Do You Trust Me? Part 4

“Melody! Michelle! It’s time to leave!” my mom’s chipper voice rang throughout the house. “Come on, you know your dad doesn’t like it when we’re late to church!”
I took one final look in the mirror before I bounded down the stairs. Melody was right behind me.
“Did you eat breakfast?” my mom asked. “I made those muffins you like yesterday, and there are still some left.”
“I already got one,” I said. My voice was monotone.
“Are you okay this morning, sweetie?” my mom asked. She smiled. “It’s beautiful outside.”
How can she be so happy? Doesn’t she know she’s dying? Doesn’t she know that she’s going to leave me to grow up without a mom?
Every day wasn’t always like this. Sometimes, I could go throughout my day as normal and only think about my mom’s cancer when I prayed for her. Other days were harder. Church days seemed the hardest. Everyone at church wanted to hug me, to tell me that everything was going to be fine, and to tell me that they were praying for me and that God was in control of this situation.
Sure, God’s in control. That’s easy for them to say.
We got into the car, and my mom started sharing with us what her Sunday School lesson was over. When she finished, she simply said, “Isn’t God amazing? I mean, no matter what I’m going through, the lesson always seems to be exactly what I need to hear.”
How does she have that much faith? I just didn’t get it. She had been to the same funerals that I had. She knew what this disease was capable of.
At church, I tried to avoid the right people – pretty much everyone forty and older, my family’s closest friends, and all of the church staff. My friends knew I didn’t like to talk about it, and they were pretty good distractions.
I was leaving the sanctuary when I heard a little voice behind me. “Hey Chelle!” I turned around to see Taylor Few, the seven-year-old grandson of Mrs. Carol, bounding down the stairs of the balcony. Taylor ran up and hugged me. “We’ve been praying for your family at dinner,” he told me. He looked proud of himself.
“Thanks, Tay,” I said. “We’re still keeping your family in our prayers too. How is everyone?”
“Papaw gets pretty sad sometimes. And I do too. But then I just think about how much fun she has to be having in heaven, you know?” Taylor was swinging on the railing of the stairs leading to the balcony. “She wasn’t having fun down here anymore, but I bet she’s happy now.”
I wanted his innocence. I wished I had faith like his. I just knew too many facts. I didn’t know how to reply to Taylor, so I was relieved when he opened his mouth again. “Do you think she’s watching me all the time?”
I laughed a little to prevent myself from crying. “I bet she is. And I think right now, she would probably want you to stop swinging on the railing so you don’t fall and hurt yourself.”
He smiled at me and placed both feet on the ground. “I bet you’re right.” He looked up and said, “Sorry, Nana.” With that, he took off running to his parents on the other side of the room. I saw Todd and Cindy start to walk towards me, so I waved at them and then walked out the door before they could get too close to start a conversation.
As soon as I walked out the door, I was greeted by two ladies I didn’t know. This wasn’t unusual. In a church the size of mine, it was easy for people to know me since my dad was on staff while I had no clue who they were. I tried to smile and walk on politely, but one of them grabbed me by the arm.
“You know, your mother is amazing,” she said. “Absolutely amazing,”
Just what I want to hear.
I smiled, weakly. “Thanks. I think so,” I said.
“She just has this joy in her that is so contagious. I feel better just being around her,” she went on.
The woman next to her nodded in agreement. “I know. I just think about how I would react if I had cancer. I would be bitter, angry, confused, and hurt. Your mom is just so poised and so positive. It’s really inspiring.”
Hmm. Bitter. Angry. Confused. Hurt. That sounds about right. That sounds pretty normal.
“Just tell her that we love her,” the first woman added. “And we’re praying for a speedy recovery.”
I thanked them for their kind words, and quickly ducked into my dad’s office. Safe at last.
My dad was sitting at his desk, shuffling some music around. “Hi, kiddo,” he greeted me when he looked up.
”Hey,” I said, slumping into one of the meeting chairs.
“How was your Sunday School class this morning?” he asked, putting down the papers he was looking over.
I shrugged. “Pretty good, I guess. We prayed for Mom.”
“Prayer is always a good thing,” my dad said. “You can never have too much of it. In fact, its times like these that can really bring us to our knees. I’ve prayed more for our family over the past few weeks than I have in my life. I’m just sad that it took your mom getting sick for me to start praying like I should have been all along.
Great. Not him too! Didn’t anyone understand why I was so scared?
My dad noticed my silence and said, “You’re not mad at God for this, are you?”
That was all I needed. “Of course I’m mad!” I admitted, folding my arms across my chest. “Why aren’t you?”
“I don’t see how being mad about this is going to help your mom get any better,” my dad said, reasonably. “The doctors think her cancer is going to be completely curable with just one surgery, and she has some of the best doctors in the country. She gets tired pretty easy, but all in all, your mom feels pretty normal. Considering the circumstances, we’re pretty blessed,” he said, coming over to sit in the chair next to me.
He was right. I knew he was right. He was always right. If it didn’t come in handy so often, I would be annoyed at how right he was.
“Why don’t you just try to be positive with us, okay?” he suggested. “Did you know that there’s actually been research done that shows having a positive mental attitude throughout cancer has a better survival rate?”
I perked up. “Really?”
“Really,” my dad smiled at me, revealing the one dimple on his right cheek. “Come on, complete me,” he said.
I laughed. I have one dimple on my left cheek, so I’ve always told my dad that my smile completes his.
“Atta girl,” he said. “Let’s get home and make some lunch for Mom and Melody. What do you think?”
I hugged my dad, and we headed for the door. I walked out of church feeling better than I had in a while.

