Hence my sporadic posts, and the almost-three-year gap from April 2020 to February 2023. Last year when uterine cancer loomed, I suddenly felt like writing again. I told Greg, “I guess my breast cancer story had gotten a little stale.” Finally, I had new material.
I don’t want to be that way, only feeling I have something to share when my life hangs in the balance—only remembering God’s goodness when I fear the worst.
My blog's purpose is two-fold: to find encouragement in my struggles, and encourage others in theirs. Inhale and exhale. From now through eternity.
I want to write regularly, tracing His sovereign care not only in crises, but in the everyday. In many ways, I shouldn't be here. But I still am, so God must have a reason, a job for me to do. His assignments come sometimes in my own trials, and sometimes in the trials of others.
The Apostle Paul wrote, "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort."¹
A certain poem captivated me 30 years ago when I read it in Elisabeth's Elliot's The Shaping of a Christian Family. The words etched themselves almost automatically on my heart. I've shared them several times in ladies' gatherings. Sometimes I just breathe them to myself. I've often wondered who wrote it, so I went in search of the source.
I found a lovely printable here. I also learned that Mrs. Lettie Cowman included the poem in Streams in the Desert, her daily devotional compilation. I knew I had a copy somewhere, a precious copy that Mom gifted me a decade ago. A copy that had belonged to my Great-grandmother Edna Smith, mother of my Grandpa Lloyd.
I went looking on my shelf of old books, and found it! Because the website said Cowman had closed with the poem, I started at the back, carefully flipping the pages of this 99-year-old book. On the entry for December 19, there it was. Hand-penciled crescents at beginning and end marked the poem as special. I gasped and covered my mouth at this discovery of yet another link to my spiritual heritage. Great-Grandma Edna must have loved this poem, too!
If you have gone a little way ahead of me, call back--
'Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track;
and if, perchance, Faith's light is dim, because the oil is low,
Your call will guide my lagging course as wearily I go.
Call back, and tell me that He went with you into the storm;
Call back, and say He kept you when the forest's roots were torn;
That, when the heavens thunder[ed] and the earthquake shook the hill,
He bore you up and held you where the very air was still.
Oh, friend, call back, and tell me for I cannot see your face;
They say it glows with triumph, and your feet bound in the race;
But there are mists between us and my spirit eyes are dim,
And I cannot see the glory, though I long for word of Him.
But if you'll say He heard you when your prayer was but a cry,
And if you'll say He saw you through the night's sin-darkened sky--
If you have gone a little way ahead, oh, friend, call back--
'Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track.²
If you are facing cancer, loss, or deep pain, I long to tell you how He carried me through mine. And someday, you can do the same for me.
¹The Bible, II Corinthians 1:3-7, ESV.
²Streams in the Desert, compiled by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman, 1925.
