Plus, by nature I’m a private person (not quiet, but private!), so posting personal information online always feels like I’m high diving into a bathtub: equal parts scary and foolish. Anyone else feel me on this?

But over the years I’ve learned that this online space can be a gift—a unique way to share the love of Jesus and encourage others. And because many of you are also walking through cancer (your own or your loved one’s), I think it could be helpful if I share a few more details of our journey with you. Reading others’ experiences with cancer has helped me over these years: to normalize some of the crazy, to validate some of the hard, to strengthen me for the next step.

All that to say—I hope this summary of our cancer journey is helpful, not scary or overwhelming. I hope too that you can picture me sitting here at my desk with a mug of hot black decaf coffee, writing this account with miraculous peace, blown away by a God who has woven his extraordinary goodness into every dark detail and grief-filled day of the past five years. I’ll say it again: God never ever cheats his children—he always out-gives them. May you feel the truth of that even as you read this summary.

~ ~ ~

In July 2017, I felt a pea-sized lump in my right breast as I showered. After a long, complicated testing process, I was diagnosed with cancer (stage 2B, IDC, triple positive, Chek2) on November 7.

A slew of appointments and scans followed, and we formed my treatment team (medical oncologist, surgical oncologist, reconstructive/plastic surgeon, integrative MD, and holistic oncologist). Three days before Christmas, I had my right sentinel lymph node removed and my port placed. (The pea-sized mass was now bigger than a golf ball.) Twelve weekly rounds of neo-adjuvant chemo (Taxol, Carboplatin, Herceptin, Perjeta) began January 12, 2018. In May, a few weeks after my twelfth and final dose, I had a double-mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. We rejoiced over the news that the cancer was gone, and I began maintenance chemo and hormone therapy.

In October 2018 I had a follow-up corrective surgery, at which time my port was also removed. By February 2019 all surgeries and treatments were officially wrapped up, my hair was making a quick comeback, and I felt better overall. It was just 19 months from mass discovery to treatment’s end—and although I still struggled with chronic infections and some lingering side effects, I felt confident the cancer was gone for good.

When I found a little lump on my neck in August 2020, my oncologist ordered a PET scan—which insurance refused to approve. A less comprehensive scan was approved instead, and the results came back clear. That was December 2020.

One month later, I felt the faintest pain in my right arm pit as I applied deodorant—and a few weeks after that, my right ribs and hip began hurting. I initially assumed I’d injured them in a HIIT workout (hello there, middle age), but when the pain in my armpit grew into a palpable lump, I grew suspicious. We began the testing process all over again, even as our family packed to move out of state. Two days before our move, I had multiple lymph nodes biopsied—and one week later (5 days after we landed in Idaho), I received the results via a telemedicine appointment: the cancer was back. I quickly established with a reputable cancer center in Boise, navigated another insurance debacle, which pushed off all medical care for a month—but I eventually had a PET scan, and on June 2, 2021, heard the worst: stage four. Incurable. The cancer was on my spine, ribs, hips, and in my lymph nodes. Within weeks, it spread to my chest wall as well. The metastases were growing like wildfire, causing increasing pain that soon made it difficult for me to do simple tasks such as dress, walk, drive, and cook. I couldn’t imagine surviving even one year—though I was resolved to live fully every last day God would give me with my husband and son.

In June 2021 I spent two weeks at an integrative clinic in St. George, where I was able to resolve some of my chronic infections, fortify my body, and find holistic support and supplements for the rigorous journey ahead. When I returned, I had a new port placed and chemo began (Taxol, Herceptin, Perjeta), as well as hormone therapy. With a few breaks along the way (since my body overreacts to chemo in a number of ways), I finished 12 rounds of Taxol in November 2021, then continued on Herceptin and Perjeta (often referred to as “maintenance chemo,” but technically immunotherapy). Because I was not able to tolerate hormone therapy—the goal of which is to starve estrogen-hungry cancer and thereby “buy me more time”—I opted for a bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy (i.e., they yanked out my ovaries and fallopian tubes, ha!) this past May, resulting in Instapot Menopause (thank you, Lis, for that term of perfection).

In September, due to my body’s struggle to tolerate perpetual maintenance chemo, I took a month off (glorious, glorious month!). Currently I’m back to infusions every three weeks and I’m continuing my protocol of naturopathic treatments. (On a side note: many people message me with a variety of cancer cures, but I’m so grateful for and perfectly at peace with how God has led us to wed allopathic and naturopathic treatments for my body’s unique needs and cancer diagnosis.) God is graciously using these myriad treatments and daily protocols to hold the cancer at bay for now, and we are unbelievably grateful for this miraculous gift of more time.

Of course, the gift of more time comes at a high price—my body is indescribably wearied and weakened by these five-plus years of cancer and treatments and surgeries (on the heels of a decade of chronic illness). Ironically, I look fine, healthy even, but I have less and less resilience and energy. I spend 13 to 14 of every 24 hours in bed, and I often tire after completing simple tasks or social interactions. YET I’m living more fully than ever before, I’m experiencing more of Jesus than I ever thought possible, and I’m convinced that this terminal diagnosis is one of the greatest gifts God has ever entrusted to me. (For more on that, you can read my Cancer Updates and articles on this site.)

The post Our cancer journey appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

March 8, 2022

Hello, dear friends!

Thank you, thank you for your continued messages of love and encouragement. I’m mortified at how behind I am in replying to you all, but please know how much your words care for me (for us) and what a lifeline they are. I know your lives are crazy-busy, so it makes your gift of time and encouragement all the more precious to me.

I’ve appreciated some of your questions in recent months, and I thought it might be helpful to make this update into a Q-&-A of sorts. I’ve concluded that cancer and its treatments are just plain ol’ confusing and difficult to make sense of (much less explain), and I’ve done a marvelous job of throwing out just enough details and terminology to cause mass confusion. Ha! So I’ll try to sort some of it out for you here, and you can just read the ones that interest you and skip over the others:

Wait, what? You’re still doing chemo?

Yes, it’s totally confusing! In July ’21, I started on a trifecta of chemotherapy: Taxol, Herceptin, and Perjeta. Taxol is the drug that kills rapidly dividing cells, which is why it’s so effective at killing cancer cells (as well as hair, brows, lashes, etc.). But because it is so harmful to the body, standard-of-care limits Taxol to twelve doses. I had my twelfth dose at the end of November, so now I’m on Herceptin and Perjeta only, and those are administered every three weeks instead of every week.

Herceptin and Perjeta aren’t technically chemotherapy by definition, but they are administered and referred to as if they were. They are “targeted therapy medicines that treat HER2-positive breast cancer by blocking the cancer cells’ ability to receive growth signals.”(1) HER2 is “a protein called human epidermal growth factor receptor 2″(2), and if I understand correctly, about 1 in 5 breast cancer patients are positive for this receptor like I am.

