shadow proves the sunshine.

I felt frustrated this morning.

Genuinely frustrated, the way a fat kid feels when they're woken up early on a Saturday morning only to be told to go for a run. Not. Impressed.

But I knew I was completely stupid and childish in my frustration. I was only frustrated because it seemed like God had not 'felt' as close as He did at the start of all of this. I was frustrated at the frustration itself as it went against everything I believed in, as a Christian. I did not and do not intend to be one of those people chasing emotional encounters with God, hyped up on feelings and emotions singing silly love songs better suited to Friday night dates than for Sunday morning worship.

But nevertheless, I couldn't shake the frustration.

Why was He not closer in my sufferings? Why was He not vividly speaking to me? Showing me signs and visions and sending me burning bushes, calling me to take my 6-inch gladiator heels off for I was walking on holy ground? Why did these lulls in emotional encounters exist?

In any case, I didn't want to waste the day away feeling sorry for myself when the weather was this amazing, so I grabbed my book and went outside to read. Reading itself can be a pretty frustrating experience for me. Well, not the experience of reading, which is always soothing to the soul... or something like that, but more the fact that I am always aware I have so many books I'd like to read... but do so at an incredibly slow pace. It occurred to me one day in one of my law tutorials, that perhaps I was doing not only one, but two degrees completely wrong for me. Law and English? Both FULL of readings, and here I was, reading at about the rate it would take Paris Hilton to memorize her lines.

But I digress.

In any case, I grabbed my book, lay outside and read. The sun was incredible. Glorious even. The blazing rays feeding me my vitamin D... Bliss. And what was more incredible? The guy in the book felt just like I did! Well, I guess it wasn't that incredible given that I guess most Christians feel it at some stage in their lives (yes?). But pretty soon I couldn't even pay attention to what I was reading because of the scorching heat and the weird red patterns that had appeared all over my legs as a result. Just a few more minutes in the sun and then I'll go in. A few more minutes. But before I did, those beautiful, fluffy, life-saving clouds swept across the sky in one flowing motion and saved me from my sweltering misery.

But as much as I love New Zealand sunshine, I hate the Auckland wind. And sure enough, safe under the protection of the clouds, I started to feel cold. Where the heck are you going with this, Isabel? you're probably all thinking. Me too actually..... But in that moment, something became so clear to me. It may have been coupled with the excitement I felt reading the book, but right then and there I felt just like the Israelites. And that's where I was in my life. Thinking I was safe in the shadows, under the clouds, but earnestly waiting for the heat of the day again.

We cry out for the experiences of God, and when they happen, like the powerful heat of the sun, we complain that it's too hot. In our fallen humanness, we cannot bear the weight of God's awesome glory all at once. We would die. So He sends the clouds to give our souls rest, but also make us realize and treasure those moments where, at His closest, He slowly reveals Himself to us. Until the next burst of rays just when we need it most.

Except God's glory doesn't leave us with skin cancer.

I'm learning to be thankful, in the sunshine as well as under the clouds.


Oh also! I was excited to come on my blog and found I had 'followers'. I've never had that before. I wonder if that's how Jesus feels every time He gets a new follower..... :D

my name is still isabel. part i.

My name is Isabel.

I am a wee little girl.

I am 22 years old.

I have black hair, though I wouldn't be able to remember what that looked like on me.

These are facts.

But lately I feel like something has changed in me that goes beyond factual. Lately I feel like I am defined by something I do not wish to be.

My name is still Isabel.

I have liver cancer.

These are also facts. But what makes them so different from those above?

***

It is currently 12:17am. I should be asleep as I need to be up in less than six hours for another trip to the hospital, and it seems I need all the sleep I can get of late. I am not enjoying the frequency of these visits. I have always tried to avoid the hospital as much as I could at all costs. Perhaps that was my downfall. Guess we'll never know.

My eyelids are heavy but I lie awake listening to the soothing voice of Jon Foreman strumming along to his guitar, wondering if a boy out there could write me pretty and heartfelt songs like these. Yup. I am still the same old silly girl. More than that though, I am wishing I was asleep instead. But there is a pain that won't let me. A pain that keeps me up; a constant reminder that I am not alright. And I am torn between being thankful for this pain and hating this pain.

