I Have Cancer

I have been around cancer my whole life.  Granny was the first person I remember having cancer.  She died the summer before I went to 4th grade.  I learned right away that cancer wasn't pretty.  Granny spent a lot of time in bed and she couldn't get better.  I missed the biscuits she would make or the round cookies that fit on my ring finger that she would always buy for me.

Then there was my Aunt Jane.  She was my dad's sister and was like a second mom to me.  She didn't have children of her own, and I was the only grandchild on that side of the family.....so she loved me as her own.  My senior year of high school she got sick and was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  I watched her fight through surgeries, chemotherapy, medicines, and lots of doctor visits.  I saw her courage the day her hair fell out and she decided to throw clumps of her dark hair outside for the birds to use to make a nest. I witnessed her put aside plans and dreams because she was so hopeful that chemo would help her live.  I sat and held her hand the night that doctors told her there wasn't anything else they could do and didn't expect her to live through the night.  After that I visited her in the care facility and would go get her a hot dog or a milkshake because she thought that sounded good, only to have her not take a bite.  I said goodbye more times than I wish to count.  Jane fought hard.  Jane taught me how to live and how to die.  She deeply impacted my life and my call to ministry,

A few years later, standing in my parent's kitchen, my dad would tell me he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer "and its aggressive."  My Uncle Joe and my cousin Ben both faced that diagnosis.  And then just a few weeks ago I walked into my mom's hospital room.  She was wrapped in a prayer shawl.  Dad told me to sit down that pathology came back from mom's surgery and she has colon cancer.

I have held the hands of numerous parishioners dealing with cancer.  I have prayed with them, cried with them, and visited them.  I will never forget embracing two teenage boys, one under each arm, as they walked out of their mom's hospital room knowing it was their last visit with her on this side of eternity.  I have volunteered for hospice and been an advocate for the amazing work they provide.  I have walked in the Relay for Life and given money to the American Cancer Society. I have bought luminaries in honor or memory of family members.

Cancer has always been part of my life.  I have always known it shows no partiality.  it is nasty.  It is heartbreaking.  It inflicts pain.  It is life changing.  And now I have to pause every time I say, "I have cancer."  Yes, "I have cancer."  Now the story is mine.  I was sitting with my mom at her first chemotherapy appointment when the surgeon called with my biopsy results.  We found cancer and we will need to talk about next steps.

Tomorrow I begin the journey towards treating my cancer.  I have a procedure scheduled to identify the tumor in preparation for surgery on Monday.  After surgery, there will be pathology reports of the mass and lymph nodes, more doctors visits, radiation and hormone therapy for sure.  Oncotypes will determine if chemo is necessary.  Perhaps more scans if the lymph nodes are involved.  For now, it truly sucks to say, "I have cancer."  It is raw.  It brings unanticipated tears to my eyes.  It makes me angry to think that my body has failed me.  It makes me angry to think about how my girl's worlds have been rocked this year because two of the women they love the most now have cancer.  Yes, "I have cancer."

Cancer is now part of my story and yet it is not the only story.  My identity is found in the fact that I am a beloved child of God.  So, while I do have cancer.  I also have a God who walks ahead of me; walks alongside of me; and promises to never allow me to walk alone.  I have cancer AND I have God. 

A New Club

Today is International Women’s Day.  I have always been an advocate for women’s rights.  I have always been encouraged to be what I wanted to be, to speak up for myself and others, and to never settle for anything.  As an only child, I was rightly called bossy. Today I call that leadership.

My grandfather used to say there was no such thing as a SHE Boss.  However, he knew better than that, he was married to a very independent and outspoken woman and he was the father to three girls who grew to be strong, independent women known as “the Goforth girls.”  Four of his 5 grandchildren were all girls and have grown to be strong, independent women. I am raising 3 girls, who have strong opinions, speak their minds, stand up for themselves, and are certainly SHE bosses in the making.  (I often wonder where their determination comes from?!).

I am a proud graduate of a woman’s college.  At Meredith College, I earned a BS in Biology that taught me to think and reason.  I was shaped by my advisor, Dr. Swab who insisted that I write and speak clearly. I was gifted with friends who became like sisters, and I am forever grateful for an education that taught me to lead and love.  

When God called me into ordained ministry, I never considered that some would disagree with a woman’s role in the life of the church.  I remember the day I was told in the Cardiac Care Unit that the doctor called for the Chaplain not his secretary, or the day the pastor let me know his church would not be participating in a community Thanksgiving Service because he preaches and teaches against women in the pulpit, or the day the church directory photographer told me he was not used to preachers looking pretty like me.  I am the first female senior pastor at the church I currently serve. Some call me and sister clergy “incompatible with Christian teaching,” but nevertheless we preach, teach and lead.