Herceptin and Perjeta still make me sick and tired but much less so than Taxol. I have daily waves of energy that I ride (and enjoy!) in between trips to the bathroom and the recliner. Haha.

Taxol will be back on the table once hormone therapy cannot hold the aggressive cancer at bay. But for now, I’m so grateful for a break! And for The Return of Some Hair.

Why can’t chemo and surgery get all the cancer like it did last time?

It’s a great question. Because chemo kills only rapidly dividing cells, it can effectively kill (or, at the least, significantly shrink) localized cancer tumors. Think of it as cleaning crud out of a toilet. The crud is contained in the bowl, and a good cleaning solution and some elbow grease will do the job.

But cancer that is widespread (referred to as “distant”) in the body means that not only are the cancer cells in widespread circulation, but the cancer stem cells are as well—and those stem cells are NOT rapidly dividing, therefore they cannot be killed by chemo nor removed by surgery. They will continue to grow cancer wherever they circulate. As opposed to that mess contained in a toilet bowl, this is akin to cleaning up a major sewage spill in the ocean.

In 2017, my cancer was found only in my right breast, and while it was incredibly aggressive and fast-growing, it was contained—it had not yet spread to my lymph nodes and beyond. So the chemo effectively shrunk the tumor to a size that could safely be removed surgically.

As of Spring 2021, the cancer stem cells are present all over my body and can’t be eradicated by chemo or surgery. So chemo can temporarily hold back the onslaught, but eventually the cancer finds new pathways around the drugs.

Why not stop the toxic treatments and get to the root of your cancer with natural methods and treatments?

Again, a great question—and one we’ve asked ourselves. This was a hard series of conversations and decisions at the outset of both diagnoses—but especially with this terminal diagnosis. I’m super-duper sensitive to most medicines, so I’ve always tended toward natural cures and treatments. And I long ago pooh-poohed sugar and processed foods, chemical cleaners in our home, aluminum deodorants, etc. In other words, I’m a fan of all things natural.

But every cancer diagnosis is complex and unique, and what works for one person may not work for another. With my particular diagnosis and the aggressive nature of my cancer, I don’t have the luxury of time to experiment with a zero-medicine or extreme-natural-treatment approach. Which is why we’ve decided to wed the two worlds–making the most of both allopathic and naturopathic treatments.

(1) https://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/perjeta-plus-herceptin-and-chemo-shows-benefits
(2) https://www.mayoclinic.org/breast-cancer/expert-answers/faq-20058066

What’s the purpose of your hormone therapy?

My hormone therapy is two-pronged: there’s an every-third-month Zoladex injection (it shoots what looks like a big grain of white rice into my belly), which shuts down my ovaries (and therefore the estrogen that feeds my cancer), and there’s a daily oral pill that kills the circulating estrogen in my body (that originates in the gut, etc.).

Starving the cancer of estrogen is another way of slowing its growth, so while I absolutely loathe the side-effects of hormone therapy, I’m grateful for it.

How often are you getting scans done?

I love my oncologist’s approach to scans at this stage of things: we let my symptoms or the appearance of new masses dictate my scan schedule. So if my appetite decreases, or I experience new pain, or I find a new mass, etc., we run the appropriate scan. Last week I was in for another ultrasound—and a follow-up ultrasound plus a biopsy may be next. But I’m grateful we’re not just running superfluous scans every few months because (1) they are crazy expensive and (2) I am so so weary of nonstop appointments/tests/procedures and am oh-so-happy to skip the unnecessary ones.

What timeline did the doctors give you?

Here’s the thing: We’ve hesitated to share any specific timeline because it isn’t necessarily something we are banking on, nor does it feel helpful for anyone else to bank on. (What if God takes me before then? Or gives me more time?) The first timeline I was given last June quickly felt outpaced by how swiftly the cancer was overtaking my body. I was pleading with God to give me another year—to let me make it to Jeremy’s 11th birthday (this July). Since then, I’ve swung back and forth between “I don’t think I have much longer” and “I just might have longer than I thought”—depending upon test results, how my body feels, the discovery of a new mass, etc. It’s a bizarre and bitter and beautiful experience to be so constantly aware of my end, to have disappointing test results follow on the heels of good ones, to fight so hard for some more time here even as I feel weary-to-the-bone of fighting. To the marrow of my soul I feel the apostle Paul’s struggle in his letter to the Philippians:

“Now if I live on in the flesh, this means fruitful work for me; and I don’t know which one I should choose. I am torn between the two. I long to depart and be with Christ—which is far better—but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for your sake.” (1:22-24)

Of course, once I begin to decline, we will have a much clearer idea of my timeline and will share specifics with you then. That feels heavy to write, so I pray there will be much grace and peace as you read this.

~ ~ ~

This is a sacred suffering…

I’m sitting in chemo chair #13 as I write this paragraph, listening to the man next to me talk in painfully slurred speech about his most recent surgeries and how his cancer has come back. Two chairs down is a woman who is here for the first time. (There is nothing quite like your first chemo infusion.) Here at St. Luke’s, you can have a friend or family member come in and sit with you during your first infusion (but Covid rules prohibit any visitors after that), yet this woman’s friend didn’t want to stay—she left to take her car in for a tune-up. I listened as the nurse explained all the possible side effects of the drugs being infused into this new cancer patient’s body—as she sat there all alone.

I could tell you story after story like this. You could cut through the suffering here with a knife. And I’m reminded that this is why God entrusts suffering to his children—because it is the way to enter in with and love a world that is suffering. Why would I ask to be delivered from this awful diagnosis if it means bringing Jesus’ hope and light and love to the darkest corners of this chemo ward and beyond? Why leave the suffering to those who are alone and without the love of Jesus? We who know and love Jesus are here for just this purpose—to lay down our lives to love others for him.

But we’re so enamored with ease and comfort and health and beauty and longevity and financial security and influence and success. (I’m as guilty of this as the next person.) But the way of Jesus is the way of the cross—and the way of the cross is the way of the empty tomb, and the empty tomb means death defeated and resurrection power! To avoid suffering is to miss out on Christ’s life powerfully at work in us. It’s to miss out on caring deeply for others, in ways that will be felt into eternity.

You, dear friends, have your own sacred sufferings, and I want to encourage you as I’m encouraging myself today: let’s wrap our arms around the cross we bear, the cross we bear with him, the cross that leads to everlasting joy—not just for us but also for all those our lives touch. Not one moment of our suffering is wasted. It is working MIRACLES behind the scenes. It is “preparing for us an eternal weight of glory.” There is so much purpose and hope to be had today.

