Caring Bridge Update: Hurry Up and Wait!!!

My Caring Bridge Update:  http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/melissadriggers/journal

Caring Bridge

My surgery is tomorrow.  My family will be posting updates on my Caring Bridge site for as long as I'm unable to post updates myself.  Please check in at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/melissadriggers.  I appreciate your prayers so very much. 

He is my Healer.

Past, Present, and ...

For the past two years, I’ve given each new year a word. Well, actually, God gave the words to me. In 2010, the word was “Breakthrough”. And a year of Breakthrough it was – the loving hands who hold flowers in the desert walked right into the pain that was the cancer of my heart. He healed me.

In 2011, the word is "Dreams". I wrote about it here. On the other side of Breakthrough, I found my ability to dream again. Big, audacious dreams. 

Back in January of this year, God kept showing me lions. No, that’s not a typo. Lions. For a period of several weeks, I kept hearing Him say “lion” to me during my prayer time. During that season, I was wrestling before God because leadership opportunities were coming my way and I was running hard from them. I had been running from them for years, really. If I turned the TV on, there was usually some sort of a lion in the scene playing. I even remember passing a billboard with a huge picture of a lion. I mean, come on. He might as well just have plugged in a neon sign in front of my face. I read from Daniel and spent hours trying so hard to study the Word to find what He wanted me to know.  But I didn’t get it. I just couldn’t understand what He was trying to tell me.

We had a prophetic prayer ministry from the Wesley Foundation at UGA come to a youth retreat to do a prayer workshop, and a few adults were invited. It was my first experience being prayed for prophetically. I was a bit skeptical , so I just prayed that if this was something of God, that He would give the people praying over me something so specific that only He would know. I arrived to the prayer room, sat down, and immediately one of the young men in the group (whom I’d never met before in my life) leaned his body all the way across the table, got right in my face and said “God wants you to know that He didn’t create you to be a housecat. He created you to be a lion.”  WOW.

That was the night I stopped running.

Once that happened, He opened the floodgates. I didn’t have to do a thing or make anything happen. He did, by the bucketfulls. 

Recruited by a major publisher to write a book. Invited to be a guest writer on some very well-known blogs and some ministry publications. Asked to speak at events. Leading a cluster group.  Seeing incredible growth in counseling ministry.

On October 17th, my plans were to leave work to come home to put the finishing touches on Chapter 4 of the book. Instead, I was at my parents’ house grieving the news that I have cancer.

Not now, God. Not now. You just taught me to dream. How can you give me a book deal AND cancer? Don’t you remember – this is the year of dreams. You told me that. Did you forget?

No, He didn't forget.

In Breakthrough, I gave Him my past.

I now realize that in Dreams, I must give Him my future.

Those dreams that I have? He gave them to me. They’re His, and they are still on fire and alive in me because He is alive in me. Earlier this year in Africa, He showed me that He will not relent until He has all of my heart.  So I confess that I haven't surrendered my future to Him.  The past, yes.  The present, yes.  But, my future --  I have surrendered only enough not to lose control.  This journey is showing me that.   

So I hold my future out to Him, with outstretched arms and open hands to the One who does not relent in His love for me.

It’s yours, Lord.  It's yours. 

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

Me and Dad

I have vivid memories of my childhood summers. Constantly at our neighborhood swimming pool from its opening hour until booted out by the teenage-angst-filled lifeguards at closing time, my olive skin became very dark. I would be stopped regularly by the nosy inquirer who wanted to know if I was Brazilian or from some other far-off exotic place. But no, I was merely a little small town southern girl. As I think about that memory, I find it comical. I was not an exotic foreign heir to fortune or fame. I was a simple girl from a simple town with simple taste. And I was the luckiest girl alive (and still am), because the values instilled in me by my parents were based upon recognizing the extraordinary in the simplest pleasures in life.

God has blessed me with the most incredible earthly father a girl could have. He oooohed and aaaahed when I twirled in my new dresses, he graciously pretended to eat elaborate imaginary platters of food I designed with little plastic “pegs”, and he never once forgot to leave me a beautiful heart full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Every Saturday morning, we had breakfast together at Kay’s Drugstore…it was our date every week. And every single day (no exaggeration), I would wake up to a handwritten note from Dad wishing me a good day, affirming me, and telling me that he loved me “very, very, very, very much”.

My most treasured memories with Dad, though, are the ones framed around those Georgia midsummer days that were so humid you could barely breathe. He and I would sit out on our deck in the hot sun, and we would share an ice cold can of fruit cocktail. Two forks. We would sit and talk and laugh with the sweltering sun beating down on us as we took turns reaching into a fifty-cent can of ice cold fruit. At the end, one lone cherry always awaited…and Dad always gave it to me of course. We would stay and talk and talk and talk until the sun came down. Dad worked hard to support our family. But he and a silly can of fruit cocktail always had time for me. From my perspective, there was no finer cuisine. The experience was not framed around an iPhone or iPad or Playstation or designer jeans or fancy trips or cameras or computers. There was just me and my Daddy, and an aluminum can of processed fruit between us. I was content, satisfied, and loved. I can’t tell you what I got for Christmas or my birthday every year, but I can tell you about those times on the deck with my Dad like it was yesterday. That, I remember. And that, I treasure.

