The sun is so hot; it seems to have rolled closer than it should. Despite the calendar, this Indian summer struts through December like a proud rooster. Sun-lit, the day pulls sweat from my brow though the air is cold. Having sat exposed too long, I retreat to a dappled lawn, a place where sun dances through naked branches, a calico place where warmth and chill embrace. Being there, it seems like creation itself has taken a break from the anxious longings of Romans 8:19.
Sitting here beneath my hat, I absorb the heat. But, I'm careful now to cover my face from the sun. A bandage has gone, but a neat line remains where the surgeon removed my recent rebellion; the cells in my skin had betrayed me. "Carcinoma," the doctor proclaimed. "How would you like to proceed?"
As a Bethelite, I knew what to do about cancer. I prayed for healing. I declared and hoped and believed for its obliteration. I armed myself in faith against the disease. My friends and family joined me in the same. Yet, it all led to this focal moment, seated before a dermatologist of my own choosing. I was pressed for a decision, and I chose surgery.
As I signed the medical release form, I heard a whisper-no, it was more like a suggestion. It said I had failed God. It suggested that I was giving up on a miraculous solution. In that fleeting moment, I gave the enemy of my soul an ear. Doubt had slipped through my gate like a shadow.
The procedure itself was over quite quickly. The doctor was a real pro, leaving only a graffiti-like scar and a healthy fee. He excised the threat like someone removing a bad spot from a pear, the cold steel blade pressing into soft flesh. My choice brought what I expected: pain and scabbing, followed by the slow-healing closure to a very real problem. What I didn't expect was how this decision would trigger such a complex spiritual journey.
I know that God is good, so I know He didn't give me the cancer (Matt 7:7-11). This struggle between good and evil has a clear victor, and I see myself standing securely on the winning side with Jesus Christ. Still, I cannot deny that by opting for surgery, I forfeited the chance to see cancer bow in my own body. This time, I would not be among the courageous few who pray and contend and ultimately win their battle over cancer using supernatural weaponry. And it was this concession that my enemy exploited.
In the weeks between diagnosis and cure, I encountered a spectrum of emotions. When I first faced the prognosis, I bravely ignored the problem. Looking to friends for encouragement, I found that they were ignoring it, too. I hesitated to ask for prayer and saw that people were hesitating to pray for me as well. Feeling alone, I tried to keep myself busy rather than think about it, and when I looked around, I found myself surrounded by people too busy to notice. I experimented with my isolation like a scientist, and others cooperated by becoming invisible. Whatever action I sowed-whatever seed I planted-I reaped a harvest of the same. I watched as my actions consistently gave back in kind. Secrecy begat indifference, busyness begat isolation, and self-examination became self-absorption. In retrospect, it became so comical that I would have laughed aloud had I not been so discouraged. I prayed and pouted for weeks, steeping in my own private misery. Then something changed. I witnessed the universe slip. Let me explain.
It happened as I began writing this article. Remember the hot sun and naked branches? The dappled lawn? As I gazed from my folding chair and absorbed the bright day, I was caught off guard by creation's beauty. I gave way to thankfulness and the sky opened before me; it seemed so vast as to touch God's backyard. Above me was a flawless blue canvass. Hanging southeast by northwest, a puffy white jet stream slid along like a stratospheric swath of paint. The sky handled this delicate vapor like a tender child, allowing it to drift for hours unhindered in its crawl across the sky. Here on the ground, the breeze continued to excite the trees above me. The branches clicked and waved goodbye to the pillow-clouds of summer. I thought about how relieved I was to be without cancer once again. I considered how God must love this planet and these people, all of these, His inventions. I forgot myself and allowed the universe to slip, centering once again on the Maker. While I enjoyed the moment, a barf-colored Subaru rocked to a stop and disgorged a frumpy driver with a cigarette hanging from her lip. Without ceremony, she placed a bouquet on my lap and trundled off to her next destination.
As the car's exhaust smoke cleared, I studied my gift: orange and yellow flowers shouting, "We love you." Some friends at work had ordered the arrangement, but it came a week late. Pulling a card from the plastic pitchfork, I read aloud: "Get well soon". What a beautifully timed hug, I think to myself. Within minutes, my cell phone rang; it was a call from a friend checking in. A text vibrates my phone, then another. Some e-mails came later that day and a couple of cards, too. These gestures of affirmation had always been there, but I was unable to see them until now. I had been too busy occupying the center of my universe to notice.
Genuine love is hard to experience when you occupy God's place; He is better suited for that place. We can love God, our neighbors, and ourselves, but we can't do it from His chair. Rather, we perform best out of gratitude. Thankful heart stuff. Perhaps gratitude is that calico place where we can love ourselves and others as well.
It is natural to focus upon our own need. We work through our problems, praying and wondering when God will intervene. Our need for comfort and survival is visceral, even cellular. God would know that, wouldn't He? As our manufacturer, He wrote the manual on how we operate. This must be why He told us to love our neighbors as ourselves. We have an instinctive pattern to follow.
"What commandment is the foremost of all?" Jesus answered, "The foremost is, "Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is one Lord.' The second is this, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these." Mark 12:28-30 (NASB, emphasis mine).
The trick is keeping the universe centered upon God and not taking His place for ourselves. God makes things happen; He is the Creator. When we occupy His place, we make things happen, too. We will attract what we broadcast, even against our own intention. When we feel forgotten, we are forgettable. When we feel alone, we become lonely. Gratitude is what catches our eye and moves us to worship. The thankful heart is what makes the universe slip. If you're trapped in a lonely, self-absorbed world of your own creation, may I invite you outside? Find a peaceful spot and enjoy His creation. Let Him catch your eye. Come on out; it's a beautiful day!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Stephen De Silva is the Pastor of
Finances at Bethel Church in Redding, CA. He is fully invested in the
revival God is bringing today to the church and marketplace. He is
committed to equipping people in maintaining financial integrity
through insightful teaching that empowers revivalists in His Kingdom
economy.
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