This week I joined another club of strong and independent women.  I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Monday. A mass showed-up on a routine mammogram (the second I had ever had) which led to more images and a biopsy.  I have met with a surgeon, a genetic counselor, my family doctor, and I have been in conversation with an oncologist this week. This was a club that I never hoped to join, and yet here I find myself with countless other women who have faced breast cancer.  I am 41 years old, and I am ready to fight. I am strong (as I told me twins, strong as ****). This will not have the last word. I will not be defined by cancer. I will live into my faith and my strength will be defined by the power of God that lives within me.  This She Boss is ready to fight.

*** if you have been putting off a routine examination for early detection.  Please, use this as a friendly and BOSSY reminder to make an appointment.

Divided or Broken?

I was raised in a divided family. And in many ways I still find myself living in a divided family. As the oldest granddaughter, I was invited to sit alongside of my grandfather as he received the golden elephant award for the Henderson County Republican Party. As an only child, I learned my parents political persuasions were different. As a woman called to ordained ministry, I’ve had my southern Baptist ordained father-in-law hold my hands and pray for my ministry, and I have had others say “my ordination is incompatible with Christian teaching”   I listened to our “adopted daughter” share how she received a notebook on how not to be gay from her mother, and I listened as her mother begged me to help her see the biblical mandate. I yearly sit with my extended family on the porch of the beach house listening to a variety of perspectives on immigration. My family is divided. And in the midst of this diversity, I experience love and learn how to love.

Two weeks ago, I held a hand washing service as my church concluded a series based around our 2019 ministry theme:  “Serve.” I had the opportunity to wash so many different hands and my prayer was that God would use those hands to offer love and grace and mercy to our world. Two of the hands I washed were those of my parents. As I washed their hands and looked into their eyes I said, “May God continue to bless these hands who taught me how to love.” They are different different hands.  Politically one is conservative and one is liberal. One woke at 5:30 every morning to read the Bible and pray and the other spent the Sunday school hour each week catching up on the latest sports news from the night before. One sat in an office in the midst of academia and the other visited the dirt floor homes deep in the Jackson County Mountains. One is my mom and one is my dad.  They are different and together they taught me how to love.

I have spent the last few days in St. Louis with my other divided family called the United Methodist Church.  It was the church my parents chose after they married, it was the church I was baptized in, confirmed in, raised in,ordained in, am raising my children in, and it is the church that taught me how to love, who to love, and how to live.   Over these few days, I have listened as people passionately shared how they love without limits and others share how love calls them to uphold tradition and biblical authority. I have been yelled each morning by Christians on the streets who protest our conversation  on human sexuality. I have listened as my LGBTQ brothers and sisters sing “Jesus loves me.” I have cried. I have laughed. I have prayed. I have cried and prayed some more as I witnessed how divided we are. Love was present because God was present, but in the midst of the division it was not the love I recognized.  Yesterday after the General Conference voted to uphold our denomination’s traditional stance on marriage and ordination, I realized that our division is really an expression of our brokenness. We are divided, but more than that we are broken. We are a broken people in deep need of God’s healing power.

I was seated near a group of 30 some young adults who stood for almost 1 ½ hours chanting, screaming, “no,” and “stop the harm.”  I will hear the reverberations of their voices for a long time. In the midst of their chanting, I saw a broken church on the convention center floor. A group who desired unity gathered in a crucifix form on the conference floor, others danced and sang together,  and others sat silently alone at their table.

Walking out of the convention center, I heard many of our sisters and brothers holding hands and singing in solidarity.  Others walked out in silence. Police surrounded the convention center to maintain order. I wept. I thought to myself: this is my family and we are broken.  This is the church and we are broken. I continued to weep.

Many have asked what I am going to do.    I am still processing all of my feelings, and yet I know I am ready to walk into the brokenness.   There is so much brokenness in my life now: tomorrow I will officiate a funeral, Friday I will have a biopsy, Saturday I will be a mom at a  robotics competition and a dance competition, Sunday I will be in the pulpit proclaiming God’s word, Monday I will go with my mom to her first chemo treatment, Tuesday I will learn the results of my biopsy, and Wednesday is Ash Wednesday.  I will walk with those who are in their darkest valleys, I will face the sterile environment of medical uncertainties, I will join #teamkaki on the journey of chemo, and I will confess my sin and invite others to confess their sin. I will remember my own mortality.   I will proclaim that good news that resurrection comes from brokenness. I will confront the brokenness that does harm, and I will weep with the brokenness that excludes. I will hold those who feel broken and alone. I will wash broken hands, I will serve alongside broken people, and I will forever pray for healing and restoration.  I will trust that God is at work in my divided family. I will walk in the brokenness, and I will love.

