Monthly Archives: March 2019

Thoughts on Transformation

Posted in Faith life by

As a Christian, the idea of transformation is a big thing. I’m involved in lots of conversations and studies about the concept. I hear sermons with this theme at their core many times a year. And I sing songs with lyrics describing the transforming process in many a worship gathering.

Christian transformation, as I understand it, is placing all aspects of your life before God—broken piece by broken piece—and fixing your attention on Him so that, through grace, He will bring out the best in you, revealing more and more of your true self, as God created you to be. (This is a very loose paraphrase of The Message translation of what Paul writes in Romans 12:1-2 mixed with what I’ve learned over the years.)

The concept of changing into a better, fuller, or more authentic version of who I am made to be should seem wonderful. If we believe God is good, He has created all human beings in His image, and we all have a divine purpose for being on this earth, who wouldn’t want to do whatever is necessary to bring about transformation so we can be more our true selves?

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Think of butterflies, probably the most common metaphor for transformation. First you’re crawling through life, just hoping someone’s sneaker doesn’t come down you or a bird doesn’t carry you away. Then you go through an amazing transformation and you’re a beautiful, winged creature flitting through the air, alighting on flowers and drinking nectar. (Maybe you’ve seen Disney’s A Bug’s Life and Heimlich’s long-desired metamorphosis.) Shouldn’t we all want to become the butterfly?

But there are some realities of the human transformation process that I really struggle with. Our friendly caterpillar curls up in a chrysalis for its transformation. Life for the creature essentially stops while the changes occur—it doesn’t have to go about its usual activities at the same time. Its sole focus is transforming. And any pain experienced, any ugly stages that happen along the way are out of view of the world.

Unlike the caterpillar, our transformation has to occur in the context of our regular, everyday lives. At the very least, transformation can be awkward, as we adapt to new realizations about ourselves. At the worst, it can be incredibly painful and confusing, as parts of ourselves are stripped away like so many masks, revealing tender places and scars. During that process, we still have to go to the grocery store, get kids on a school bus, function in a job, and relate to family and friends.

It also isn’t a fast process. The average time for a butterfly’s metamorphosis from crawler to flyer is 7 to 14 days. Seems short to us, but some species live only 10 weeks, so that time of transformation is a significant chunk. Likewise, our transformation takes many, many years—in fact, the transformation process doesn’t ever really stop. If we allow it, God is constantly growing and changing us, revealing more of our real selves, revealing more of Himself in us.

Online recently, I stumbled upon a video of a conservator carefully cleaning and restoring a painting, which serves as another good metaphor for the transformation that God brings about. The conservator, with a little cotton swab, gently rubbed the painting, removing decades of dirt, to reveal bright paint colors. He performed this cleaning inch by inch. And once the painting was clean, he repaired tears and other flaws in the canvas and retouched the paint, so the masterpiece could be enjoyed for many more decades. It was a painstaking process, but the painting’s owner and the conservator thought it was worth the effort, no matter how long it took.

On the one hand, the concept of thorough, even continuous, transformation can bring joy and delight—ever growing, ever improving, ever becoming closer to our true self. On the other hand, given that transformation isn’t easy, the idea can also be paralyzing. I’m not sure I really want to start or allow that process.

I would much rather transformation be like the car wash. You pay the attendant, drive in, and emerge with an entire vehicle that’s shiny and clean on the outside. All the grime is washed away in a minute and a half while you sit safely and comfortably inside, watching the suds and brushes do their magic. But, alas, there is no substitute for time and surrender and hard spiritual, emotional, and even physical work.

I read this quote the other day: “For real change to occur, you will always need awareness, dedication, and perseverance. If you are really interested in these things, life will change in meaningful ways.” (Riso & Hudson, Understanding the Enneagram: The Practical Guide to Personality Types, p. 330). I guess that’s the question: Am I really interested in becoming aware of what needs to be transformed, being dedicated to the process of transformation, and persevering through any discomfort that comes with it?

I’m angry at God and I’m not gonna sugar coat it

Posted in Faith life, Living with Metastatic Breast Cancer by

For months, I’ve said I would love to go away by myself to have time to think and write and read and pray without anything distracting me. Some time for me, and time for God to wrestle with some “stuff” I don’t usually want to wrestle with. This weekend, due to a change in a friend’s travel plans, I got that time. Found myself with an Airbnb rental I couldn’t get a last-minute refund on and thought, why not use it for a personal get-away? So, here I’ve been the past two days in a cozy little rowhouse in a lively neighborhood of Pittsburgh, just a couple blocks from the Allegheny Cemetery.

Earlier this week, during a church gathering, I realized that I am struggling with doubt and questioning so much of what I believe about God. And in this season of living with cancer—and all that’s wrapped up in that reality—I am angry. Angry at God. REALLY angry.

I went for a long walk through the cemetery to enjoy this clear, breezy, spring day. I set out planning to chat with God as I walked. I tried to pray the “right” things. To invite God into my heart, to reveal thoughts and feelings that are destructive or counter to growth in this season of my life. To help me feel stronger in my faith. I even took out my earbuds so I could listen for God.

After walking awhile among the tombstones and monuments, I passed a stone bench near a large tree, right in the middle of things. I felt a strong voice in my head say, “Stop,” but I didn’t want to stop walking. I turned the corner and kept going. “STOP!” Fine… I turned around and sat on the bench. I started to pray but all that filled my brain were angry words. Not fair! What kind of God…? Why not heal my cancer? Why not cure cancer for everyone? How is it OK that I might die young and leave my family? I want to believe, but none of this makes any sense. Prayer doesn’t seem to fix it. Do miracles even happen anymore? Where are they? Where’s mine?!? If you’re able to create whole planets and new animal species and calm storms, how hard can it be to just remove the cancer cells from my body? People say there’s a purpose in suffering—but why does that have to be part of the story????

