My Diary of Wrestling through Writing

 

Finding Joy in the Battle

 

Early April 2023:

Writing has many inspirations. It flows from life's interactions with people and experiences mixed with imagination and soul revelations. Often it is piqued by immersion in places where the grace of creation is as tangible as if you had just plunged into the deep dark, chilling pool of a high mountain stream. You are awakened to the world of pleasure and pain, colours and textures, light and shades, tastes and delights, olfactory joys and testing journeys. Your Spirit alive. Made aware. Paraclete's presence. The Shalom of providential nurture. New season's fruits. A brave knowing. Deep calling to deep. Truth's entrusted. Echoes and the Original Voice. Love that calls for the wild. Abandonment to Passion's perspective. The Greatest thing. Giving of Life.

I mentioned in my previous Christian Writers Downunder Blog post (January 2023) about the challenge of having several close family members who had received devastating cancer diagnoses. I used this reality to help punctuate my post about writers having the opportunity to provide the gift of ‘a different narrative’. 

The messages coming from the medical prognosis of our loved ones was that they were sick, very sick, and were facing significant challenges and were emotionally and physically overwhelming.

As I wrestled with all this, I wrote. In fact, I think I wrestled with all these emotions and thoughts by writing. I present here some of my wrestling for you.

19th April 2023:

Days end is a moment to pause and listen and read the signature messages of omnipresent love. A new day starts. Years are chapters in libraries full of wonder.

 

Early March 2023:

This year’s Shave for a cure was the most personal fundraising and advocacy I have been involved in . I went bald to help raise support for Cancer research. Several of my close family members and friends have experienced their own personal battles with Cancer. This has included my Mum, our daughter and my wife’s sister. It has been a challenging season. That is why I chose to shave my head this year for raising support for a cure for cancer.

 

Sometime this year:

Peace!

Our understanding is simply surpassed by the heaven-sent love actuality that establishes, grounds us, perfects us, empowers us beyond any human potentiality.

 

The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.

Philippians 4

 

 

Earlier in March 2023 :

In 2022 our daughter was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma. This is a type of cancer that affects the lymphatic system, which is part of the body's germ-fighting immune system. In Hodgkin's lymphoma, white blood cells called lymphocytes grow out of control, causing swollen lymph nodes and growths throughout the body.

…….Our daughter has undergone treatment while pregnant which has been a huge challenge. But she is amazing, responding well to treatments, and our little grand daughter was born in November. There is joy in the battle.

We are so thankful that research, treatment, care and prayer have combined for a good healthy future for our daughter.

However, with no screening programs available and no means of prevention through lifestyle changes, blood cancer continues to be Australia's hidden cancer crisis.

Every day, 53 Aussies are diagnosed with blood cancer, and 16 will lose their life.

BTW our Daughter completed her treatments last Thursday 🙂

 

 

 23rd February 2023 (Our Daughter wrote this):

“Today I had my last dose of chemo. I’ve got my next PET scan next month, which (I hope) will confirm that I’m in complete remission!

Life is full of many battles, and for me this was a big one that I know I’ll never forget.

I’m so blessed to have so many wonderful friends and family members who have been praying and caring for me and our little family over the past 7 months. And to all of the health care workers, doctors and nurses who have been going through this journey with me, I thank you for all of your support, care and positivity. You’ve made the situation that much easier to deal with.

Whatever you’re going through, whatever fight you might be fighting, keep fighting it, because coming through the battle field and knowing that you’ve won is a great feeling!”

 

It was a brave, hope-filled, prayer-like, inspiring narrative.

 

Early in February I had written:

One of the powers of Grace is that omnipotence surpasses circumstances. A simple knowing. In the most horrific of battles .....Joy.

The trick is that we simply need to be still enough to see it, hear it, know it and let this knowing spring forth. Like a seed that takes root, grows and flourishes even in what seems to be the most impossible of spaces.

 

In Mid January 2023 our Daughter was losing her hair as a result of her chemo treatment, My Mum had just undergone major and invasive surgery and I was praying, wrestling with all the internal emotions and writing…… :

When the sky displays colours that make you stop in your sandy tracks......

I want to make sure I pause long enough to not just admire the beauty, but breathe in a fresh resolve that my gratitude is constantly superceded by heaven's providential grace. Even when the going is hard, I can exhale praise through sighs, tears, groans and pain. When the frailty of our mortality is challenged, somehow there is always joy. With each sigh there can be a smile, with each smile a laugh, with each laugh a song, with each song a declarative shout that all is well in my soul.

Another breath, another truth, another day, another mercy. There are joys in our battles, we must notice them through the war haze.

Peace beyond reasoning.

 Fix our gaze on heaven's displays of light. In the darkest night we have the glow of our living, the presence of Love, the personification of justice.

Hope clings like a shawl, the warmth of sunset's awe, knowing that the morning brings the sun again to amaze our senses and show a provision beyond our littleness.

 An omniscient eternal potency of Creator's nearness and care.