So grateful to be on this journey with you. You all are precious beyond words to us—

Colleen

“The weightiest end of the cross of Christ that is laid upon you, lieth upon your strong Savior. For Isaiah says that in all your afflictions he is afflicted [63:9]. … Glad may your soul be, even to walk in the fiery furnace, with one like the Son of man, who is also the Son of God. Courage up your heart; when you tire, he will bear both you and your burden [Psalm 55:22].”
—Samuel Rutherford, Letters (1628)

~ ~ ~

April 29, 2022

Hello, sweet friends!

It’s been a couple of months since I last emailed, so I hope to write a more informative and heartfelt update soon. But for now, we’d love your prayers as I go in for surgery this coming Wednesday, May 4th, at 7:00 a.m. (I just heard several of you think, May the Fourth be with you. I receive that blessing.) The side effects of hormone therapy have become unsustainable (nice-speak for some choice words and grueling details I’ve decided not to share here *snort*), so I’ve opted for the alternative of removing my ovaries and tubes. Because I’ve already undergone multiple surgeries, my doctor didn’t want to rush into yet another one—but we finally concluded it’s the far lesser evil.

This is an outpatient surgery, and even though I’ll be undergoing general anesthesia, I should be home within five hours if all goes well. Honestly, it feels like I’ve scheduled nothing more than a trip to Costco on a holiday weekend (annoying but not newsworthy), but I realize that you all appreciate staying informed about these kinds of things—and it would be good to have people praying that my body will be strong and recover well, and that this procedure will be effective in “buying me some more time” as it will cut off much of the estrogen supply that feeds my cancer.

It’s been awhile since I’ve donated a body part (so far a pair of tonsils, two breasts, and a sentinel lymph node), so it feels timely and right to give again. Hm. I probably shouldn’t be writing this email right now, as I’m feeling entirely too punchy and my sense of humor is mildly morbid. But I do wish you all could be here with me today, sharing a Topo Chico and some spring sunshine—and laughing together at some of the craziness that is Stage 4 Cancer.

A lot has happened these past two months, so I’ll update you on more of these things soon. Until then, thank you so much for praying for me/us this coming Wednesday. I’ll shoot you a quick email once I’m out of surgery and home recovering.

As always, I love hearing from you and knowing how I can be praying for you too!

Love you all so so much,
Colleen

~ ~ ~

June 27, 2022

Friends, I can’t believe I’m sitting here writing to you. Last year at this time, my body was growing cancer faster than we could get tests done and treatment started—so it is nothing short of a marvel that I’m still walking around (last summer I got to the point where every step was labored and painful); I’m still eating and drinking and breathing and laughing and writing. God is giving me more time to LIVE and every day feels like an extraordinary gift.

Do you remember me saying how I wanted to LIVE FULLY every day God would give me? Well, this past year has been burstingly full of that life. In the midst of breathtaking grief and insanely dark days, I feel like I’ve been more myself than ever before. Yes, I’ve been messy and frail and sometimes downright difficult to be around, but despite it all, I’ve been living out of the heart Jesus gave me. When someone recently asked me to describe this past year, I said, “There have been no throwaways.” Every moment has been weighty and sacred and significant. Everything has mattered immensely. (Even the worst moments.)

In reflecting on the past year, I’m also stunned at how God has paved the way for me to do just what his Spirit pressed into my heart minutes after I heard my terminal diagnosis: “I want you to write. That’s one of the reasons I’ve entrusted you with this diagnosis.” And so I’ve written and written and written—books and letters and Bible studies and poems and emails and prayers. I’ve written on my laptop, in my phone Notes app (usually at 3:00 in the morning), on scraps of paper, in the pages of journals. And as the year has unfolded, and God has faithfully revealed more of “the good works he’s prepared for me ahead of time,” I’ve leaned into those with such an experience of his presence carrying me along. It’s been an indescribably full and fulfilling year.

The flipside of this gift of more life, more time, more beautiful work to do—is that there’s not a day that goes by (sometimes there’s not even an hour that goes by) when I don’t feel the painful reality of my diagnosis and the rub of living amid “normalcy.” (I know “normal” has been drastically redefined for all of us in recent years, but I mean the normalcy of even just getting out of the house or having energy to accomplish basic household tasks. I find myself watching people in awe as they hurry here and there and everywhere. Keeping a bare-minimum schedule is exhausting to me right now.) A couple of my besties recently told me that I talk about going to my chemo infusion as if I’m going to a hair salon. Haha. Yep, that’s the new normal. Chemo till the end. Doctor appointments stacked upon blood tests stacked upon medical bills. Normal is struggling to get myself out of bed before 9:00 am each morning because my body is not happy—and then crawling back into bed by 9:00 at night. Normal is quietly slipping into the bathroom when we have company—to let my body get sick, then walking right back out to rejoin everyone as if nothing happened. Normal is a whack-a-mole of symptoms and side effects. (My left arm is lathered with hydrocortisone cream as I write this due to an ongoing itch-and-burn.) Normal is… weird.

And so I live in this sort of “middle space,” and it’s beautiful and strange and hard and deeply meaningful all at the same time. It’s the agony and the ecstasy. And I know many of you resonate with this in your own unique ways. (This is me being a broken record: A terminal diagnosis doesn’t have the corner on the market of suffering. One of my best friends just had her right leg amputated, and I haven’t found any words for the pain I feel for her. I can’t even imagine that kind of suffering. Another dear friend is walking with her teenager through dark days of mental illness, and it’s brought me to tears more than once. I could go on and on. Fill-in-the-blank with your suffering, and you too understand what it’s like to live in this middle space.)

But there’s a truth that’s played on repeat in my head and heart lately. I’ve been studying the book of Jude, and at the end of his brief letter, after he’s elaborated on how irrational and irreverent and hateful some people are, Jude tells his dear friends to “keep yourselves in the love of God.” It’s become my constant prayer: “God, help me keep myself in your love.” In a day so rife with hate and rage and division, and in the midst of suffering, those of us who keep ourselves in God’s love can be the most winsome, courageous, gentle, merciful, truthful, peaceful people on the planet because God’s love grows our hearts big and gives us hope to hold out to those who desperately need his love as much as we once did (…as much as we still do).

There’s so much more I could say, so many things I haven’t updated you on, but since I’ve struggled with how to find words for it all these past several months—I’ll consider it a win that I’m finally sending you more than a poem or surgery notification (ha!), even if this is not as clear or concise as I would like it to be. And in the spirit of Jude I’ll close with this: I pray today that you, dear friends, will keep yourselves in the love of God (—and pray for me too, that I’ll do the same).

Oh how I love you all!

Colleen

~ ~ ~

September 7, 2022

Dear friends—

I had every intention of writing a super brief update, but lo and behold–the novella. (Again.) I’d suggest skimming, speed-reading, or perhaps popping a big bowl of popcorn to get yourself through to the end. Ha! Okay, here goes:

Despite my verbosity, these updates have actually gotten harder and harder to write. I don’t know how to adequately describe these days. I long to be honest but hopeful, real but not depressing. How do I make sense of both the agony and the ecstasy? How do I do justice to the massive joys while describing the crushing sorrows?