But for now I stand neutral, like Switzerland, a little bit dozy on painkillers, but still not enough to knock me out just yet, so I sip my cup of coffee (only joking - it's a glass of water, though it makes me sound like more of a legit writer if I say I'm drinking coffee as I write this) and get to writing. Do I have the words? I have not written in a very long time. I used to love words. The beauty of the formulation. The way they looked on paper. The grammar. The typography. Prose. Poems. All of it. But now writing seems like some stranger I used to see in a coffee shop some years ago whose face I now barely recognize. These words at my fingertips feel unnatural. Or maybe it's just because for the first time in what seems like years my nails aren't painted some shock-horror of a color that always makes my mother shake her head at me. But for now the words are taking my mind off the pain. So write on, I shall.

Once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. Realizing my attention span and actual writing abilities (or lack thereof) would not accommodate this dream, I moved onto dreaming about being an editor. But I get bored easily. And I am the kind of girl that would write "Great attentoin to detaiil" in her CV. So that dream blew up pretty fast too. Lucky for me, a new world of writing had been brewing. The great world of blogging, where you could make all the mistakes you wanted, be as boring as you wished, have about two readers in the whole wide world and still feel like an accomplished writer.

So here I am.

Today I was told for the first time that liver failure can often lead to confusion. I was confused about this. I was advised to put things on paper for later on. "Just in case". Things you always talk about but never actually intend to do. Like make a list of 'Things I Want to do Before I Die'. I can't think that far ahead. Maybe the confusion has already set in, but my mind just kind of shuts down when I try to think about things like that. So I will just write what I can. Starting with documenting the past few weeks. Knowing me, I will forget. So maybe this will just be to remind myself later on. Of what it was like. Of what 'this' was like. And you can all come along for the ride. Some of you may not have heard the story yet. Most of you have heard it lots, but perhaps from others. Either way, part of the beauty of a blog is you can skip the parts you don't like and get to your favorites. Like a dessert buffet.

Sometimes I feel the need to be perpetually funny. I love to make people laugh, even if at my own expense. Right now I am feeling that urge. The need to make you laugh. I want to be funny. But I think the fact of the matter is that I have inherited my dad's sense of humor. As in... Not funny. I am okay with that. I will laugh at my own jokes, and you can laugh along too if you want to be nice. I have made numerous inappropriate jokes about the cancer lately. Sorry if this has made you feel uncomfortable. It's just how I do.

***

Liver cancer also makes you pee lots, which also, along with the pain, wakes me up in the middle of the night. I swear you could mistake my symptoms for being totes preggers. My stomach protudes at about the 3-month mark (buh-bye summer clothing!), I have random food cravings for about the first time in my life, and have been completely put off foods I used to love. I feel nauseous pretty much ALLLL the time, and the smell, or even sight, of certain things makes me want to hurl. That and the bladder. Arrrgh the bladder. Just that instead of a cute baby to look forward to, I just have... cancer. I used to joke about it being my 'alien baby' before I knew what it was. I still kind of feel that way. This weird thing inside of me, so alien to me, that I'm constantly aware of... It's a pretty strange feeling. Stop trying to kill me thanks. You need me to survive too ya know.

This is getting a bit out of control. Before I sign off, I just want to leave you with a quote I have rediscovered and am struggling with. It's in my book of quotes. Yes, I have a book of quotes. My beautiful friend, Ginnie, got me my first moleskin for my birthday a couple of years ago because she knew I am a well and true black-notebook geek and covet all things moleskin. It's a quote dated 24 April 2010:

"Can I thank God for trusting me with this experience, even if He never tells me why?" - Helen Roseveare

It sends a little chill down my spine. Can I? Can I truly be thankful? Even with the possibility that on this side of heaven I may never understand why?

But below the quote I had written:
"The secret of trust doesn't lie in answers; it lies in acceptance."

Lord, thank You for trusting me with this experience. Help me to accept. Humbly and gracefully. Give me strength to endure, just as Jesus did on the Cross. May I never lose sight of You.

Amen.