 

 

In December 2022 

while I was praying for our daughter (and her husband) and their baby and my Mum in the midst of their health challenges I wrote something I would like to share with you. Something that echoes their challenges alongside the beauty of their womanhood and being “Mum":

  My protagonist, Charlotte, is a 45 year old Medical Relief worker (a character I have been developing for several years). She has been taken captive and imprisoned in a stone and tin shed for 9 months. Why? She does not know. But she is desperate to find meaning in her incarceration.

I wrote as I wrestled:

All the disparity of her captivity came upon her like a heavy wave of anxiety. In crescendos it came with a morose dolefulness, a suffocating depression. That sometimes heightened into desperation. On those days she would wake with her pulse already escalated. Her breathing rapid and shallow and sometimes she would be sweating even though the air was often cold, and she would yell and scream, sometimes she would hit the walls. On one occasion she had given in to this angst curled up foetal-like on the floor and then thrashed around like a toddler in torment.

When she had calmed herself through her tears, she tried to remember times of freedom.

The day she remembered was her birthday. The emotion she experienced was elation. It was relief. She remembered her birthday all those years ago as she sat in an aircraft cockpit beside her pilot directing his concern for where they would land. Their payload were the rescued souls of her tribal friends. Hunted. Now refugees. Seeking safety. A new space to live. Redeemed and about to remake their lives in a valley that had been purged of peoples. It lay quiet, secluded, unknown to the outside world. A space of healing and a new start for them. And she realised this was in her favour to. The flat fields of rice below were wet, very wet, sodden. Streams were full. Overflowing. The large columns of dark clouds above were pregnant with flooding offspring.

Her memory moved to years before as she breathed deeply of the smell of the wet season beginning in earnest. She was remembering walking in one of those villages. The village she would help rebuild and repopulate with new families.

 

Children ran up to her and around her. The dirt track was muddied, pot marked and slippery. The children weaved around her, carefully jumped over puddles, and eagerly called her name. Those who dared or were pushed by their jovial friends touched her fair skin. They pretended to walk like her flicking their dark locks of hair to make fun and show attention to her long blonde hair. The smallest of her new friends was pushed into her by one of the more boisterous older girls. The little girl had begun to sob until Charlotte had smiled at her, taken an ink stamp from her bag and stamped the love heart icon on her own hand. As the little one reached out her hand, she stamped her hand too. They then walked hand in hand through the village to the little girl’s hut. What ensued remained a vivid blessing to her senses.

 

The little girl's mother had met her at their hut entrance. She had reached out her hand in greeting. But to Charlotte’s surprise had bypassed the rudimentary western greeting of a handshake and had moved closer and more intimately to place her hand fully on Charlotte's lower abdomen. In her simple English the mother had spoken to Charlotte's umbilical region through her hand.

“Your womb will be blessed !”

The beautiful young mother had then seemed even more so to Charlotte. Aglow in what seemed a prophetic, mystical glow. She was a small lady. Her sinewy form showed tender nurturing softness despite the years of hard work she had accomplished already in her short life. Charlotte reasoned that she was probably her age but had already born several children herself. The mother looked lovingly into Charlotte's eyes and smiled a well-attended pretty joy that spread from her mouth to her cheeks to the creases at the corners of her eyes, from her temples to her ears, and wrinkled her graceful neck and collarbone.

“You are going to be mother to many children.” She said.

The authority she announced this statement with shook Charlotte to her core. She felt something had happened in her innermost being. It was unsettling. Almost amorous. Like she had just been touched internally.  She reasoned back then that it was a simple hormonal flush. It seemed cold and warm all at the same time. It was as if electricity had flowed into her organs. She had released a sigh back then, all those years ago when she was just a 20 something thinking how she would love a child, but one day. Maybe. 

If only she was able.

In my Christian writers post at the beginning of this year I had written :

As writers we have the opportunity to provide the gift of ‘a different narrative’ that blesses others with sustainable and engaging hope-empowerment: One about changing the world. After all, core to our faith existence is ‘good’ news.

 

 

On Good Friday this year I wrote :

Just as children reflect, grow and flourish in the love and life they receive in the nurture of their family. Just like how little Lilliana (our Grand daughter) is loved by her Mummy and Daddy, an astounding testament of poured out, sacrificial love through the battles for health to bring life. I pause today to be grateful for Saviour's love. May my life and living be an abundant testament of this Love. May my living be a shalom of established, radical, justice-bringing, humble, kindnesses. May I be like this little bundle of blessing: simply bringing joy in our lives.

 

I love telling stories of how our community and others are addressing issues, the ways being attempted to fix things, the change being made, and stories about the people being helped and helping others. The truth is, how we tell a story has the ability to either give or take power away from us, our view of reality and therefore, who we become.

 

 

On March 30th 2023 (Our Daughter shared more of her story):

 

“For those who are curious, I got my results back today from my PET Scan, and they confirm that I’m in remission!”

 

As my wife and I sat in the glow of the closing day our daughter's message washed over us like the waves caressing the rocks at the Mooloolaba Spit. 