~ ~ ~

On the medical side of things— I’m taking a month off of chemo due to some increasingly difficult side effects and exhaustion. Long-term chemo is rugged! It deteriorates bones and organs, especially the heart—so in addition to my every-three-month EKG, my doctor has referred me to a cardio-oncologist for a more thorough look at why my heart is acting out. (We’re still waiting for insurance to approve the referral.) We’re hoping this break from chemo gives my body some much-needed rest and strengthens my bones and bowels and heart (etc.!), so I can continue with treatment at the end of September.

I’ll admit, I’m experiencing a weariness I can’t quite put into words. The indescribably beautiful gift of more time comes at a high price that my body is tired of paying. Our cancer journey began five years ago, so I’m no stranger to pushing through myriad pains and rigorous side effects, but the past 16 months have required more of me than I ever thought physically (and emotionally and mentally) possible, and my body – is – exhausted.

Strangely enough, I look fine, even healthy—no one would guess I have stage-four cancer—but I feel almost fragile physically and definitely less resilient, like a rubber-band that’s lost it’s stretch and bounce. Even my favorite tasks, outings, and get-togethers feel akin to summiting Mt. Everest.

But—remember how I wrote to you about Mystery? It’s even truer now, several months later: the greater my weariness and weakness, the greater my experience of eternal realities, of Jesus’ presence, of living out of the heart God has given me. I still laugh loud and love hard. I crunch writing deadlines. I still dream (“A third book before I’m gone, Lord?”), and even when I feel like there’s not much “fight” left in my body, I fight harder than ever—not only for more days with Eddie and Jeremy, with my family and besties, but also for more days to share Jesus’ love and hope with a broken, hurting world.

And so I walk in glorious, agonizing, indescribable mystery and feel the sacred trust of more breath, more life, more time. I can almost feel God holding me together and giving me another day to love him and to love people. He still wants me here (at least for this moment)—even as he’s wooing me Home.

Yes, terminal cancer can be, in the words of Rory Gilmore, “like a pop-up book from hell” (writing that just made me laugh so hard). But God loves taking our hellish circumstances and turning them into OVERFLOWING LIFE,* outgiving us even as he asks much of us.

I know that the grace I’m experiencing (and that Eddie and Jeremy are experiencing) is due to God answering your faithful prayers for us. Friends, your prayers are the greatest gift in the world!! Thank you with all my heart. Two specific ways you can pray for us right now are: (1) that I’ll be able to sleep more than a few hours each night, and (2) that God would continue to increase our family’s capacity to suffer with joy and hope and purpose and peace.

I’ll say it again and again: terminal cancer doesn’t have the corner on the market of suffering. So many of you are facing your own deep griefs and pains and losses, and I’m so grateful you share them with me and show me Jesus in them. I love praying for you, and I love YOU more than you know.

One more thing I think you should know: I basically live in yoga pants and hoodies because I’m too tired to keep up with clothes trends, and comfortable clothes are everything right now—but I ordered a pair of flare jeans that arrived this week, and I told Eddie I got them because I still want to be sassy.

From your exhausted, grateful, weary, sassy friend—

Colleen

P.S. (Because what’s an update from me without a P.S.?) – My longtime friend and website wizard, Sarah Robinson, spent tireless hours redesigning my cranky old website, and has created a beautiful, organized space for me to share my podcasts, articles, videos, and books. What. A. Gift. You can see her lovely work at colleenchao.com.

P.P.S. – Thank you, thank you to those of you who continue to reach out to and check in on Eddie, and who love Jeremy so well. My heart is strengthened when I see my boys cared for!!

*John 10:10

The post Cancer Updates 2022 appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Our ever-present phones make us daily, instantaneously available to hundreds, even thousands, of people. Our “commuter-style community”—since friends and family no longer live together in the same village or neighborhood—demands Herculean time and effort. (You know that coffee date with your bestie? The one that took you 17 texts and 3 reschedules and a 45-minute drive? Case in point.)

Electricity allows us to stay up long past sundown (when our bodies are naturally wired for sleep), and a stealth little lie tells us that the more we do, the more we’re worth.

As if that’s not enough, our world is under the curse of sin, so our work is difficult, people expect more of us than we can deliver, and sudden crises make wreckage of our well-plotted calendars.

In the past, I dealt with this reality in a variety of unhealthy ways—two of which were as Lady Failure (“Everyone expects so much of me, I can never measure up!”) and Self-sufficient Savior (“I’m their only hope! I have to save them!”). My attempts to satisfy endless expectations and demands only succeeded in making me anxious, resentful, or withdrawn. I was keeping a lot of people happy, I was getting a lot done, but I was regularly running on fumes emotionally and physically.

But in recent years, I’ve been learning the skill of quieting myself in God’s presence, of perceiving him with me smack-dab in the middle of life’s pressures. This isn’t pie-in-the-sky talk. This is rubber-meets-the-road truth that is changing the way I think and feel and act. You’re already familiar with these, but take another look at a few of the Scriptures that talk about God’s “withness”—

• Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for you are with me…” Psalm 23:4
• But as for me, God’s presence is my good. Psalm 73:28
• So Joseph was there in prison. But the Lord was with Joseph and extended kindness to him. Genesis 39:20-21
• The Lord your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with his love. He will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

God-with-us is our good, our confidence, our peace, our salvation. We may not be able to slow life down to a snail’s pace; we may not be able to circumvent exhaustion or avoid pain—but we absolutely can keep a quiet heart when we live in the keen awareness of God’s presence.

Let me give you an example of how I’m learning to do this on a daily basis.

I typically wake in the morning with my mind racing through all the messages I haven’t returned, the work deadline ahead, the places we need to be today, the people we’ll be connecting with. Then there’s the inevitable, Do I have snacks for my son’s school event? What gift am I going to take to the shower? Did I fill out that paperwork for my next doctor’s appointment?

Just as my stomach begins to tie itself into a nice little knot, I stop and remind myself that God is with me. I say to him,

“God, thank you for being with me and giving me everything I need in order to do what YOU want me to do today.”

Then I thank him for a few simple things: the time with sweet friends yesterday, my husband’s amazing forgiveness, the anticipation of my morning cup of coffee.

Finally, I bring a Scripture to mind. This isn’t the deeper Bible study I’ll get to later today, but it’s still meaningful truth that directs my heart to God.

And now? Now I can sense him with me, and the weight of today no longer rests on my shoulders—it’s on his, where it belongs. Inevitably, I’ll need to revisit this practice (prayer, gratitude, truth) many times throughout my day. But that in itself is a beautiful thing, is it not? We never stop needing him. And the more we go to him, the greater our peace and joy.

