Oh, the deeds.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

Tomorrow I start chemo... Gulp.  I don't think I fully grasped this reality until just today when I was asked countless times, "So when does treatment start for you?"  When I would answer, "Actually Monday," to this question of the day, it started to sink in: Whoa... That's tomorrow.  What a bizarre place in life I have found myself in. I was one of those people who thought, "Nah, that could never happen to me. There's no history of cancer whatsoever in my family."  What I have found about you though, sir, is you are quite random.  Meaning the cause of you cannot be boiled down to simply genetics. Even today, there are only theories, mere guesses, why you choose the people you do.  On one hand, it relieves my mind from wondering, "Where did I go wrong? How could I have avoided this?" On the other hand, I can't help but roll my eyes at the poor luck I have that I would be the one randomly selected by you.  It would be easy to inquire, "Why?" (and I am not below posing such a question nor seeking the answer), but there are moments in our lives where we are called to take heart and to take faith. The beauty yet the hardship in these moments are that they cause us to trust in the One who does know why and to trust in the goodness of His character. Because sometimes, my God takes me on adventures and sometimes, they are quite terrifying in which I have no other option but to hold fast in trust.... but I will remember the deeds of the past, because, Mr. Hodgkin's, this is where confidence builds and hope remains - the proof of His faithfulness. 

Yes, remember the deeds. Tonight, with the scary prospect of tomorrow, I am on a hunt to do just that- to choose to remember the goodness He has blessed me with in the past.  As I walked into my bedroom tonight, I paused to look at the pictures decorating the surrounding walls and shelves.  Hmmm, good memories: this is where the quest starts. My eyes first spot the picture of my brother and I leaning on our sister with big grins on our faces as we hold our shovels in one hand and poke at her with our free hand as a blizzard dances around us in our parent's driveway. Standing next to this photo is another 4x6 of me kissing the cheek of my new sis-law the glorious day she became a Stoltz. Then, there's the classic picture of my mission trip to Tijuana as a couple of us holding a jump rope played with the kids while the rest of the team was busy building a retaining wall in the background (I tend to shy away from manual labor... but I mean, prancing around with kids or enduring physical pain? Obvious answer).  There's the precious moment captured when my entire extended family gathered around our dining room table at the Annual Stoltz Brunch, and with our heads bowed together, I see us praying to the God we each know deeply.  Oh, I can't forget the shot taken my freshmen year of college when I am crouched next to my volleyball coach's dog that we kidnapped in the middle of the night (so maybe I am feisty at all times of the day) and spray-painted him with the lovely purple that screams Eagles (oops, now that I think about it, I'm not quite sure if my coach knew exactly who on the team participated. Welp, confession time - I was part of the guilty party! To my defense, I think he thoroughly enjoyed the adventure; his barks possibly even invited it?).  Of course, there's that night when my high school girls and I shoved the heaviest, nastiest leather couch into the back of my Jeep to covertly drop off at one of the guys' house.... for the fourth time yet that summer...which, in the end of the whole brigade, costed him $75 to dump (Did you know it was us, Grant? So sorry, I'll move past the subject before I divulge the other pranks we gleefully committed throughout those years). Rewind further, there's a picture of my dad with his arm around little me as I show off a bold purple cast I got from an aggressive slide into 3rd base during your average game of family baseball.  If I can share one more, sir, the picture of my beautiful mom holding me on her chest as we both laid down for a nap when I was but months introduced into this world (so proud to be their's). 

I have lived a joyful life in these past 23 years, Mr. Hodgkin's, and the photos on the wall are but a quick glimpse into that. Yes, I have seen calamity woven throughout these same years, but more importantly, I have witnessed the Lord's goodness gush through each trial marking a dominant theme. See, you may not view me or my life as important, but I am and my life is to my God.  I don't think you understand the magnitude of His love for me and my life; in fact, the magnitude of His love for any other life that believes in Him.  This perdurable love moved this man, Jesus, to willfully give His life on a cross and took every mistake and sin of mine with Him.  As He hung there, He knew I was His and He knew what would come from His suffering...and the result is what makes this bearable.  By defeating death and rising again soon after, He gave me the choice to live a life worthy with purpose and meaning in His Name.  A life of sin already paid for.  A life now filled with His victorious, freeing presence and His sure promises.  Man, how could I not choose Him, sir?  As you can see, He has a habit of taking something so devastating and using it for something of glory and praise.  I would hate you to miss the parallel I'm trying to make...

Okay, okay, I will return back to our earlier conversation. Yes, tomorrow is coming - no matter how much I loathe the thought and regardless of my wish to blissfully jump back into the carefree past all over again.  But, here is what charges me forward and what arms me with strength: if my God is for me and with me, then what could stand against?  He is greater, stronger, higher than any other.  Even you, mister... Chris Tomlin says so. Well, probably more importantly, Romans 8:31 says so.  Nonetheless, my God's Word and the testimony of many others claims that against you, Mr. Hodgkin's.  Quiver, my friend, for it is the only natural response of those working against my God.

Yours Truly,
Heid