What Exactly Are We Praying For Here?

A friend of mine is fasting and praying for me in the ten days leading up to my surgery.

There's a Sunday school class in North Carolina pleading with God on my behalf. I've never been there and I don't know a soul in the class other than two darling people named Donnie and Pat.

A woman from my church is parking herself in the hospital lobby the morning of my surgery to pray for me.

A college friend, her husband, and four young kids, include me often in their nightly prayers.

A neighbor of my parents splits his year between Ohio and Florida. His church in Florida is praying for me.

I have extended family, some of whom I've never even met or, at the very least, haven't seen in decades, are regularly reaching out, sharing how they are praying for me.

The church I attend has close ties to a men's residential addiction recovery program. All these guys, many of them fighting their own fierce mental and physical battles, are faithfully praying for me.

I have friends in California, one of whom has been sorting out a very dark season of her own, who are on their knees in prayer for me.

Another friend frequents East Africa, doing mission work. He got home from one of his latest trips to Kampala, Uganda, and told me there's a ministry there who cares for street kids who don't have access to enough food. They are forced to fast certain days each week. On those days of fasting, with hungry bellies of their own, they are directing their prayers to God on my behalf. 

High school friends and college friends. 
Immediate family and extended family. 

Former co-workers and current co-workers.

Elementary teachers and middle school teachers.

Parents of friends and children of friends.

Street kids in Africa and men off the street in Columbus.

People I've met and people I've never met.

People I speak with every day and people I haven't spoken with in years.

Neighbors, pastors, churches, small groups, sorority sisters, people at the gym, contractors from work, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends.

 

It seems from every nook and cranny of my life, from coast to coast and across continents, from every stage and every state I've ever lived, it seems as though there is nothing short of a small army standing in the gap on my behalf. It's almost bewildering to me to behold the range and sheer volume of people who are interceding on my behalf. But undoubtedly, I am so humbled by and so grateful for every single one of these humans.

But I'm always left wondering:

What exactly are we praying for in the midst of this mess called life and cancer?

Healing? Peace? Strength? Courage? Confidence? Hope? Miracles?

Are we praying for no complications? Are we praying for a speedy recovery? Are we praying for comfort and ease through it all?

Are we going through the motions, praying for things that just seem like standard operating procedures when we find out someone is ill or experiencing loss?

I would imagine most of our prayers are dedicated to healing, as they should be. A big, fat resounding yes to healing, peace, strength, courage, and miracles. 

And yet - and yet - 

I can't help but wonder if our prayers - my prayers - are short-sighted if they begin and end with requests for healing and miracles.

I can't help but wonder if there's more to the story than simply asking God, "Please, fix this and make all the bad stuff go away."

Because what if our prayers for such things as healing and peace - as vital and essential as they are - short-circuit the end goal?

Because the end goal is not merely that we skate through life pain-free. 

The end goal is more of Jesus.

What if ridding my brain of cancer doesn't get me more him? Then what? Congrats, I'm all better, but I have not come to know my Healer himself better? What if the real question is not so much do I have enough faith to be healed, but do I have enough faith to not be healed? Are we willing to pray those kind of prayers? Because what if our prayers for healing and miracles are prayers that lose sight of what matters most, namely knowing Jesus and making him known to others? Jesus himself paints a picture of this when he says to his disciples in Matthew 16:26, "What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?"

What if I gain all that I want in terms of physical healing, but forfeit knowing God and his beauty and holiness and glory? 

Back in January 2020, on the eve of a new decade, I found myself sitting in Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta, Georgia, alongside my niece and 65,000 other college students and adults. Christine Caine took the stage and delivered a message that still haunts my mind, particularly in recent days. You can catch the full talk on YouTube, but at the very least, I recommend watching minutes 41:17 through 44:12. She offered up a list of things she fears missing out on. But it's not the kind of FOMO most people would think of. It's the kind of FOMO that is unique to those who follow Christ, a FOMO that will not make sense to those who don't know him. She said she fears missing out on the following:

• Missing the good works that God has prepared for me (Ephesians 2:10)
• Missing out on eternal rewards (Revelation 22:12)
• Missing out on hearing well done good and faithful servant (Matthew 25:21)
• Missing out on crowns to cast at his feet (Revelation 4:10-11)
• Missing out on abundant life he came to give me (John 10:10)
• Missing out on his Presence with me in my pursuits (Exodust 33:15)
• Missing that he was with me and I did not know it (Genesis 28:16)
• Missing out on being ready when he returns (Matthew 24:44)
• Missing out on making his last commandment my first priority (Mark 16:15)
• Missing out on my time such as this (Esther 4:14)
• Missing out on becoming holy as he is holy (Hebrews 12:14)
• Missing out on what I am supposed to seek first (Matthew 6:33)
• Missing out on co-labouring with God (1 Corinthians 3:9)

I fear what Christine fears.