Here’s another simple way I quiet myself: I follow Elisabeth Elliot’s advice to “do the next thing.” If I knew everything that the coming month will require of me, I’d probably just stay in bed with the sheets pulled over my head. But I’ve been given extraordinary provision to do what’s right in front of me, this very moment. I can wash another sink of dishes, have a difficult conversation, or drive through traffic to another doctor’s appointment—because God is with me, and he has everything I need.

I love how Andrew Murray wrote of this in his book Humility:

“The life God bestows is imparted not once for all but each moment by the unceasing operation of His mighty power. Humility, the place of entire dependence upon God, is from the very nature of things the first duty and the highest virtue of His creatures.”

So when my day finally comes to a close, I can leave unfinished business at the feet of my Lord, trusting that he is God and I am not. Maybe I let someone down (someone I really wanted to care for). Maybe my phone is still full of unreturned messages. Maybe my to-do list is laughing at me.

Can I rest in that? Do I trust that God can work out these tasks and these relationships far better than I can?

How about you, dear one? Is someone deeply disappointed in you for not being available to them right now? Do you have more tasks than you do time? We are gloriously limited creatures—and it is a difficult but beautiful thing to be weak, to be utterly dependent upon the One who “bears our burdens day after day” (Psalm 68:19). Perhaps in our own acceptance of weakness and dependence, we will show someone else how to go to God.

As we seek the presence of Jesus, our limitations are not laziness, nor are they a means of self-preservation. Rather, they are divine invitations to experience the Spirit’s power in and through us. We are called to lovingly lay down our lives for others, but the life we lay down must flow from Christ in us—and not out of guilt or people-pleasing or self-sufficiency. When we practice God’s presence and ask him for moment-by-moment wisdom to “do the next thing,” we get to experience his joy—and his joy is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10)! On the contrary, when we frenetically try to “do ALL the things” and keep everyone happy, we ultimately fail at loving people well and redeeming the time.

I have many miles to go in learning how to practice God’s presence in the pressures of life, but I’m so grateful for the journey. And it’s liberating to finally understand that busyness isn’t my enemy; it’s an opportunity to turn to God and experience his nearness.

“Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with my righteous right hand.” —Isaiah 41:10

To further meditate on these sweet truths: Hebrews 13:20-21; 2 Peter 1:3; Isaiah 51:12-16; Proverbs 29:25; Isaiah 44:7-8; Isaiah 50:7; Joshua 1:6-9

The post Quiet, dear heart (God is with you) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

While I didn’t hike nearly as far as some, I spent 34 years on that beautiful arduous hill. It was harder than I can describe, and I’m left with some hardy callouses and a few long-term injuries. And though I’ve been married for nine years now, I still smell strongly of the dirt and pine of that hill. Contrary to the cliches, I didn’t arrive when I got married; life didn’t begin when I gave birth to my son. The terrain altered significantly, yes—but the Goal and the Guide remained the same.

•••

BEWILDERED
Singleness was the conduit of incredible blessings in my life, but it was not at all what I’d wanted or prepared for, and it was anything but the norm in my circles.

The problem was actually a good one: as a single woman who loved Jesus and his church, I held a high view of marriage, sex, and children, and I longed to enjoy those gifts—gifts God himself created, gifts he chooses to give most women.

I also understood that marriage would not be the answer to all my problems. And I wasn’t duped by the notion that a man (or children) would fulfill my deepest desires. Only Jesus could do that.

But when all except one friend had married and started their families—and I was left standing on the sidelines with a collection of bridesmaid dresses and baby announcements—I felt bewildered, even broken, as I figured out how to live outside the natural order of things. I wanted what God wanted for me (and on those days when I didn’t want it, I asked him to help me want it!), but I was a square peg in a round hole. I didn’t know how to fit into a world made for couples and families.

It wasn’t that I lacked love. I was surrounded by friends, family, roommates, colleagues, and church community—and my days were filled with meaningful work and ministry, travel and adventure. But for all practical purposes, I was flying solo. I paid my own bills, haggled with the repairman at the car shop, navigated revolving housing and roommates, held down high-pressure full-time jobs, and cooked and ate countless meals by myself. (Day after day, year after year.)

One of my roommates, Sarah, expressed it best when she said: “The hardest part of being single is knowing I’m no one’s first priority.” Sarah was not one to view singleness as suffering, but she grieved the reality that there wasn’t one main person to do life with and for. I’ve heard many single women echo this sentiment. I felt it keenly myself.

BELOVED
But the absence of a “first priority relationship” meant that Jesus became more to me—he became my First Love, and I truly felt like his beloved as I tangibly experienced his presence and provision, protection and power. As much as I didn’t like the Apostle Paul’s enthusiasm for singleness, I had to admit he was right: I was enjoying a unique and beautiful devotion to Christ (1 Corinthians 7:32-35; see also Isaiah 54:4).

Out of this devoted relationship with Christ flowed a life of ministry: I had time, energy, and love to invest in hundreds of junior high, high school, and college girls. My days spilled over with the joy of these relationships and my life was filled with the kind of purpose that can only come from loving and serving others for Jesus (no matter how poorly or awkwardly I did it!). Although the deepest desires of my heart went unfulfilled, I could see God’s hand at work in and through me. I knew my singleness, my suffering, mattered.

•••

BEHIND?
Over the years, I came to be known as a strong, self-sufficient woman (an identity not without its own issues), but still there was this underlying tone in many people’s comments to me—an unintentional message that I was not as complete or mature as my married and mommied friends. We’ve all been guilty of saying foolish things in our zeal to help a friend, yes? (In my twenties, I practically buried people alive with my naive advice and opinions.) But as the proverb says, ignorant counsel is a lot like a knife in the hand of a drunkard (26:9)—and many a single woman has been cut by comments such as…

“Motherhood is the most sanctifying thing in the world! I was so selfish and immature before I had kids!”

“Marriage is so hard. Don’t get your hopes up…”

“You’re so lucky to be single! I’d give anything to have a day all to myself!”

“As soon as you’re perfectly content, God will bring along your husband.”

“Maybe you should ____.” (try online dating, lower your standards, change churches, put yourself out there, learn to flirt, wear more makeup, etc.)

Because it takes time to truly listen and understand someone’s story, to pursue knowing them past our own limited experiences, singleness is easily misunderstood by married people—and the single woman can be treated as a problem to solve or a lesser citizen, instead of an example to emulate and a vital part of the community.

My single friends who love Jesus are wellsprings of wisdom and maturity. They live out their faith in secular workplaces and high-profile ministries. They know how to navigate a wide variety of relationships. They’re generous and selfless and hospitable. They seek to know and love God more by knowing his Word—and that (not a particular status in life) is what forms wisdom and maturity in us. The psalmist wrote,

I have more insight than all my teachers because your decrees are my meditation. I understand more than the elders because I obey your precepts. (Psalm 119:99-100)

Yes, marriage and motherhood can mature us in big ways. We could even say they are the normative method for maturity. But when God chooses to work outside the norm, does he leave his beloved daughter stuck in a lower life-cycle? Should we assume that the 40-year-old single woman has less wisdom than the 40-year-old wife with three kids? Of course not. God desires all his daughters to grow up into his fullness—and he shows them the way to complete maturity:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. (James 1:2-4)

So all of us, in every season of life, have the same shot at maturity as we remain in Jesus, in his Word, and in relationship with each other—and as we endure with joy.