Do You Trust Me? Part 3

The next few days were pretty rough. I am normally a daddy’s girl, but I avoided him whenever possible. I can’t lie to my dad, so it was just better for me to not be around him. As for my sister, I knew how to get her to leave me alone. I just had to hurt her feelings a few times, and she wouldn’t open her mouth around me. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember the hurt look on her face. She waited for me to apologize, but I never said a word.
God didn’t ask me again if I trusted Him. If He did, I wasn’t listening. And as for my mom, she would give me a sympathetic smile whenever we crossed paths. Sometimes, she would just reach forward and hug me. I never pushed her away, but I never welcomed her embrace either. It was too painful.
Thursday night, we sat down to eat dinner as a family. This wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but something was different, and everyone knew it. As we silently poured drinks and passed food around the table, I knew what was coming.
Finally, my dad broke the silence. He looked tired, but he still had a smile on his face. “Girls, we need to talk to you about something.”
My eyes filled up with tears. Don’t say it, I thought.
“Your mom had a doctor’s appointment earlier this week, and she’s gotten back some news today. Your mom has breast cancer,” my dad said, swallowing to hold back his emotions.
Melody’s hands flew over her mouth, and she burst into tears. “What?” she asked. “Why? How?”
My dad held up one hand, as he saw my mom beginning to tear up as well. “Now, here’s the good news. Her doctor said she’s discovered it in the very early stages, and it’s completely treatable. There are a few options with treatments and surgeries, so we’ll be looking into that over the next few days.”
My mom smiled at us, “Girls, God is going to use this. I’m going to be okay,” she said. “So you girls just keep your chin up, okay?”
I nodded, still not looking at anyone at the table. How could you do this to us, God? My dad’s a minister. My mom teaches Sunday School. I won state in Bible Drill for six years in a row. And Melody even goes to a Christian school! This shouldn’t be happening. Not to us.
Melody continued sobbing, and my mom reached over to rub her arm softly as she cried. “Melody, please don’t cry,” my mom pleaded, trying to console my sister. She looked up at me, and we locked eyes. “Michelle,” she said, trailing off. I looked away.
My dad continued. “What we need from you girls is to keep your bickering to a minimum. The doctor explained to us how stress can impact cancer negatively, and you know how it upsets your mom when you girls fight. Can you do that for us?”
Melody and I looked at each other and nodded. In that moment, I knew Melody forgave me. Somehow, she just understood.
My mom changed the subject, and asked Melody about school. They carried on small talk, while I stayed pretty quiet. I pushed the food around on my plate with my fork to make it look like I was eating, but I didn’t have an appetite. After about twenty minutes, I excused myself to go take a bath.
I remember how I thought the running water would mask the noise of my tears, and I cried again for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. As I got out of the shower, Melody called to me from her room. “After you get dressed for bed, come in here, okay?”
Ten minutes later, I walked into my sister’s room. She was curled up on her bed, snuggled into covers and holding her giant Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal for comfort. When I got close to her, I saw that she was crying.
“Did you really know the whole time?” she asked me.
I nodded. “I was with her when she found it,” I said quietly.
“Is that why you’ve been so mean the past couple of days?” she asked.
I nodded again. “Sorry,” I managed to say. I felt tears trying to well up in my eyes again, but I must have used all the ones I had already because no tears ever fell.
“Do you want to sleep in here tonight?” she asked, opening up the covers on the other side of her bed.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I do.” And with that, I crawled into bed next to my sister and fell asleep to the sound of her sniffles.

