After He Was Strengthened.

I wonder what the angel said.

We aren’t specifically told that the angel was Gabriel, the same angel that told Mary she would give birth to the Son of God, but I like to think that it was.

I imagine the passion of a father racing across town to be with his son in the emergency room.

God, sending His angel Gabriel, to Gethsemane.

“Hey, Gabriel, 34 years ago I sent you to tell Mary that she, a virgin, would give birth to Jesus, the King of Kings. Now, I send you to earth again. Go to him, He's in the Garden. Hurry. My Son is crying.”

I wonder what he said to Jesus. Well, we will never know for sure, because the Bible is silent about it. But we know whatever it was, it strengthened Him.

Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22: 39-44, NIV)

Wouldn’t you think that after Jesus was strengthened, He would have quickly dried his eyes, offered a brave smile, and passionately resumed His mission? But it didn’t happen that way. Before He rose from the anguish, He cried even harder.  So hard, in fact, that His own sweat turned bloody. This happened after He was strengthened.

My Jesus, after receiving encouragement, prayed even more earnestly and cried harder.

Me too, Jesus. Me too. 

Perhaps we're meant to learn that the richest hope permits the deepest suffering...

Perhaps we’re meant to learn that the deepest suffering releases the strongest power...

Perhaps we’re meant to learn that the strongest power produces the greatest joy.

In the deepest part of my soul, I long more than anything to live in the fullness of His power alive in me, and to further His Kingdom.  But for tonight, from my personal garden, with a strengthened heart, I cry out even harder to Jesus:

My God, My Jesus, bind up my wounds, erase my fears, and deliver me from disease and pain.  Breathe life into my dry and tired bones.  But not before you teach me how to die, Lord.  Not before you teach me how to die.

Because I Care About You...

Hello again. I lost my voice for a while. But I’m back now, and I can't wait to break it down and share my journey with you.  But let's start here first.  

Please take a few minutes to watch this.


 
So here’s the thing. As the video explains, this isn’t about fear. It’s about awareness. It only takes a few minutes to have a skin exam at your dermatologist. Just a few minutes, once a year. And nearly all insurance plans cover the cost. And if yours doesn’t, then email me and I’ll help you find a doctor who will examine you. I’m serious about that. Because I care about you that much.

Why? Because all from one tiny mole on my leg, my life changed. With one single word … "malignant". And I never, ever want you to go through this.

If you think malignant melanoma is always some simple thing that can be sliced off in your dermatologist’s office, you’re wrong. I thought so, too … so I waited longer than I should have.

This picture is the reality of late Stage 2 Melanoma.

I lost a piece of my leg. And this 8 inch scar is only half of my story, because there is another one on my abdomen similar to this one from the surgery to remove lymph nodes.

This is serious business. Don’t put it off like I did. Be aware, and be proactive. Call a dermatologist and make an appointment for a checkup now. Right now.

Go. Please, please go.

And after you make your appointment, come back here. Because I have some other things to share with you in the days to come. Those scars have become my unexpected pathways to the peace that passes all understanding.  And I can't wait to tell you about it. 

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!