•••

BETROTHED
Singleness, like hiking, is a feat of endurance. And endurance comes in a variety of forms, one of which is the pursuit of purity in a sexually crazed culture. For the single woman who believes that God has created sex as a sacred gift for a man and woman to enjoy only within the covenant of marriage (for the purpose of displaying Christ’s love for his Church)—regardless of whether she has gay or heterosexual desires—she faces what can feel like a Sisyphean task. (However, unlike Sisyphus, her task is eternally fruitful, not futile.)

When I was diagnosed with cancer two years ago, I began sending out regular email updates with specific ways people could pray for our family. To some extent, people “get cancer”—they know what’s at stake and understand the vocabulary. Words like invasive, aggressive, and chemotherapy communicated our family’s grave reality, and as a result, we received an outpouring of love and support.

In stark contrast, I felt incredibly isolated and without a vocabulary for my sexual reality as a single woman. How could I describe what it was like to daily deny the forceful impulses of my flesh—without sounding disturbing, inappropriate, or desperate? How could I share my struggle just enough to not feel so alone?

But again, grief is accompanied by gift, and when God called me to something as difficult (i.e., humanly impossible) as singleness and abstinence into my mid-thirties, he gave me an experience of his love that surpassed even my most ravenous sexual desires and infused immense meaning into my husbandless, childless life. During those years, I came to know the beautiful reality of Isaiah words:

You will no longer be called Deserted,
And your land will not be called Desolate;
Instead, you will be called My Delight Is in Her….
As a groom rejoices over his bride, so your God will rejoice over you. (Isaiah 62:4-5)

Rejoice, childless one, who did not give birth;
burst into song and shout,
you who have not been in labor!
For the children of the desolate one will be more
than the children of the married woman,”
says the Lord.

Do not be afraid, for you will not be put to shame;
don’t be humiliated, for you will not be disgraced.
For you will forget the shame of your youth,
and you will no longer remember
the disgrace of your widowhood.
Indeed, your husband is your Maker… (Isaiah 54:1,4)

My hike up that beautiful arduous hill may have come to an end, but every step I took is still part of me, part of my story, and (mysteriously enough) helping me keep pace in my present suffering. In a crowd of people, I’m drawn to the woman who also knows the ways of the hill. Her climb is unique, unlike mine in the passions or particulars (in fact, you could ask a hundred different single women and get a hundred different versions of the hill), but inevitably we agree on this: In God’s hands, our suffering finds glorious purpose. He is with us, and that changes even the most arduous hikes into holy places.

The post That Beautiful Arduous Hill (reflections on singleness) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

~ ~ ~

This summer was the first time in a decade that I felt well. I started sleeping, I had energy, the aches and pains of chronic illness were minimal. On top of that, my son’s health had improved enough for us to experience the edges of “normalcy.” My husband and I looked at each other and whispered with relief, “We’re not in crisis mode anymore.”

So on that mid-summer morning with a threatening lump at my fingertips, I wondered through frightened tears, What if this is cancer? After all we have been through, what if we’re about to face our biggest health crisis yet? God wouldn’t do that, would he?

~ ~ ~

We began a long and complicated testing process. Some days I had all the peace in the world—miraculous calm and confidence in God’s goodness. Other days I couldn’t loosen fear’s vise-grip on my heart.

Don’t make me walk this, Lord, I begged him.

And then just as quickly: But if this is where You are going, I want to go with You. I don’t want to miss out on what You’re doing.

Even in the scariest moments, holding my breath for that decisive phone call, I knew he was with me. And as I hid myself in him during those waiting weeks, he confirmed again and again, “This lump is a gift.”

What kind of gift, I didn’t yet know. I hoped for the best, but readied my heart for the worst.

Because what if the worst was the gift?

~ ~ ~

I’ve lost several dear ones to cancer in recent years. Two to breast cancer. I’ve watched the slow dying process and know that the worst can be cruel.

I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to lose my breasts and my hair, prematurely age, and suffer more aches and pains. What comes naturally to me is the Art of Preservation. I want to save my life, not lose it.

But looking back at 41 years of life, filled with various trials that have preceded this one, I can say with confidence: It’s always been in the losing—the surrendering—that I have found Life.

~ ~ ~

It would be easy to say, “Nothing prepares you for a cancer diagnosis”—but it wouldn’t be true. God has been preparing me for the past 19 months.

In April 2015, I resolved to address some areas of emotional immaturity in my life (namely, how to maintain my joyful identity in the midst of relational conflict), and I began working tirelessly through Life Model Works’ amazing resources. I saw grace and growth like never before.

Then, at the beginning of this year, I had a renewed appetite to read books about people who have suffered with joy and courage. I devoured one biography after another—I couldn’t get enough.

On top of that, God had me praying through the Psalms, which allowed me to tread every square inch of my life in truth. My Abba and I, we covered so much territory together between March and July.

I experienced the Spirit’s power as never before, and was keenly aware of his purposes in my life.

So when I sat in my doctor’s office on a Tuesday afternoon early this month, I was ready for the diagnosis: Cancer.

~ ~ ~

It is in our human nature to be constantly surprised by life’s hardships. To ask “why me?” But Christ modeled a life of joyful suffering—and then called us to follow in his footsteps.

Christ came to give his life as a ransom for many. He was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. But!—for the joy set before him he endured the worst suffering the world has ever known.

My diagnosis is not the worst suffering I can imagine. Far from it. (I could quickly recite for you a list of far worse scenarios!) But still it feels like too much in some moments. On the darker days, my heart has echoed the Psalmist’s: “All Your waves and breakers have swept over me.” A decade of numerous intense trials has not earned us a season of ease and pleasure. Instead, the storm rages on.

But as C.H. Spurgeon said, “I have learned to kiss the wave that dashes me against the Rock of Ages.”

These forcible waves, they carry me to the One who says, “Peace. Be still.”

~ ~ ~

Many of our friends have asked us how our six-year-old son, Jeremy, is doing with all of this. To state the obvious, it’s hard. We decided early on in the testing process that we’d share frankly with him—but we’d do it in such a way that hopefully modeled joy and trust in Jesus. We want him to learn how to navigate suffering with an enormous view of God. To know the way back to peace from intense negative emotions.

The night we received my official diagnosis, Jeremy had tears and hugged me tight. I locked eyes with him and said, “This is hard, isn’t it, Bud? It’s not good news. But God is with us, and He turns everything for our good. Everything. So we don’t need to fear. And God is going to use this in your life in amazing ways.”