Do You Trust Me? Part 2

Three weeks later, my mom and I walked back into the house from Carol’s funeral. Carol Few was an older lady in my church who had been like a grandmother to Melody and me. She had never been sick, and then, all of the sudden…ovarian cancer. Again.
I hated cancer – the disease, the word, everything. It ended lives and devastated families, and it did it quickly.
“Go ahead and change your clothes,” my mom said, as we headed up the stairs. “Put on something comfortable, and we can put a movie on while I finish ironing your dad’s shirts for the week.”
My eyes lit up. I still hadn’t practiced piano for the day, and my mom so rarely let me skip days. Before she could change her mind, I darted to my room and changed into my t-shirt and Nike pants as fast as I could.
I went to my bathroom and put my hair in a ponytail. As I ran the brush through my hair, I heard the voice again. Michelle, do you trust Me?
Frustrated, I dropped the brush on the counter, and the clang of the metal hitting the marble surface echoed. God, why do You keep asking me that? You know that I trust You!
This time, there was no reply. If there was, I didn’t hear it because I was interrupted by my mom’s voice. “Michelle?” she called from her bedroom. “Are you okay?”
I flipped the light switch on the bathroom, thankful for an interruption. I darted down the familiar hallway of the upstairs and made a flying leap onto my parents’ bed as I had done a million times before. “I’m fine, Mom. I just….” my voice trailed off.
My mom was standing in her closet, half dressed, and her face was as white as a ghost. She put her hand over a chest and shut her eyes, as if she was struggling to breathe.
“Mommy?” I asked, sitting up to move towards her. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head and turned around to face her clothes.
“Mom,” I said again, with a firmer tone. “What is it?”
She tuned around to face me, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “There is a lump on my breast.”
My heart literally sank. I felt it drop. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. Instead, I simply said, “What?” in utter disbelief.
“I have a lump on my breast,” my mom repeated. “I felt it when I was changing my shirt.”
At that moment, I buried my face in my mom’s pillow. No, God, no. Not me. Not my mom. Not my family.
My mom came to sit down on the bed next to me, and I leaned onto her. She either let me cry for a minute, or she was silent, trying to gather her own composure.
She pulled me away from her. “Michelle, look at me,” she said.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. At the sight of my mom, I immediately had to look away. I couldn’t handle seeing her right now.
“It’s going to be fine,” she told me. “I’m going to be okay. In fact, it’s probably nothing. I’ll just go to the doctor to get everything checked out just to be safe, and then, everything will go back to normal.”
“Normal,” I repeated. “Yeah.” I still couldn’t look at her.
“I’ll call first thing on Monday morning,” my mom promised. “But Michelle…” she paused. “Michelle, look at me for a minute, okay?”
I looked up, my eyes once again swelling with tears. “Don’t tell your Dad about this, okay? Or Melody. I don’t want them to worry about this unless…I just don’t want them to worry about it, okay? Promise me.”
I nodded, taking the chance to look away again.
“Michelle, promise me. You have to.”
“I promise,” I finally whispered.
“Good,” she said, forcing a smile and cheerfulness into her tone. “Now, go wash your face, and then let’s get the movie night started.”
Lifeless, I trailed to the bathroom and splashed water on my face.
Do you trust me?
I became angry, and I lowered my face to the sink, hoping the rushing water from the faucet would prevent the flow of tear from my eyes.
Do I trust You? The One who took away Katie’s mom? The One who made Mr. Few cry today?
For the first time in my life, I had a different answer. I don’t know if I trust You anymore, God. And if You take my mom from me, I definitely don’t know if I can trust You.
I gathered my composure and went downstairs. My mom was already down there, and I saw one of our favorite chick flicks was already playing on the TV. The ironing board was nowhere in sight, and I didn’t say anything. Silently, I curled up next to my mom on the couch, wrapped both of my arms around her arm, and rested my head on her shoulder. My eyes never left the TV screen, but I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all.
As I sat there, I silently prayed, Please, God. Don’t take my mom. I’m not ready. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t take my Mommy away from me. Please.

