Friday, September 09, 2011

Comfort Overflowing by M. Laycock

Two doses of chemo over and I'm feeling like it's letting go of me again. Such a blessing to be able to eat normally and not have indigestion that makes it feel like a small block of wood is forcing its way through your intestines. Slept through the night last night too, another blessing I don't think I'll ever take for granted again. I even went shopping with my daughter today, though I sat through it while she searched the racks.

Sitting in the mall it was interesting to watch all the "normal, healthy" people. Some avoided my turbaned head, some smiled a wee bit, some just stared then looked away. Then I noticed a woman walk by whose neck was a bit crooked. Another had a slight limp, another dragged an oxygen tank behind him. Not so "normal and healthy." And I thought, how many times did I breeze by them all in a mall like this, uncaring, oblivious to all the hardships and pain around me. In the glitz and glimmer of a shopping mall it's easy to think the world is all as it should be as we spin along on our quest for consumer items, avoiding the pain, the sadness, refusing to look it in the face, refusing to do anything to alleviate it.

But the reality is, the world underneath all that shine and polish is rather sad and broken. A friend posted a quote from CS. Lewis on Facebook recently - "Human history is the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him Happy." So very true.

Yet there is hope, there is purpose.

The author of the second book of Corinthians said it this way - "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows" (2Corinthians 1:3-5).

As we see the pain and suffering around us and attempt to minister to it, we enter into the ministry of Christ through His suffering. We enter into the humanity of our race, joining ourselves together with bonds that hold us all up as we stand at the cross. And in so doing we are made more human, moulded more and more into the image of God, which is our true identity.

And some of the brokenness is healed, the sadness turned to joy, the reality of God's love made known. Blessed be the name of the Lord.


Peter Black said...

Candid, kind and sensitizing, while comforting. Thanks for sharing this part of your journey, Marcia. Lovely picture! Thoughts and prayers continue with and for you.

Kathleen Gibson said...

Marcia...thanks for this glimpse of your struggle. Go well. Strength and hope to you...

Love, Kathleen

Widsith said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Widsith said...

Thanks for the intuitive post, Marcia. I couldn't agree more, as my family has learned the same lessons through my Dad's journey with dementia. We are much more sensitive, now, to the suffering that goes on around us.

My Dad's illness affected my whole sense of purpose in writing, as well as the way I write. If you're comfortable sharing, I'd love to know: How has your experience influenced your writing?

Carol J. Garvin said...

My husband often mentions how much his only hospital stay influenced his ministry. He had an emergency appendectomy in the first weeks of his first pastorate, and thus learned first-hand how hospital visitation should (and should not) be done. He wasn't thankful for the appendicitis, but appreciates what he learned because of it.

Blessings and continued healing to you as you make this journey.

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