Jeremy paused, then asked us to read the story of The Fiery Furnace. My husband Eddie read the account in Daniel 3, which includes Nebuchadnezzar gasping,

‘Did we not cast three men bound into the fire? But I see four men unbound, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods.”

Eddie closed the Bible and after another pause, Jeremy said,

“There are four of us in this family.”

God doesn’t waste suffering even on a six-year-old. He’s growing a tender heart strong through the uncertainty. He’s teaching joyful courage to a little man who may need it in his generation more than I’ve needed it in mine.

God is with us. In the fiery furnace. In cancer. In your dark troubles too, dear one. He is a good God who gives gifts that are weighty with glory.

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

P. S. – We covet your prayers for us, especially that we would experience such peace and joy that our medical team and unbelieving friends would listen with enlarged hearts as we speak of the good God who has healed us from the worst imaginable disease: sin. Suffering can be the most compelling conduit of good news, and I don’t want to miss caring for eternal souls who might be facing a fate infinitely worse than cancer. With all my heart I believe this gift is not just for me and my family but also for many others. Pray that we will abide in Christ and bear much fruit in this. Thank you so much for standing with us!

The Lord called me from the womb, from the body of my mother he named my name. And he said to me, ‘You are my servant …. in whom I will be glorified.’ He formed me from the womb to be his servant …. For I am honored in the eyes of my Lord, and my God has become my strength.  (excerpts from Isaiah 49)

Afflictions work for good, as they make way for glory. Not that they merit glory, but they prepare for it. —Thomas Watson

What is any illness to Him? One touch and it would be gone. But I wonder if the Lord is saying not only to me but also to you, ‘See to it that you are in perfect accord with Me and then trust Me to withhold no good thing.’  —Amy Carmichael

To receive weekly updates on my cancer journey, please email ColleenEChao@gmail.com.

The post The gift of cancer appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Until I landed in the ER at 3:00 a.m. one morning with what I thought was a heart attack.

I hadn’t slept in three days and my heart was racing, burning, palpitating. Even when I lay motionless in bed, I felt like I was running a marathon. I gasped for breath. I was exhausted.

Docs ran multiple tests and X-rays, but in the absence of anything conclusive they sent me on my way: “This can happen to people with long-and-thin frames like yours.” I left the ER that day with no idea how to slow my body long enough to get a few hours of sleep. Soon I had to quit my job and fly home to California.

That was a dark season of my life, to be sure. And it was the beginning of a new reality for me. Eventually my “heart-attack–insomnia” bouts were diagnosed as panic attacks, and for the past sixteen years they have dotted the landscape of my life.

Panic attacks have been a source of both grief and grace. Grief, because they are terrifying and painful and disorienting and exhausting. Grace, because through them God has humbled my proud heart and taught me to trust less in myself and more in Him. When Asaph says, “My flesh and my heart may fail me, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever,” I get it.

Boy, do I get it.

I’ve learned a lot along this broken way. I’ve been able to identify the biggest triggers for my panic attacks. I’ve come to understand the great need I have for healthy life habits. I’ve passionately pursued emotional and relational maturity in areas of my life where I’ve long been deficient.

And I’ve learned that we are wholistic creatures—God made us both body and soul. Imagine sharing the gospel with a starving person without first meeting their physical needs. It would be unkind and ineffectual, to say the least. In a similar way, if you’re in the midst of panic and I tell you “Don’t be anxious for anything” before I address your physical symptoms—I ultimately fail to care for you. First let’s deal with the panic, then your heart will be calm enough to hear life-giving truth.

Perhaps the most beautiful thing I’ve learned is that God is happy to be with me, even in the most terrifying moments of anxiety. He is here. He has everything I need for this.

Some helpful handles

God hasn’t given me a shortcut through panic. He cares more for my long-term growth than for quick-fixes that bring momentary relief but leave me unchanged. Along the way He has graciously equipped me with some very helpful handles—that minimize the frequency and severity of my panic attacks. I want to share some of these with you. I’m not a doctor, so I’ll leave issues of medication, exercise, and diet in the hands of the professionals. But these are simple means of turning to God (physically and emotionally) in order to not just survive anxiety, but to also know and love Him better through it.

God is bringing much beauty out of my ashes, and if some of that beauty can spill over onto you, this 16-year journey would be well worth it.

Life-giving friends

Typically when I’m in the throes of panic there are layers of stressful people and circumstances in my life. Avoiding those circumstances and people may not be possible (nor even wise), but I can counterbalance them by spending extra time with joyful, life-giving friends. These are dear ones who are tender to my weaknesses and love me in all my mess. They lower their expectations. They light up when they see me.

Time with them reminds me of who I am, who God is, and that there’s life beyond this panic. I notice that my heart rate slows, my shoulders relax, and my obsessive thoughts lose momentum. God has made us for joyful relationship, and the worst thing I can do when I’m navigating extreme anxiety is to isolate myself from those who love me.

A thankful heart

One of the greatest helps in dealing with panic has been practicing appreciation in three specific ways. I stole these from two must-read books: Joy Starts Here by Jim Wilder, and Transforming Fellowship by Chris Coursey.

• Appreciation memories.  When I’m riddled with anxiety, I recall two specific memories of when I experienced amazing peace and joy (I’ve named them “Panera Bread” and “D.C. Trip”) and I relive them in as much detail as I can: where I was; what I smelled, heard, saw, tasted; who I was with, and so on. Doing this reminds me (1) what it feels like to be calm, (2) that God has been so good to me before, and (3) that this momentary panic is not the end of the story.
• List of 10.  I keep a list of 10 things I’m grateful for. It includes my morning cup of coffee, the beautiful view from my bedroom window, the daily routines I enjoy with my family, and the grace I receive from my husband every day. I rehearse it when my thoughts feel panicky. The goal is to practice gratitude with such frequency (some suggest 5 minutes, 3 times a day) that my brain learns a new normal, and my body can begin to return to an appreciative and calm state more quickly over time, with practice.
• 3X3X3.  When I’m ramped up and just can’t seem to slow down (and I’m dreading a sleepless, anxious night), just before bed I recall aloud 3 things I’m thankful for about that day, 3 things I’m thankful for about my husband, and 3 things I’m thankful for about God. This sounds ridiculously simple, but it has an immediate effect on me.

A relaxed body

Sometimes a full-body massage can work wonders in the midst of panic. (On a side note, Chinese reflexology offers much more affordable versions of fancy spa massages!) A panic attack can create a corkscrew of physical tension, and massage can immediately release some of that pressure.

There are also fantastic “tapping” and pressure-point techniques that help calm the body. And sometimes I simply need a strong hug or a firm grip on my arm to slow my heart rate. Moderate exercise and sweating help me as well (even a 20-minute walk and a few lunges or light weights), but nothing sustained or intense—as that can put more burden on my already overtaxed body.

