and garfunkel may have written about the bridge over troubled waters, but it wasn't their idea first,  it's actually biblical. it is what we are supposed to be doing for each other in times of need.  more so, it is what Christ does for us.  when He died on the cross, He laid down His life.  He bridged the gap. in fact, He closed the canyon.  He stood with us and for us and because of us.


standing in the gap means bringing pans of lasagna and bags of groceries. it means picking up the younger siblings and dropping off the dry cleaning.  it means cutting the lawn and carpooling the kids.  it means holding hands and giving hugs and, at times,  weeping in each other's arms.  it means praying.  praying. praying. it means going before the Father and interceding on behalf of someone unable.  i can tell you from experience, there are times in our lives when we are absolutely unable.  when cancer first gripped our family less than year ago, i was paralyzed -- almost unable to go before God on my own.  for a time i was speechless, thoughtless, frozen, numb.  i couldn't hardly line up my words to resemble anything close to a prayer.  and that was when i felt the prayers of so many going out on my behalf.  a chorus of words i couldn't recite -- not from my own lips but from those around me interceding for me. begging God's mercy on behalf of me, my husband, my children.


not one of us knows when we will need others to stand in the gap.  i was always the one eager to stand there for someone else...never thought i'd be the recipient.  never really considered i'd someday be the one in need.  we never think it will be us. i know that is what tiffany and her family are going through right now in these first weeks of diagnosis -- wondering when they will wake from this nightmare. and so i am writing tonight to share a little piece of her family's new story and ask for those of you who feel compelled, to pray for little bailey's healing.  the gap is great...but our God is much greater.


one last thing i feel compelled to share tonight...
all of these friends and families i've mentioned above, well, they share something more than the horrible "c" word.  each one of them has continuously and consistently pointed to Christ. in all of this pain and grief and horror, they have faithfully continued to glorify God and trust His sovereignty.  i wish you could read the words of their caring bridges and blogs and posts. each story is different, but they share the same thread of knowing God is in control, He is on their side, and He has not failed nor forsaken them -- not even in this thing called cancer.   


so friends, might you consider praying for bailey and laura and greg and tom tonight?  would you stand in the gap?

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

struggle

the morning began like any other day when all seven of us have to be out the door early and somewhere on time -- utter craziness.  it was the last day of school before christmas break which meant there were extra things to remember like cookies and christmas pencils and teacher gifts.  bella spilled her ensure drink, connor didn't like his christmas sweater at the last minute, and tyler forgot to make himself a lunch.  high school girl stood there tapping her foot, watching her crazy family and waiting for her ride.  finally, all seven of us ran out of the house leaving lights on and cabinet doors open.  i ran back inside to put the milk away and to look for my keys.  and then, again,  one more time,  to  grab bella's bag for the babysitter. off we all rushed--7 people, 2 cars and a whole lot of christmas chaos billowing out behind us.  i drove away from the house asking myself, "why does getting out the door have to be such a struggle?"

rick was signed up to go christmas caroling with the 3rd graders and i was heading downtown with the 8th grade to a women and children's shelter.  my 6th grader was taking christmas gifts and care packages to the workers at DFCS. our school is like that.  instead of big, hectic holiday parties, the school schedules service projects for the children on this final day before break.  instead of sitting in their classrooms and playing christmas bingo and eating peppermint bark bites, the kids pack up christmas and take it to someone else. and i'm so glad.  every time i get to be a part of a day like this, i drive home thinking someone sure did get it right.  long ago, someone at perimeter school decided our students could forego the cupcakes and coloring sheets and instead do something for someone else.  not that i'm against parties, mind you. anyone who knows me, knows i plan a fair share of them and happen to like the party thing very much -- but when it comes to these kinds of days, i am just so thankful we are encouraged to turn from our own wishes and see someone else's want.

except that as i raced from the babysitter to the school building, i was feeling kind of frazzled and rather selfish. i mean, i knew from experience this day would be as good for me as it would be for the students, but my to do list was too long.  i could easily think of 87 other things i could be doing with my last free morning.  starting tomorrow, the kids would be right in the middle of my stuff still to do.  and as much as i like having them home, a lot less gets accomplished when they are all underfoot.  so there i was driving wildly, and somewhat reluctantly,  to the school, all the while praying for a changed attitude.  i glanced guiltily at the big box of christmas cards i had thrown in the front seat (just in case i had some down time).

we weren't in the women and children's shelter 10 minutes before i met trinity and christian.  trinity, age one, was blond and blue eyed and a big old mess:  runny nose, sick eyes and fussy, fussy, fussy.  she didn't want to leave the arms of the care giver, but finally settled down on my lap and then it was clear all she really wanted was to snuggle.  i wanted to eat her right on up.   even sick, she was incredibly cute.  but there was this little boy with his eye on her.  i noticed immediately he was watching us.  he'd read a book or play a game with one of the 8th graders, but then he'd stop and look around until his eyes found us.  trinity was his little sister and christian had been taking care of her for most of her life.  christian was six years old.   later in the morning the director told us how christian cares for his sister. "he doesn't eat until she eats.  he doesn't sleep until she sleeps.  he feeds her her bottle, rocks her to sleep...he is always aware of where she is."  christian and trinity's mom is a drug addict.  she is homeless and hurting,  and as the director explained to me, "completely oblivious to the needs of her kids."  they've been in the shelter a few weeks, but christian is still struggling with how to let others help care for his sister.  did i mention he is six?