Do You Trust Me? Part 1

This is a true story of my life - an account of how God used my mom being diagnosed with cancer to positively impact my whole family. He gives and takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!


I folded my arms across my chest as we pulled out of Katie’s driveway. How could a house that used to be so full of love feel so empty? What kind of a friend was I that my best friend was hurting, and I had no words to comfort her?
My mom patted my leg with her hand before she put both hands on the steering wheel. “She’s going to be okay, Michelle.”
I nodded, fighting back tears. I knew that if I tried to speak, I was going to cry again. There had been enough crying lately.
About a year ago, Katie’s mom had been diagnosed with melanoma, a type of cancer with a low-survival rate. This was her second battle with the disease, but the outcome was different this time. She didn’t win this round.
Over the past three years, Katie had become a part of my family, and likewise, I became a part of hers. Weekends were spent at one of our two houses, and we even argued with one another’s siblings.
The past year had been tough. We spent a lot more time at my house than we spent with her family. Her mom spent a lot of time either in bed or in the hospital, and we never wanted to disturb her. Katie didn’t talk about it much. She tried to pretend like it wasn’t really happening. I wanted to be there for her, but I didn’t want to upset her either. I knew we would have to talk about it eventually. As ready as I thought I was, I was completely unprepared in the moment.
She’s only twelve, God. How is she supposed to make it through high school without a mom? Now she only has a dad and a big brother. Who will help her decide what outfit to wear on her first date? Who’s going to understand why it’s necessary to have a closet simply devoted to shoes?
That morning, Katie’s dad, Bob, called my mom, to let our family know that Katie’s mom had died in the middle of the night. I cried for hours after my parents sat me down to tell me the news. I wanted to call her, but I didn’t know what to say.
As I cried, my mom worked in the kitchen, preparing dinner for Katie’s family. When it was ready, she tapped on my door to see if I wanted to go with her to drop off the meal. I didn’t really want to, but I nodded in agreement anyway.
I didn’t say much in the car. Was it fair that I was coming to her house with my mom? Katie didn’t have one. I couldn’t imagine being in her position. Seriously, what would I do without my mom? I mean, my dad is great, but he wouldn’t be the same man without my mom either. Everything would change.
I could feel something was different as we rounded the familiar corner of Katie's neighborhood. The sight of a home I had been inside so many times was now giving me a knot in my stomach that I had never felt before. I didn’t want to face my best friend.
My mom rang the doorbell, and I took a deep breath. “Be strong for Katie, Michelle,” were my mom’s final instructions before Bob opened the door.
He looked tired and heartbroken, yet somewhat relieved and grateful at the same time. “Thank you so much, Mary Ruth,” he said. “Come on in.”
My mom walked through the door and motioned for me to follow. I took a deep breath and walked into the house. Bob called to Katie to let her know we were there, and I saw her appear from the hallway of her bedroom.
As always, Katie tried to act normal. We prided ourselves in not being like other girls. We knew about sports. We’d rather be outside. We weren’t overly emotional. And we certainly didn’t cry. I could tell that she hadn’t slept much, and I knew she had to be upset, but she made it obvious that she didn’t want to show it.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw my arms around Katie and tell her that it was okay to shed a few tears…or a lot. She had an excuse not to be tough.
“My mom made macaroni and cheese,” is what I said, forcing a smile out of her.
“Your favorite,” Katie said, forcing fake enthusiasm. We both knew that I hated every form of cheese with a passion – the sight, the smell, the texture, everything.
“Yeah,” I agreed, being sarcastic right back.
At that moment, we both looked at each other, and I couldn’t help it. I stopped pretending, and I hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Kate,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. She just stood there and hugged me, and I eventually felt her tears fall down my back. While Katie and I silently hugged and cried, my mom talked to Bob, telling him that Katie was welcome at our house anytime, and that we were available at all times if they needed anything.
We didn’t stay long. My mom knew they were exhausted and that Bob had a ton of preparations to make for the funeral. I cried again as I watched my mom tearfully hug Katie. “You know how much she loved you,” my mom finally managed to say. “And you know that I love you too.” Katie nodded and thanked her, and that was it. We walked out of what now seemed more like a house than a home.
As I walked down the stairs of their front porch, I heard a familiar voice inside my head. Michelle, do you trust Me?
Of course I trust you, God. You know that.
I know. But do you really trust Me?
The second time I heard the question, I didn’t answer. What does He mean, do I trust Him?
I snapped back to reality and watched my mom wipe tears from underneath her eyes as we drove back to our house. As I looked at her, I knew that God was going to change something. And it had to do with my mom.