I have FOMO.

But it's a fear of missing out on things that will matter for all eternity, not just the things that matter here on earth.

As much as I am quaking in my boots at times about this upcoming surgery, thinking through the 800 ways it could go wrong (why am I not dwelling on all the ways it could go right? A post for another day...) there is this niggling sense within me, deep down, that I maybe fear more missing out on Jesus himself. 

I have often prayed over the years, at various times, in various circumstances, "God, I don't want more of this if it doesn't get me more of you." I don't want this dating relationship, I don't want this apartment, I don't want this house, I don't want this job, I don't want this ministry, I don't want this opportunity - I don't want any of it if it doesn't get me more if him. 

Author Randy Alcorn once said, "Heaven is a meaningless promise if Jesus is not there."

None of it matters - whether here on earth or there in heaven - one iota if Jesus is not in the midst.

So, am I willing to declare - I don't want anything to do with healing and being rid of cancer if it doesn't get me more of Jesus?

I want to be able to say that with confidence, but if I'm honest, I'm not there just yet. I waffle. I waver. I'm human. My flesh is weak. I would really love a pain-free existence. I would also really love for Pegasus (preferably black) to be real so that I could ride a flying horse.

But that's not life and that's not reality. 

Look, hear me on this - I'm not saying we shouldn't pray for healing. YES, PLEASE DO. Beat down the door of heaven until you lose strength. But healing cannot be the sum total of our prayers. There has to be more grit to what we are praying for in these circumstances. 

So, yes, pray for healing, miracles, courage, strength, hope, peace (and Pegasus for good measure). 

But what I really want you to pray for is that I would want the Healer more than the healing. 

Because healing is a meaningless promise if Jesus is not there.

And if he's not there, then I don't want it.

There are a handful of songs I have returned to often in recent days, all of which echo the idea discussed above, so if you are in need of an accompanying soundtrack, give these a listen.

• Just Want You, The Belonging Co featuring Sarah Reeves
• Miracle, Shane & Shane
• More Than Anything, Natalie Grant
• I Don't Want to Go, Avalon
• Give Me Jesus, Matt Stinton

Functional updates:

I'll try to carve out space in each post to provide updates on where I am in the process. So, if you're just here for the nuts and bolts, in the future you can slide straight here to the bottom and skip my idle wanderings above.

First, let's pause for some very important breaking news. If you've been following my story (and been paying close attention), then you've heard me mention my new favorite human being/author, Kate Bowler. I'm a big fan of old school handwritten thank you notes. So, I naturally sent Kate a personal thank you note a few weeks back, just expressing my gratitude for her words, explaining what a lifeline they had been for me. I didn't include my email, the blog, nothing. Just my return mailing address like normal on the envelope. I wasn't angling for anything; I just simply wanted her to know how much her words and her story meant to me.

I found a package sitting on my parents' kitchen table today, addressed to me. 

From Kate Bowler. 

Kate Bowler, people. KATE BOWLER.

I am regularly accused of being hard to read, having an exceptionally good poker face (depending on who you talk to), and generally being an expressionless human being. I'm not one to get too enthused about a lot of things in life, at least not in a demonstrative sort of way. Opening Christmas gifts on Christmas morning has always been an underwhelming experience to me, which my mother greatly laments.

I can assure you, I absolutely would have lost the poker game if there had been one when I opened this box.

Gah. I'm not one to fan-girl over such things, but I totally swooned over this surprise delivery from Kate. She included a note, some decals with quippy quotes, a hot/cold tumbler, and some toffee from a Chapel Hill-based chocolatier. I LOVED IT.

Second, onto more functional updates, which isn't a lot actually. I'm still working normal full-time hours and still trying to do what I normally would do if I didn't have cancer. I still watched the eclipse, but as stated above, one of those typical moments for me when I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. "Well, that was nice." I'm still making connections with friends and still going to church (obviously, pending I find a willing Uber driver in the form of my parents or a friend. Not being able to drive really sucks sometimes, just for the record.) Life is still happening. It didn't come to a stop just because I got handed a diagnosis. 

I'll have a final round of imaging on Monday and a final pre-op appointment with the neurosurgeon immediately after. Come Tuesday, it's game time!

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