I Just Need a Little Mustard

I was never really a fan, per se, of "the power of positive thinking." I suppose from my days in Amway (don't judge), the mentality of positive thinking was ingrained into my mind. Peddling laundry detergent and "a great opportunity" can put you face-to-face with rejection quite often and you had to be positive to keep going. Woo-hoo FREEDOM! (I'm doing the little hand movement that goes with the cheer.) I do like to think positive simply because I can't stand to be miserable in thought. There's something about dwelling in the negative that makes me sick to my stomach. As I've gotten older and have grown in my Judeo-Christian denomination, I realize that positive thinking is a gift of God. And that gift is called faith.

I wrote earlier about my name and what it means to me. When my daughter was born, we named her Faith. Little did I know at that time how prophetic her name would be to me. Who knew that I was entering into a season where my faith would be tried and tested so intently?

Jesus said, "if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." I look at my baby girl and I think of that verse all the time. When she was a tiny baby, she was like a little mustard seed. As she grew, so did my faith. But looking at her as a little child, I realize how my faith needs to remain as a little child--innocent, inquiring, believing the best in everything...believing I can move mountains. Faith is four and a half now and I'm amazed at what her life has already taught me about how to live my own.

***

By all natural accounts, my father shouldn't be here right now. After his first open heart surgery in 1985, the doctor estimated he would live about five years. It's now been, not five, but twenty-five years. While I attribute a lot of that to my mother who constantly stayed on his back about everything he ate, I believe it is ultimately the Lord's hand that preserved him. In 2006, when Faith was only eight months old, my father faced his second open heart surgery--but this time it was laced with numerous complications. My father arrested on the operating table. I remember my sister coming down to the hospital cafe to tell my brother and me that the doctor called from the O.R. and said, "it's not going as they expected." She didn't need to say anything more. We prayed and we called everyone we knew to pray. The second call came from the O.R. and this time my sister looked at me and said, "Grace, you go." I still remember walking to the telephone as if I was in slow motion wondering what I was going to hear. "Things have turned around and your father is done with the surgery." Already, a spark of hope.

The months following were difficult. Because of the trauma my father faced during the surgery, his rehabilitation carried on for months. He encountered multiple strokes, multiple aneurysms, partial blindness and muscle weakness. My father managed to press his way through cardiac rehab, physical therapy, occupational therapy and a plethora of medications, procedures and doctors appointments--and all to the amazement of his doctors, had recovered from what appeared to have been a vegetative state. Since then, we've taken a family photo every Christmas to mark his amazing recovery--which my sister sends to his surgeon in thanks every year. Amazing.

Now, another four years later...lung cancer. I struggled. At what point do you stop exercising your faith to believe for a miracle? When the doctors tell you to prepare yourself, is that when you stop? I couldn't connect the dots. One part of me was hearing the report and another part of me was facing God in bewilderment. What was I supposed to pray? Ask God for healing? Ask God for my dad's comfort? Nothing was making sense. It took me about a week before I could cry. Did you ever try to force yourself to cry? I felt so confused and conflicted inside that no emotion could surface...until the day I started saying things out loud.

What is taking place in eternity right now that You've taken my friends and my friends' children to be there already? What is awaiting in eternity for my father that he should go now? Can't it wait? Am I standing in the way of what You have called for him to do over there? Do I dare ask You to heal him and keep him in a place where there's sickness, disease and suffering? Is it selfish for me to ask that I have my father with me longer? With his grandchildren? To see them grow? Is it wrong for me to question the circumstances that we find ourselves in? I refuse to bargain with God. I refuse to ask for anything that is not in keeping with His will, but how can I "prepare myself" and my mind not be lured by what is promised in the Holy Scriptures of health and healing? The tears just poured out.

In desperation I asked my mom, "what are you praying for? What are you asking of God?" And she said, "I only ask that God give me the strength to deal with whatever comes." I was in awe.

Just from that one simple sentence from my mom, I've learned that unwavering faith isn't the absence of these questions that roam in our minds when faced with adversity. It's not about holding a fake demeanor of strength when you're wrenching inside. It's about relinquishing everything you believe and resting in the fact that God holds our best in His hands and we just have to be open to receive it...whatever comes.

When I came to grips with my own faith this time around, an undeniable peace came over me and I started recognizing how in the smallest ways, God is reminding me of His care:

When my dad was hospitalized, my job gave me the reprieve I needed to be there and my husband's schedule allowed him to care for the kids.

When I was the first to receive the news of my dad's diagnosis, my long-time friend, who is a physician at the same hospital, was miraculously at my side at that very moment. This same friend also made her palliative care team available for my family--above and beyond the routine care that is offered.

When my dad had his biopsy, it was determined to be treatable.

