Sometimes I think God is talking to me. Not in a audible way, but sometimes when I see or hear or read something, and I feel it at a gut level, feel a heaviness in my spirit about it, I think he's talking to me. Many times, I don't want to hear what he's saying, because it's hard. It's discipline. It's tough love. It's reminding me of things I already know, but have been ignoring. But I would be amiss (or remiss? or both?) to ignore his voice and conviction. Sometimes what he is saying to me stops me dead in my tracks. I hate it. I don't want to be stopped. I don't have time to slow down and give it thought, and I don't have the emotional energy to take it in and let it change me. This morning he stopped me like that. I have tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat over something I saw on Facebook. I wasn't expecting it; I was gearing up for all the tasks I need to complete today and was just perusing FB while I sipped my coffee. And then I saw this, and it stopped me.
You can see it here.
Cancer sucks. My uncle and grandfather died of cancer in their 60s, and we lost our dear Joel to cancer a few years ago. My dad passed away from cancer in 2006. Dad's death left a gaping hole in my heart and in my life, the pain of which has become more acute since Tyler was born. I never knew my Grandpa Land - he died before I was born. Tyler will never know his Grandpa Land. This is one of the saddest realities I have to live with. Even now, as I write this, my heart aches. It aches. I can't imagine that it could be true that Tyler will never sit on his Grandpa's lap, or go swimming or play games with him or sing songs with him in his music room.
My dad was a casual smoker. He smoked a pipe while I was growing up. Never excessively, but I remember the pipe sitting on the end table by his chair, and I remember the sweet smell of the smoke wafting in from outside sometimes. I find the smell comforting, actually. Later in his life I think he might have been smoking more frequently, and smoking cigarettes, though I don't know that for certain. I don't know if the smoking caused his pancreatic cancer, or just compromised his cells enough for the cancer to appear. Maybe it had nothing to do with it at all, and he would have gotten the cancer regardless. I don't resent him for smoking or place blame on him. I think we all try the hardest we can to cope in life, and honestly he was such a great man, and such a true servant of Christ. I would never judge him for his weaknesses, whether or not those weaknesses are what led to his sickness and death.
I am a casual smoker. I hide it from most people, especially now that I'm a mother, because I resent the idea that they would judge me for it. Although, I'm sure no judgment from others could ever match the internal judgment I place on myself for smoking. I'm not a pack-a-day smoker - never have been - but it doesn't really matter that I don't smoke that many cigarettes, or that I never smoke around Tyler, or that I do it mostly when I'm stressed out. The point is that I have a bad habit, and this particular habit happens to be one that has been proven to compromise health. I know that it's bad for me, and I hate it, but I still do it. I guess that's the definition of addiction.
When I saw those photos this morning, it was like God was just smacking me right in the face, in a loving way, saying, "Ember, you're an intelligent woman. I know you get this. I want you to stop and consider the implications. Really consider them, and consider how much your family needs you, consider the devastation it would cause to Chris if you became ill, and consider that Tyler will want his children to be able to hang out with their Grandma one day."
Now, I am definitely prone to guilt. I feel guilty about almost everything. Guilt tends to make me either shut down, or run headlong further into the thing I feel guilty about, sort of like giving a proverbial middle finger to whoever or whatever is making me feel guilty. In this case, though, I need to feel guilty. I don't think God is trying to make me feel guilty - he knows me well enough to know that it isn't an effective motivator for me - but I need to own the guilt that I have.
I know the wrenching pain of losing someone to cancer. I understand how much it hurts the family, and I saw a glimpse of the kind of physical pain it causes the victim. It seems like it should be easy to take that knowledge and use it as the impetus to change my habits. It should be easy, but it is difficult. I may never get cancer, God willing. I may not even get high blood pressure. There is no way of knowing, and I think we really have very little control over how we die, ultimately. But instead of looking at that fact as an excuse, I want to try to allow God to redeem me more, and pay attention to what I already know...that there is one thing within my control, and that is my power to choose. I want to choose better.
Will I never smoke again? Um, honestly? I sort of doubt that the cigarette I had last night will be my last one ever. Never smoking again is not a promise I'm willing to make because I think we are silly to make these grandiose promises that we most likely will not keep (because we're flawed and human and all). But this is a faith issue for me, I think, at it's heart, that goes beyond the smoking habit. I need a Redeemer. On a daily basis. Much more than I need a cigarette. I need someone whose ways are higher than mine and someone whose love is bigger than mine, who can see past all the crap in my heart and in my life, and can pull out and clean off the shining gem that is my soul. I can't do this for myself. It requires a belief in my own goodness and potential that I just don't possess. The trick though, is to believe in the goodness and potential of God.
The smoking thing is just one thing that I struggle with, and sometimes when I think about it, it seems like no big deal. Everyone has a vice, right? We gotta do what we can to cope in life. But this morning, after seeing those pictures and feeling God's hand resting gently, but firmly on my soul, like a parent offering loving and painful discipline to a child, I am reminded that it's not just about one habit. It's about the general direction of life, and the amazing gift we've been given by God to make choices that set us on one path or another. It's about the opportunity we have to overcome those things that stand in our way. The choices we make ARE a big deal, because they define us. I think the definition of me - the true definition, penned by God himself - is a more magnificent definition. So, my promise to myself and to Chris and to Tyler and to the Lord today, this Easter week, is to seek that definition and allow it to shape my choices and my life, however long I am blessed to live on earth.
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