Sunday, May 6, was a big day. For me, it was a mile-marker in the Year of Dreams. The Pediatric Cancer Foundation holds an annual race in Irvine to raise money for pediatric cancer research. I have been training to do the 10K without passing out since February. And on Sunday, I did just that.
Unable to sleep, I was up at about 5AM getting dressed for the race. Adrenaline and excitement fueled me through the start line but, a little more than halfway through the run, things got more difficult.
There I was, aching all over, out of energy and the finish line seemed like forever away. Then, out of nowhere, a thought popped into my head:
"Kind of like last year, huh?"
And the symbolism of the race hit me and I actually began to cry a little...
About 4 years ago, a tough set of complex circumstances left me without a place to live. I went to stay for a week at the home of some close family friends, Mike and Erin, and ended up staying for about two and a half years.
When I moved in, I unknowingly had a bullet-proof shell around my heart. Outside of immediate family, I did not truly love or trust anyone. For me, love and trust was not safe and, honestly, I'm not sure I knew how to do it properly. So, moving in with these people I admired was scary. What if they decided they really didn't like me after knowing me? What if I'm too much? What if I make their life bad? What if What if What if?
Although they had never given me any reason to doubt, the fact that they were adult people who I had loved as much as I could at the time and people who I felt like might want to leave when I was too much, I kept myself pretty guarded for quite a long time. Aren't feelings just the greatest?
However, there was another in the household. He was 2 and a half at the time and the funniest kid you ever met. I had watched him grow and seen him weekly since he was born, but this was different. We were neighbors now (his room was next to mine). It took next to no time for me to truly love Cade. He always was a special kid. He would get jokes way beyond him, he would engage adults in conversations, and had this very matter-of-fact, sure-of-himself way of looking at the world. We laughed at the same things, had a lot of the same interests and genuinely had a lot of fun. The Kid had melted his way through the bullet proof glass and given me a soft-spot in my heart. In a weird way, this kid who was too young to even go to school taught me how to love.
Circa 2008
Here he was, not only a kid (where as kids don't normally judge, reject or expect you to be anything in particular), but an amazing and unique kid who was actually fun to hang around with. Who could be safer to love than that?
Fast forward 3 years. Through their love and dedication, I left Mike and Erin's house a different person then when I came in. It was more complex and took a little longer than with Cade, but I loved trusted them (still do) as friends, mentors, and second parents (or as I like to call it- Frentarents).
My stubborn heart had new occupants. As it's landlord, my brain had done everything in its power to check and double-check that the occupants were safe. Jesus was there, too. And as Mr. Beaver says about Aslan in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe : "Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."
Through the next year, I would learn first-hand just what Mr. Beaver was talking about.
The day after I got to hold Lucy, Cade's little sister, for the first time, (who, by the way, gained automatic heart-occupancy), I got a call from Erin saying that something was seriously wrong with Cade and that they think there might be a lesion on his brain. After getting off of the phone, I laid up in my squeaky loft bed and cried for the first time in 10 years. Throughout the next month, a tumor would be discovered, two intense brain surgeries would be performed, and a stroke would occur leading to temporary paralysis. A constant stream of words like "life in peril, risky, dangerous, unknown" all describing Cade and the family's situation was terrifying. It was the most painful thing I had experienced to date.
While Mike and Erin were dealing with everything in prayer and in God- making their pain matter- even going as far as encouraging countless others in proclaiming that "God is Good All the Time" during the most difficult time in their lives, I was not handling it in the same way.
I was not being helpful to anyone and was taking my pain and laying in it. Swimming in it. Drowning in it. Trying to run and escape from it. I was raging at God. I felt tricked. I spent years building the wall around my heart. Growing up I had loved so many that went away or ended up being a source of pain. The wall, the bullet proof glass was supposed to protect me from that. I spent a long time in "This wasn't supposed to happen! He was safe! They were safe! Why would You to this to them? To him? To me?"
Then whispers of the enemy: He's just showing you that you aren't supposed to love. He's just showing you that you aren't worth that.
And I almost believed it. For many months, I did not make my pain matter. I tried to run from it. To escape. I almost let it go to waste and almost let myself waste away with it.
A little over a year and hundreds of freedoms later, I see things differently. While all of that still hurt and there are sometimes twinges of residual pain, I am able to clearly see that God is in the business of making ugly things beautiful. I am able to see how many people are being reached by Cade's story. How much good is being done with something that seemed so bad. In myself, I am seeing broken walls in my heart. Walls that I thought were protecting it, but were really holding it captive. Love is able to pour in and flow out like it never was before.
And on Sunday, wearing a Team Cade T-shirt, I ran a 10K for Cade. Like last year, each step was work. And, interestingly enough, like last year, I got a little lost, zig-zagged and added an extra loop to the race, making it 1.2 miles longer than it should have been.
Yeah, those lines are supposed to be straight.
But it was worth it. Each exhausted and aching step mattered, taking me closer to the finish line. When I finally got there, there were several people there cheering. Fellow Team Cade runners, the Frentarents and, best of all, Cade.
At 3, the kid taught me how to love. At 6, he taught me how to hope. Fingers crossed for flying lessons at 9.
I have learned that if we allow God to use our pain and painful situations, He will use it to free and shape us and to show others His goodness. Life is full of difficulties, so pain is inevitable. We can waste it and wallow or we can allow God to Make it Matter.
Good luck and Godspeed as you learn to Make it Matter this May!
GREAT!
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