If you look in my refrigerator today, you’ll notice a can of fruit cocktail on the top shelf. And if you know me well at all, then you know that there is always a can in my fridge. Always. Because I need to be reminded that there are opportunities every single day to find the extraordinary in the simplest of things.

Thank you, Dad, for your love for me and our family.  Happy Birthday!

Needle and Thread.

I wonder who she was. What she dreamed about. Did she have a husband and children? How old was she? Was she happy? Was she struggling to understand her life’s purpose? What did she think about? Was she tired, drained? I wonder if her hands were blistered or crippled with arthritis. Did her neck and shoulders hurt at the end of her workday?

We know nothing about her; not even her name. Yet she holds a critical place in history. Not one of prominence or notoriety, but instead behind the scenes of a story that has been passed down through the ages and will continue to be for all of eternity.
...

For the rest, go to (in)courage, where I'm a guest blogger today!

Vibrations of Worship.

In my living room. Tuesday nights with people I love. Doing life together.

Seeking, broken, flawed, joyful, forgiven, teachable. Iron sharpening iron.

The welcome has been given. In moments of praise and worship before the study and discussion begins…

“…No beginning and no end... You’re my hope and my defense…”

As the music and our voices rise, under my feet the floor vibrates. The walls shake.

**************************************************************************

In the church office on Sunday morning. The early worship service begins. Kneeling in prayer for the hearts of those who will lead and those who will hear.

The welcome has been given. The band begins to play.

“All of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory…”

As the music rises, my prayers are joined with the most beautiful sound as the building shakes and dances with a force so strong that I can feel it in my chest.

The walls quake with wonder.

Ceiling tiles tremble with redemption.

The floor shakes with praise.

Vibrations of Truth.
Vibrations of love.
Vibrations of healing.
Vibrations of hope.
Vibrations of freedom.

Hearts are awakened to life in the vibrations of worship.

Messy Joy.

Joy is messy.

That’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? But I think it’s true. 

Joy always celebrates.  But sometimes joy comes with aches.  Sometimes, it weeps.  Sometimes, it dances. Sometimes, it belly-laughs with anticipation. 

And sometimes... like tonight ... joy does all of that at the same time.  It's messy.

I got some news tonight (Wednesday).

My sweet friend whom I’ve never met is on her way to meet Jesus as I write this. While some would discount a friendship with someone you’ve never met, I would disagree. Sara Frankl has deeply impacted my journey with God through the words she has shared on her blog for the past 3 years. Her story is profound. Her pain is chronic and unyielding. But her joy … oh, her joy … it is made of something that celebrates and awakens the hearts of others to hope. 

Not long from now, Sara will leave her tiny apartment for the first time in three years.  For three years, her rare, mysterious illness has forbidden her from going outside.  But soon and very soon, she will leave her home here and run into the arms of Jesus. 

Sara often described her deepest passion that her life, her story, would not bring people to tears but would fill them with hope. In Sara’s words:

“Mostly, if you met me… if you came here to the condo I affectionately term "Gitzapalooza"… I would want to make sure you came feeling welcomed and loved. And that you left feeling more filled up than when you came. How that happens doesn't matter so much to me. What we talk about or do to make that happen doesn't matter so much to me. It just matters that you're filled.”

She did that. For so many, she did just that. Well done, Sara. Well done.

It’s hard to write this through a downpour of tears. My heart aches that her words, baked with messages of hope and grace, will no longer reach my eyes or fill our hearts. Her legacy spans to countless others who never met her, and a very, very lucky few who did. Yet I find joy through the weeping and in the ache.  Joy dances in the blessed assurance that the one day Sara lived her whole life for is coming soon. Joy celebrates that she will no longer be in pain and will again be able to lift her beautiful voice in song to her Prince. And joy belly-laughs in anticipation of the delight in her Father's voice as He whispers, “Well done, my faithful, sweet daughter. Well done.” 

With joyful tears, I celebrate for sweet Sara.

Blessed assurance. Oh, the entry into heaven that awaits her. The promise that on that day of her welcoming, the angels will sing. Sara’s faith on that day will become her eyes. What a party it will be!

As I sat down to collect myself and to pray, I received an email from another one of my dearest friends.

My friend Julie’s son Aaron, the sweetest 9 year old you’ll ever meet, accepted Christ today. He sweetly asked Jesus into his heart. I had a treasured opportunity to spend time with little Aaron this past weekend. His heart is tender and deep and generous and so loving.  Joy dances in the promise of God's amazing plans for Aaron.  Joy weeps in gratitude to a God that sent His son for our sin.  Joy belly-laughs in anticipation of how God will continue to reveal Himself to little Aaron's heart. 

With joyful tears, I celebrate for little Aaron. 

Blessed assurance. Oh, the entry to heaven that awaits him. The promise that on that day of his welcoming, the angels will sing. Aaron’s faith will on that day become his eyes. What a party it will be!

Two people whom I love are celebrating eternal life today. Two people whom I love are dreaming of heaven today.   My joy aches, weeps, dances, and belly-laughs in anticipation. 

Joy. It’s beautiful.

And messy.