Crossing the Jordan . . .
Until five years ago, I shrieked when I saw a spider and felt insecure at altitudes above two metres. Fear: it hadn’t occurred to me that fear could be something far blacker and creepier, threatening to smother me. My fear became reality when, in 1999, my doctor told me, “You have cancer.”
It was breast cancer. Fear rolled over me like a tidal wave, completely destabilising me.
Why am I reacting like this? I thought. I’m supposed to have faith.
The days leading to surgery, I was on an emotional roller-coaster. I couldn’t sleep, I cried often, wailing like a child, as my poor husband held me. Right in the car park of our church, I broke down. “Take this fear from me,” I begged God.
I guess it was in answer to that plea, but I had the distinct impression that I should turn on the car radio to Radio Rhema, the Christian network.
Great, I thought. The last thing I want to hear is all that joy and celebration!
But the feeling persisted, so I switched it on. The words of the song playing went straight to my heart. It was about crossing over the Jordan, promising a release from fear . . .
In the early hours of the following morning, unable to sleep, I sat outside in the darkness, trying to connect with God’s peace. I remembered the words “cross over the Jordan” promised earlier. I realised it was up to me to make the step into the water, like the priests carrying the ark into the Jordan in Joshua’s time.
I stood up and took a step, right there, literally walking across the patio, holding out my hand. I was almost able to feel Jesus’ hand as it took mine.
The fear didn’t evaporate immediately, but I knew that God had things under control—even though I didn’t. I had His assurance that I would handle that fear.
The apostle Paul wrote to Timothy, saying, “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7, NKJV). But even knowing that to be true, night after night I still crashed as waves of fear washed around me. I was now battling depression. I couldn’t hold myself together long enough to grip the peace that God was handing me in His Word. Then it was brought to my mind that I should relinquish.
This was terribly hard, but eventually I came to a point where I could say (recorded in my diary), Can I thank God for breast cancer? Yes! Because in the past week, I have allowed God closer to me. I’ve faced some huge fears and found that God’s grace is bigger than the fears. I say, “Lord, I don’t want this, but if you think it will make me a better person and a more effective Christian, wife, mother, daughter and friend, I’ll take it—and keep thinking of rainbows after storms!”
This thought kept me going through the two operations, chemotherapy and radiotherapy that followed; through nerve-wracking check-ups to this moment.
I recalled a long-forgotten incident from years before, when my son, Gareth, was a four-year-old. Driving through a Christchurch park, I noticed some earthmoving machines in the distance. Thinking that Gareth would enjoy watching them work, I headed toward them. But as we got closer they didn’t appear to get any bigger! Then I realised the diggers, tiptrucks and graders were just cute, scaled-down models for children to drive. It was all about relativity and perspective.
With that thought, I realised how my fears appeared monstrous; so big that, if I came too close, they’d crush me. In fact, close up, they were much smaller than I’d imagined.
I can’t say I’ve been fearless since, but I have learned to fear less. I’ve learned that to allow fear to rule is to allow Satan to rule. Fear gets things out of perspective, making it impossible to accept God’s peace.
When the spectre of fear rises and tries to smother me, now I immediately give it up to the Lord. In His hands, fear is diminished.
Don’t tell God how big your problem is; tell your problem how big your God is. In a more literal dimension, I’ve also learned that cancer isn’t necessarily the “Big C” to be feared, because it is insigni-ficant next to the real, big C: Christ.
The song “Complete” (Parachute Music), written by Andrew Ulugia, has long been a favourite of mine, evoking tearful emotions: “So I lift my eyes to You, Lord/ In Your strength will I break through, Lord/ Touch me now, let Your love fall down on me/ I know Your love dispels all my fears/ Through the storm I will hold on, Lord/ And by faith I will walk on, Lord/ Then I’ll see beyond my Calvary one day,/ and I will be complete in You.”
Only on that “one day” will all fears be stilled. In the meantime, with His help, we can work to make them as small as possible.
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