In my mind’s eye, I shook my fists and kicked my feet at God. I wanted to literally scream at the top of my lungs in anger and frustration and sadness—but being in the middle of a public cemetery with others around, I thought that would be a bad idea—so I screamed in my mind while I imagined beating my fists at anything and everything nearby. As I did, I heard the words, “There it is.” And I envisioned a child thrashing about while her father held her close, taking the hits of her small fist on his chest. I’m not going to say there was comfort in that image. Truth, perhaps. But not comfort. I still feel very far away from God. Or maybe, more honestly, I still want to keep my distance from God—to keep him at arm’s length or on the other side of my emotional fence line.

And I realized on that walk that I’m tired. My heart is profoundly tired from carrying feelings of grief, uncertainty, fear, and more grief related to my disease. My spirit is tired from grappling with these doubts about God and anger at him—and the guilt that comes from the doubt and the anger. I don’t know quite what to do with those feelings or how to get past them or how long it might take if I do. Or if I even want to put in the work right now to do so. So what does that make me? Lazy in my faith? Weak? Willfully disobedient? More guilt….

This morning in the quiet of this little house, I looked back through my past blog posts. Most have ended with a promise remembered, hope restored, questions I’ve found some answers to, or thoughtful questions to ponder further that may lead to greater understanding and growth.

I wasn’t going to write this post. And if I write it, do I publish it????? (if you’re reading it, I guess I decided yes). Because I have no answers. I don’t even have what I think are the right questions. I’m still as angry as I was a couple hours ago. Nothing is resolved. There’s no neat, little bow on this package. And how do I post something like this and then go to church Sunday and sing about God’s grace and hear a sermon about praying God’s will be done when at this moment I don’t really like what that will appears to be for me?

One could say that I have greater awareness of my state of heart, that I’ve opened up and been honest about how I feel, and that’s a good start. Maybe it is. I don’t know. I’m not willing to say I don’t believe at all—the fact that I felt God speaking to me in my mental temper tantrum is evidence that some part of my heart is still connecting with my Creator. There’s just so much that doesn’t seem to make sense—or that doesn’t seem to align with who I thought God was… or, more accurately, who I want him to be… or what I thought my life was supposed to be in Him. (Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!)

Wear the tiara, and other things I learned on my 49th birthday

Posted in General life reflections, Uncategorized by

Last month, I threw a birthday bash for my 49th birthday—“49 and Fine.” I wanted an opportunity to celebrate my life while I’m feeling really good. It’s possible I’ll continue to feel good for years to come, but there’s no crystal ball with cancer (or, heck with any of life, really), so I decided to do it now, rather than wait for next year’s five-decade milestone.

Having my local friends attend would have been party enough, but I decided to put out the invite to family and friends afar also. And, by golly, most of them were able to come! That night, I was surrounded by many of the people who love me most (despite also being the people who know me best, warts and all). And I learned a few things from that party that are worth remembering.

Wear the tiara. Normally, I don’t love being in the spotlight. But for this event, I wanted to be the belle of the ball. So, I purchased a tiara—which I wore for the whole evening. It was fun to feel like a princess, to realize that all of the fuss was for me. Rather than feeling self-conscious about being the center of attention, I ate it up, and it fueled a deep joy. To be the focus of so much love and care….

People want something to celebrate. Sometimes when I throw an event, I wonder if people are coming out of obligation. For this event, in particular, that was a distinct possibility. Maybe some were there out of a sense of “I should go—who knows if this will be her last party?” That’s fair. I’d be lying if the thought never crossed my mind. And who throws a big 49th birthday party anyway?? Regardless of anyone’s initial motivation, though, folks seemed genuinely happy to be there. And I realized, most people like to have something, or someone, to celebrate—to join in a group that collectively says, “This is a good thing! Let’s eat, drink, and be merry.”

Grown-ups like to play. We had a couple games and silly dances at the party, because, well, it was my party, and I thought that would be a good time. Turns out, Cyndi Lauper was right: “Girls just want to have fun.” (And boys, too). Adults don’t get a lot of opportunities to play, explore, build, goof off, and generally let loose. But try giving them a box of spaghetti and bag of mini marshmallows and telling them to build a castle—and that there’s a prize for the best one. You’ll see all sorts of creativity and shenanigans.

Laughter is the best medicine. Cliché, but true. Being in long-term cancer treatment can get really old. You’ve got appointments to keep up with, tests, medicines, side effects, fear constantly looming. It’s sometimes hard to imagine ever being carefree again. It had been a long time since I laughed as much and as hard as I did at my party. And it felt really good. For the whole party weekend, I almost forgot my lot.

Life can be full of mini milestones. Social convention tells us that really big parties are saved for births, weddings, graduations, new homes, promotions, and “special” birthdays. But there are lots of other little moments in every day that can bring joy, love, and appreciation. Why not celebrate those moments in some notable way? OK, maybe not with a rented hall, disco ball, and open bar…. Instead, how about laugh with a friend, raise a glass, send a thank you note, utter a prayer of gratitude, or record the moment in a journal (or a blog)?

I don’t know what my next birthday will bring. In the meantime, I’ll try to be more mindful of things to celebrate and opportunities to play and laugh. And I might just drag out the tiara and wear it to the grocery store some Tuesday evening, for the sheer fun of it!