When the doctor recommended a long-term feeding tube (because the tumor paralyzed one side of his vocal cords), my dad proved he was successful in eating regular food and drinking thick liquids.

When my dad had CT scans and MRIs, it was determined the tumor was localized.

When my dad received his chemo treatment; he experienced no ill side effects.

When my dad awaited home health to deliver equipment, they sent a Filipino man who spoke his language AND spoke loudly enough that my dad could hear him well.

When we were initially told weeks to months, it was extended to years.

I'm grateful in the smallest things. No matter what we face in the coming time, I know God is there. It's not the power of positive thinking. It's this little mustard-sized thing called faith that gives me hope and encouragement that what I believe is not in vain.

UPDATE: On Friday, July 2, 2010, after six rounds of chemotherapy, my father received the official word that he is CANCER-FREE! Thank you, Lord.

By Grace...

My name is Grace.

Grace means unmerited favor. Favor that I don't deserve. Even when someone is mad at me, when they call me by my name, they are still saying, "I may be mad, but you are still full of grace!" I'm grateful for my name.

I used to be (and still am to a degree) quite full of myself. Not in a good way. Certainly not worthy of favor. Just by human nature, my main concern in my relationships was usually myself. What's in it for me? We're a selfish society. We want what we want and we want it now. It wasn't until I became a parent that I really understood what sacrifice meant. I can hear Nanay's (my mom's) voice now--"You'll understand one day when you have kids of your own." Yep. Those words couldn't ring any truer.

My parents were selfless when raising us kids. But I only know that in hindsight. The piano lessons, the ballet lessons, the concerts, the pretty Sunday dresses and shoes to match. Every meal--and I do mean EVERY meal three times a day--was on time, hot and homemade. We sat down as a family to eat together, but Nanay always ate last. None of the boxed macaroni and cheese junk either. Nanay said, "I don't do this for me. I do this for you." I find those same words rolling off of my lips to my own kids. It's one thing to have been on the receiving end of that sacrifice as a kid. It's a completely different thing to be on the receiving end of it as an adult with kids of my own.

This new year (while it may be considered not so new anymore), I totally train-wrecked into it. I got sick and got sick bad. I could barely keep myself together long enough to watch the infamous ball drop into 2010. Just prior to that I was laying on my bed watching TV, wondering what the heck J-Lo was wearing. I managed to stagger into the kitchen and grab the cute little port wine glasses (the first time I used them since I got married seven years ago) and the chilled bottle of sparkling apple cider. I remember Faith saying, "can I have some bubbly juice?" and calling my family to say "Happy New Year" and sorry that I wasn't feeling well enough to come over and spend our traditional Dick-Clark's-Rockin'-Eve together. We made it over to my parents' house the next day and the next thing I know, I was there for over a week--sick with a double ear infection and throat infection.

It was bound to happen. I have been burning the candle at both ends for so long, there was nothing left, but a minute piece of wick---and smoke where there used to be a flame. I was forced to be in bed, which is like a prison sentence to the "Martha" that I am. (Luke 10:41)

Why is it that when we stop all of the information overload--no email, no Facebook, no work, no laundry, no nothing--that's when we evaluate our priorities and take notice of what's important in life?

What did I notice? I noticed my family and how incredibly blessed I am by them. My brother and sister were in town for just a couple more days before heading back to their respective homes in other states. While I was laying there groaning and just being plain miserable, they watched and played with my kids, my brother continually brought me a cold washcloth for my forehead and Tylenol, my sister researched for the nearest urgent care and picked up my prescriptions.

Then there's Faith, my sweet girl. She drew me a picture of me being sick and said, "here, Mommy, this is for you so you'll feel better." It was a picture of me in bed with a thermometer in my mouth--and a cold washcloth on my forehead. My rambunctious baby boy, Nicholas, just kept crawling on me and slapping my face with his little hands. (He's such a boy.)

Then there's Nanay and Tatay (mom and dad). They cared for my kids when Dave had to work. They cooked for me (although I couldn't swallow much) and constantly asked if I needed anything--for over an entire week! With no pay, no compensation. They did it sheerly out of love and selflessness.

And my dear husband, who is equally, if not more, over-extended than me, constantly drove back and forth from our house to my parents' house getting clothes and necessities for the children and me.

I would be remiss to not mention that my supervisor and my colleagues carried the load while I was out and allowed me to have peace about not coming into the office so that I could get well.

What did I ever do to deserve this? It was just grace. Unmerited favor.

I've changed over this experience. While the stressors of life are still there, I'm remembering that nothing is worth overlooking the precious relationships that we have with family and friends. It doesn't take much to look at people's actions to see what they carry in their hearts for you. I dare say, the majority of the time, it's undeserved.

I'm grateful for this new year. I'm grateful for my family and my friends. I'm grateful for my renewed health. I'm grateful for grace.