A Good Promise

We were staring at the washer/dryer stacks in the basement of MD Anderson.  More accustomed to deer blinds than laundry rooms, the uncomfortableness gets as thick as the Houston fog.  It takes a while for guys to actually look at each other let alone converse and in those moments you look for any man-topic to avoid talking about your wife’s clothes spinning in the dryer. One friend calls it being pigheaded… I prefer a gentler term like… well, pigheaded probably nails it after all.

We talk.  His name is L.J. and his wife is having a bone marrow transplant as well as a stem cell transplant.  Four kids, bad insurance, five appeals in a year and a half just to get here and she is doing well one month into a four month hospital stay.  I promise to pray for her and his gratitude is sincere.

An older Hispanic couple walks the halls every day.  They are from New Mexico and caring for their daughter.  Rare disease, bone marrow transplant, 4 young children and this is the last hope.  I talk to them around the coffeepot and promise to pray, their words are  quiet and wrapped in humility from a life lived without the pride that accompanies possessions.

There is a man and his two sons, fixtures in the little “family room” that offers a refrigerator and microwave to caregivers.  He is always on his cell phone.  The two sons are “live-ins”… shoes off, cooking spaghetti, leaving a mess in their wake and oblivious to all others as teens are likely to do.  Their mom is never out of bed… not a good sign in this place where every patient does the “chemo marathon” around the two pods several times a day.  Keeping to themselves, they say little but hurt deeply.  All I can do is pray.

There are the nurses, too.  There names change twice a day on the white board in front of Jan’s bed.  They are careful to stay within the confines of HIPAA, that conversation killing gag rule that strangles tender care if observed to the letter. Thankfully, they don’t and the conversations are about kids, real life struggles,  and life between shifts which is messy compared to the sterile walls of the 11th floor.  They all know who we serve and we care for them as they care for Jan.

And here Jan sits.  There are seven bags hanging from the I.V. stand.  This morning they are giving her blood along with other concoctions as her blood counts do what is expected.  Outside of Jan’s room it is busy and noisy… floors are being cleaned, carts of supplies pass along, and the occasional “inmate” walks their chemo marathon for the day.  Humanity in a microscope.  The gospel story lived out among the 100 or so people that will make up our village over the coming weeks.

Paul, when he finally arrived in Rome, was immediately under a sort of “house arrest.”  The story goes that his days were spent chained to the elite Roman soldiers known as the Praetorian Guard, the personal protectors of the Emperor.  His world was constricted to the length of chain between him and the hardened warrior on the other end.  He saw his circumstance as a great opportunity.  After all, he didn’t need to go looking for those to share Christ with because they were chained to him in shifts throughout the day.

The Letter to the church in Philippi gives a snapshot of what took place.

My imprisonment in the cause of Christ has become well known
throughout the whole praetorian guard and to everyone else.

In other words, those that were in his path were the ones with whom he shared the Gospel.

• They saw him as a prisoner of Rome.  He saw them as captives of Christ.

• They thought he was chained to them.  Paul knew they were chained to him.

• They heard he was to appeal to the Emperor but Heaven heard his appeal for their souls.

And so it was that one by one, those hardened warriors bowed to King Jesus.  I can only imagine the scene!
For these next months, we are not captives of cancer, hospital beds or the 11th floor of MDA.  Our assignment, as difficult as it might seem, is to be the light of the Gospel to many who are closer to death than those outside these doors.  No one does this willingly, by the way, but where God sends, He provides.

And what of you?  How short is the “chain” you struggle with each day to escape?  Those circumstances or that person you are chained to are providential.  No mistake was made and as unappealing as circumstances might be God’s promise carries His provision.

Paul uses the word “guard” another time in his wonderful little letter to the Philippians.  It is found at the end as he encourages those saints to alway trust God’s promises.  He says this,

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and
supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

The great promise of a life lived with Jesus is that He will never leave and never forsake.  He backs up His great promise with a great gift, the peace of God that stands sentry in Heaven’s full battle armor against the onslaught of the enemy of your soul.  The message is clear.  If we do our job and stop struggling against the chain of providence, God will do His greater work.  His peace will be our banner as we share His gospel in our appointed assignment.

Your heart is chained to the peace of God, friend.  That’s a good promise to stand on.  Now go and do your job.