Our  sunset walk will forever be memorialised not for the beauty of day's end , and not just the end of the battle, but that a joy-filled new season of life is assured

My response :

 "Simply so thankful. And LOVE YOU. and so thankful for and Love you ALL.

All Creation may be groaning, here in you is a JOY and Grace that is Simply an astounding testament of embracing through battles. Standing apart is never alone. Together with each of you as a family. All of us as family. Friendship enlivened to a resurrection hope. A redemption realised. A strength emboldened. Together in a war. We stand together. We would no matter what . The family of dolphins that just rose here in the sunset testify too. Kiss of Heaven. Creator's breath. Healer's touch. Saviour's love. All our love. Thankyou ."

Shalom

 

Now faith is the assurance (title deed, confirmation) of things hoped for (divinely guaranteed), and the evidence of things not seen [the conviction of their reality—faith comprehends as fact what cannot be experienced by the physical senses].

Hebrews 11:1

The Gift and the Blessing

Rosemary New

Reading a good Christian book is a blessing. 

Writing a good Christian book is a gift from God—a ‘pay-it-forward’ blessing for readers. How long might it take for the writer’s gift to merge into the reader’s blessing? 

In my book, it was 22 years.

I heard these words from God one day in 1993: “I want you to write a book.”

I was shocked. Stunned. The last time I had written anything like a book was as a 7-year-old, when I asked Mum for some sheets of paper. These I folded in half, then I wrote and illustrated my short story about a mischievous kitten called Paffy. I bound the pages into a book with dress-making pins. 

With great excitement I showed Paffy, the Naughty Kitten to my schoolteacher. He returned it edited with his red pen. My spelling and punctuation transgressions were red-marked severely—and so was my soul. I was so proud of my first book—but it wasn’t good enough. 

So that day, in 1993, I replied to God, “Me? Write a book? What about?” 

He didn’t say any more but He had clearly spoken and I knew I had to get started. I turned on the computer, opened a new blank document … and waited for inspiration to come. The words poured out, like liquid through my fingers. I was astonished to read my own writing as it emerged on the screen, about the conflicts of faith our eldest son, Joshua, 17, was struggling with—the ways of the world were drawing him away from the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Writing the book through those difficult years was a gift from God. As my fingers raced across the keyboard, He would charge words with His grace for my time of need. Anything—from inspirational Christian literature, scripture, to prayer partners’ encouragements—all nourishing my soul and adding chapters to the book.

In 1995, we were called 500km to an Intensive Care Unit. Joshua was in a coma on oxygen, having had an accidental drug overdose. He had shared heroin with his girlfriend but his half-share, combined with headache medication, rendered him unconscious, near death, asphyxiating from his own vomit. Paramedics saved his life. 

He awoke from his coma the next day with no recollection of drug use but, during his coma, he heard everything I spoke while he was unresponsive. Since he couldn’t speak or move, he thought that he must have been totally paralysed in an accident. While still intubated, he scribbled on a notepad, “what did I break?” I had to tell him, “You had a drug overdose and you nearly died.” Then he tearfully apologised for who he had become. He sought rehab, trying so hard to recover his Christian integrity and be the son we would be proud of. It broke my heart that he felt so unworthy and I poured my distress, and my hope in God, into the book.

Early in 1999, Joshua attempted suicide. We rushed 500km again. He was on life support. Remembering that he heard and recalled every word I spoke during his coma in 1995, I sat beside him day after day, talking about God’s forgiveness and lovingkindness, urging Joshua to repent and re-commit his life to Christ. He was unresponsive but I knew his soul and spirit were still alive.

I wrote it all in the book. Every painful, heart-wrenching, medically hopeless diagnosis through those final seven days … yet God came through restoring MY soul with His songs in the midnight hours. When life-support was turned off, Joshua entered into the Lord’s salvation at 22 years of age.  

I continued writing the book throughout our crippling grief for the next few years but paused when I joined Christian Writers Downunder and attended a Christian writers’ retreat. I didn’t feel much like a true ‘writer’ and my book had stalled. I was such a broken person but my writing recovery has begun through the CWD friendship—and reading their books!  

In 2015, our friend, a fine Christian man, was struggling with overwhelming challenges in his life. During visits, while listening and sharing, we encouraged him to keep his focus faithful.

One day I felt impressed to lend the manuscript of my book to him.

He returned it a few days later with tears in his eyes. “I was planning,” he said in a faltering voice, “to suicide on Sunday, but I knew I had to read your book first. Thank you.”

The gift of words in my incomplete book was the pay-it-forward blessing of life for this man, twenty-two years after the book began. For that, I am so humbled at God’s gifting to write it.

Rosie New has held the gift of writing all her life, with many short stories accumulating in a private stash! But in 2015, “Simply Simon”, an entry she submitted to the Birdcatcher Books Short Fiction Award, was published in the anthology. Rosie says, “That blew me away with excitement, because I loved writing but was still afraid of getting the red pen … LOL!”

Rosie’s hobby is Miyuki glass bead-weaving tiny miniatures. She is writing her first novel and is greatly encouraged by the CWD friends who have recently published their firsts!