Coffee-like Christianity

Each generation seems to earn a nickname from society. Our parents are part of the Baby Boomers (named after the big spike in birth rates after the Great Depression.) We make up Generation X. On one hand, Generation X is defined as lazy, unmotivated, and has difficulty paying attention. Gen X'ers are also noted as being the most technologically-savvy and majorly responsible for the Internet's growth and popularity.

So what's next? As we study time and history, we can make educated guesses about the future. So what will the next generation be known as? What is making a radical impact today that will influence tomorrow? Any guesses?

You got it. The Starbucks Generation. Face it. Starbucks is everywhere. In addition to being on almost every corner, you can find them in your local Super Target and pretty much every mall's Food Court. Starbucks has even found its way into stadiums, university libraries, and concert arenas. You can find the coffee beans in almost every grocery store.

So as the church, what are we doing to reach the Starbucks generation? Or what are we not doing to reach the Starbucks Generation? Unfortunately, I think many of the same complaints that you could hear at Starbucks, a non-Christian could also use to discuss Christians and our approach to sharing the gospel...

"I can't drink this. It's way too strong..."

"Are you sure this is coffee? This tastes way too weak..."

"Something's wrong with this coffee....it just tastes bitter..."

"My latte was supposed to be hot...but this is way too cold..."

Do we sometimes come on too strong and turn people away? Or do we remain too weak in our own flesh to reach out to someone who may be hurting? Do we focus too much on the problems in life and appear bitter on the outside rather than emphasizing the blessings God has given us and the sweetness that Jesus provides on the inside? And is being cool so much more important than showing we care to where we just end up coming off cold?

Over the next few posts, let's examine our hearts and see how we can prepare ourselves to get the Starbucks generation out of the coffee shop and into the church.

Hebrews 12:1-3

"Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls." - Hebrews 12:1-3

The Brick

Sometimes as a writer, you know when someone else's story conveys everything you need to say. I hope this unknown author's message speaks to you as loudly as it did to me...

A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared . Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door!

He slammed on the brakes and backed the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown. The angry driver then jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car shouting, "What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing? That's a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money. Why did you do it?"

The young boy was apologetic. "Please, mister...please, I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do," He pleaded. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop..." With tears dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car. "It's my brother, "he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up. "Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."

Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out a linen handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay. "Thank you and may God bless you," the grateful child told the stranger.

Too shook up for words, the man simply watched the boy push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was very noticeable, but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the dent there to remind him of this message:

"Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!"

God whispers in our souls and speaks to our hearts. Sometimes when we don't have time to listen, He has to throw a brick at us. It's our choice to listen or not.