I’ve also used a breathing app to help me steady and deepen my erratic and short breaths during an attack.

Time outdoors 

I’ve found that spending time outdoors—soaking up the sun and enjoying nature in all its beauty—is highly effective (and free!) therapy for both body and soul. I’ve come to love hiking. I’ve become an avid bird-watcher (ahem, the very person I used to chuckle at), and I often linger while looking at a flower, a sunset, a tree. I take deep breaths as I study the intricacies of my Creator’s handiwork.

If God cares this much for a flower of the field or a bird of the air, if there is such design and purpose in a tiny part of His creation—imagine how much more He cares for me, how much greater His purposes are for me.

Journaling, Praying the Word

During periods of intense anxiety and panic, I have the tendency to read Scripture and pray with a fearful and distracted spirit. In order to move out of fearful mode into relational mode with God, I use this journaling technique. It helps me quiet my heart so I can engage with God, sense His nearness, and hear His voice. Once I’m calm and in tune with Him, prayer and the Word can have their effect on me.

And the Word is life itself (Deuteronomy 32:47). If I’m not prayerfully in Scripture, every other helpful handle may bring some form of relief, but ultimately won’t transform me. But when I continue to steep myself in the riches of God’s truth, and I ask Him boldly for the supernatural gifts of peace and joy in the midst of great stress–He “rescues me because He delights in me,” and that changes me.

Lifestyle adjustments

In describing his struggle with anxiety and depression, J.P. Moreland wrote,

“I once heard a Christian psychologist say that we were made to live in a camel culture: slow-paced, relational and no electric lights to keep people up beyond sundown and deprive them of the eight and one half hours of sleep they need each night. But ours is no camel culture. We live in a rapid-paced, highly stressful society. We are constantly surrounded with noise, cell-phones, television…. As a result, anxiety and depression are epidemic in America.”

Several years ago I woke up to the fact that I was living beyond my means. I was a debtor to sleep. I could no longer keep up with a huge social circle and constant activity. I’d long cheated my body of what it so desperately needed, and I was paying a high price. So here are some lifestyle choices I began to make—and I now prioritize.

• I keep a regular bedtime and make late nights the exception rather than the rule.
• I minimize screen time and try to avoid it altogether before bed.
• I read inspiring, hopeful books.
• I avoid caffeine and eat food that works with my body, not against it.
• If our calendar is getting cluttered, and I’m becoming task-driven instead of relationally driven, I cut back on my commitments. (And I make sure I have as many joyful commitments as I do draining ones.)
• I get alone with God most mornings.

Imitation

It’s one thing to read about how to do this stuff—it’s quite another to have someone model it for you. I am forever grateful for a few friends (both living and passed) who have shown me what it looks like to walk through life’s sorrows and stresses, to be prone to anxiety in its extreme forms and still be able to return to joy and peace in Jesus.

Motivation

I won’t pretend that these skills and habits have been easy to learn and implement. Most of my journey has been uphill. But as I have given myself, day in and day out, to working at my deficits, God has met me in amazing ways.

As I address these very real issues of chemical imbalances, personality tendencies, and stress factors, I’m motivated by more than just a desire to rid my life of panic attacks (although that would be nice!). Rather I long “to grow up in every way into Christ” so that I can increase my capacity to care for people, so I can suffer well and handle more of life’s challenges without losing my joyful identity.

God never gives up on His children. I’m 41 years old and learning things I should have known 20 years ago. But God’s timing is perfect, and He has used panic attacks as cords-of-kindness, to draw me to Him and make me love Him as I never could have imagined.

I led them with cords of kindness,
    with the bands of love,
and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws,
    and I bent down to them and fed them.
Hosea 11:4

The post God is with me in my panic attack appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Please don’t hurt me, my tender heart silently cried.

But from what I knew of him already, I couldn’t help but get excited when Eddie stated his intentions that night. He wanted to pursue a serious, marriage-minded relationship with me.

~ ~ ~ ~

By the time you’re 33 and still unmarried, you’ve mourned the death of a thousand dreams and you have just as many reasons why you should never risk your heart with another man again, why you should run when you see weakness in him, why dating can feel like a prelude to devastation.

So while I was completely enamored with Eddie and couldn’t wait to spend every possible minute with him, I was also ready to bolt at any given moment.

Surely God would say “no” to this one too, right?

Well, I’d be ready. With my running shoes on.

I begged God to let me get it right this time. I wanted a “yes” or “no”—sooner rather than later. I’d already risked my heart with several great guys before. Each time it had seemed so promising, so right. What made this scenario any different? Was I just setting myself up for another heartbreak?

I had a shelf full of waiting-and-dating books but deep down I knew there was no course of action that would guarantee a safe and blissful trip to the altar. God was not asking me to get it all right—He was asking me for my heart. He wanted me to cling to Him and hold my relationship with Eddie in open, surrendered hands.

And that’s as hard as it sounds.

So I asked Him to teach me. Show me how to love and be loved in the midst of my fears, Lord. I had to close my eyes to the “what-ifs” and worst-case scenarios that played like a film festival in my heart—and instead look long at Him, staying in His Word and pouring out my heart to Him in prayer.

But I was a slow, awkward learner.

I remember calling one of my best friends in a frenzy over another “red flag” I saw in my relationship with Eddie. (I’d put those running shoes on again.) Lisa listened patiently and then said in her characteristically truth-telling way, “You keep looking for red flags in this guy, but you’re the mess.”

And she was right. I was. I was a bundle of nerves and misgivings, and I needed a big God to walk me through heart-rending places. In those months I learned a new way to apply Elisabeth Elliot’s advice to “do the next thing.” I would enjoy the next date and leave the next year—with all its uncertainties and unknowns—in God’s strong hands.

Growing to love and trust Eddie was, in a strange sense, a beautiful discipline. I was facing some of my long-standing fears, opening up my heart in the very places it was most tender, and learning it was okay to enjoy what God was giving me.

Have you ever been terrified of a good gift God is giving you?

~ ~ ~ ~

We girls tend to think of falling in love with “the one” as something that will be obvious and chick-flick-worthy. But for me it was a season of tenacious trust. Right alongside the butterflies in my stomach and the new sparkle in my eyes was a sobering awareness that only God Himself could give me the grace to love past my fears, to love without knowing what tomorrow looked like.

And only He could get me ready for a covenant love—a love so supernatural that two sinners with a ton of baggage, living in an anti-marriage culture, could commit their lives to each other “till death do us part.”

In the end, I chose to love more than I fell in love. And that ushered me into a beautiful marriage where we continue to choose to keep loving each other every day, in our best and our worst. We’re only six years into this lifelong covenant, but I have a hunch we’ll be choosing love to our very last day.

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