standing at the playground later that day, the director, latonya, said to me, "our kids don't know church or God.  they don't know christmas.  heck, they don't even know what it means to be children.  all they know is struggle.  that's it...just struggle." there was that word, "struggle."  my eyes began to well up.  shame crept hot across my cheeks.  i had just used that word a few hours earlier to describe our morning exit from the house.  struggle.  what did i know about struggle?  nothing, that's what.  six year old christian who has been caring for his baby sister while his mom shoots up drugs and drags them from place to place because they are homeless...christian knows struggle.  and his baby sister will know it soon enough.

while taking a short tour of the mission, i met up with some more struggle.  as the students and i walked through the shelter's sleeping quarters i saw struggle, plain as day.  bunk beds lined up with toddler shoes below.  black garbage bags holding belongings and tired suitcases held together with rope.  bed after bed after bed.  a few meager items...a ragged stuffed animal, a child's sweater, a coloring page taped to the wall.  i held back from the group for a few minutes, sure it would embarrass my teenage son to have his mom begin sobbing in front of his classmates.  it was all i could do to hold it together and continue walking.  tonight as i type, i sit in my freshly painted bedroom, a cozy fire blazing nearby and a hot cup of tea within arm's reach. my children sleep softly down the hall in warm beds with matching comforters and clean sheets.  and i just want to weep for it all.   what would it feel like to be a woman with a few children and no place to go but the bleak barracks of this shelter.  how does this happen?  why can't we stop it?  what can we possibly do?

i learned in conversation, this shelter cares for over 300 women and children.  it turns no woman or child away.  not ever.  latonya explained one of the hardest things is the teens.  one of the greatest needs they have right now is providing christmas for the teens living in their housing.  "no one thinks of the teens," she said.  these kids just want to be normal.  to fit in.  she described how embarrassed they were about their situation.  what teen wants to admit his family is homeless?  teens don't want to admit they have families, let alone they have a homeless family.  i had honestly never thought about that before.  i mean we all know homelessness is a terrible thing, a tragedy, but i hadn't ever thought about it from the perspective of the child or teen.  the teen who continues to attend school but laughs at the thought of homework.  "what a joke," he must think.  "what home?"  i have a couple of my own teens and even these two well adjusted kids just want to fit in...to blend.   the program which houses these families is called "my sister's house."  the director named it that years ago in order to save these hurting kids from further embarrassment.  when asked where they lived, they could simply and safely answer, "my sister's house."

the truth is, i could write on and on and on about our hours at the atlanta mission and my sister's house.  i could write more about what i learned.  what i saw.  what it touched deep inside me.  i am overwhelmed tonight as i pound out my day and my thoughts on this keyboard.  i've been around enough of these projects and in enough of these situations to know this is how life is lived for some. but i'll never be numb to it. i pray i'll never be numb to it.  their struggle, not mine, but theirs.

so what can we do?  well, God certainly does work in funny ways.  so, the women in my bible study having been planning a party - yes, a party - for this sunday night.  we have called it "cookies, cocoa and coats" and have been busy inviting as many people as we can.  we are asking families to stop over at our house sunday night for christmas cookies and cocoa and we've suggested they bring a new or used coat to donate to someone in need.  in the past week or so, my friend, kelly and i have been talking about where in the world we were going to take these (hopefully) 200+ coats (gloves, hats and scarves too!) we hadn't settled completely on a plan --  until today.  i had never even connected the dots about going to the mission today and having the coat collection on sunday -- but it is perfect,  because that is the kind of God we serve.  standing in the sunshine this afternoon, i mentioned it to latonya and asked if she could use 200 coats.  i wish you could have seen her expression.  "oh yes, oh, yes. yes. yes!" she said, "bring em on...we could more than use them, girl!" she exclaimed.

it's not much. well actually until sunday night, i am not sure what it is.  but even if we get 200 coats or 2000 coats, christian and trinity's mom will still be a drug addict and people will still fall asleep in the barracks worn out and exhausted from hard living.  struggle will still be evident in the eyes of these women and in the need of their children.  we can't fix it all over night.  i applaud those who work each day trying.  i am inspired by those who do what they can.  roosevelt said, "do what you can, with what you have, where you are."  what if we really lived like that?  what if we really did? what if?  so many times we see problems -- like homelessness and orphans and poverty -- which are so big we become paralyzed and do nothing.  but what if we all just did something small.  just something.  what if?

"if you can't feed a hundred people, feed just one."  ~ mother teresa