Remember Your Baptism

Baptism of our Lord Sunday is one of my favorite liturgical days.  I am humbled when I get to place water on the forehead of parishioners saying, “remember your baptism and be thankful.”  I don’t literally remember my baptism.  I was four months old when Don Haynes placed water on my head and my family promised to raise me to know and love Christ.  I have seen the pictures.  I have heard the stories of how I cried.  And I know I can remember because God’s promise to me that day has not and will not fail.  God claimed me as God’s beloved daughter and God promises are trustworthy and eternal.  I remember and I am thankful! 

Through the remembrance of baptism we acknowledge all that God does for us and we are reminded of our identity.  Baptism makes us a child of God and a member of Christ’s universal family where everyone shares the name Christian.  Baptism calls us into ministry.  When we remember our baptisms we remember who we are and who God is.  We remember that we are connected with brothers and sisters around the world who look, talk, think, and even understand God differently and yet the waters of baptism unite us.   We remember and we are thankful!  

I was so excited to be back pastoring a local church and looking forward to marking the baptized with the sign of the cross and inviting them to remember their baptisms.  And then, it snowed and we had to cancel church.  I stepped out on a limb and tried something new for me, I recorded a “Live” video devotional (https://www.facebook.com/sally.queen.14).  What started as just something for my own congregation grew and attracted colleagues, childhood friends, college sisters, neighbors, family and friends near and far, people who knew me since birth, people who teach my children, and people who I do not even know joined together virtually as I had the opportunity to remind all that “we are God’s beloved children.”  The body of Christ came to life as I sat in my kitchen and hundreds joined from their homes and desks.  God’s family was united and worshipping together across denominational lines, with folks who feel forgotten by the church, with folks who regularly attend church and with those who don’t do church at all.  Through the unexpected gift of snow and technology we all were able to remember and be thankful!

Going “Live” today, I had my three daughters beside me.  Ella and Mattie read scripture and Kate greeted everyone with a smile.  I remember their baptisms.  Today they helped me to remember that God entrusted me with their earthly care and I entrusted them into God’s eternal care.  They are living into their baptismal promise.  I am living into my baptismal promises.  And we all belong to God.  Remember and be thankful!

The moment between breaths

 Today I was privileged to pray at the beside of a parishioner who had just died and then moments later I held a brand new baby, only about 5 hours old.  As a pastor we get invited into this intimate moments in people's lives. Since the birth of my own children, a verse from, the great hymn of the church, Because He Lives has become especially meaningful:

      "How sweet to hold a new born baby and feel the love and joy he brings, but greater still the calm assurance, this child can face uncertain days because he lives."

Both birth and death are resurrection moments.  Only one breath separates us from this life and the life to come.  I cannot begin to imagine all the uncertain days that the new baby might face in her lifetime and yet, I know that God will be with her, just as God tenderly and lovingly cared for the deceased.  I stood today on holy ground in that moment between breaths keenly aware that my presence was an expression of God's eternal care.

In that moment between breaths, we,too, face uncertain days.  For me, the post election days have felt very uncertain.  Division, exclusion, fear, and hate seem to be occupying the space between breaths and suffocating us and preventing us from fully noticing God.  We are in need of resurrection.  Perhaps we could let hate die, so that love might be delivered and birthed among us.  Perhaps we could resurrect the moment between breaths as an opportunity to live and proclaim that God is with us.

Called to Be Still

For four years I commuted daily to the Queen City.  Ella and Mattie were born in Carolinas Medical Center, they spent 43 days of their life being cared by some of the best doctors and nurses who call Charlotte home.  Our family flies from the Charlotte airport, we make frequent trips to the American Girl store in Charlotte, we have enjoyed many opportunities for entertainment there, we have worshipped in the heart of the city and we have served alongside some who have no home, but still call Charlotte "home."  We live only 20 miles from Charlotte and I have watched this week and I have felt called to "be still."

I think there are two images that stick in my mind that seem to describe all the emotion that is happening in Charlotte,  The first is of a police officer with a tear streaming down his check behind his gas mask and the other is of a very young man kicking and destroying 4 glass windows of a store.  The tear and the kicking both convey hurt, pain, anger, grief, and fear.  The tear and the kick are not just instant response to the current situation, rather they speak to the deeply rooted issues that exist.  The hurt and pain did not come from just one shooting, the anger did not come from just one situation, the grief did not happen overnight, and the fear has been building for years and years.  

Psalm 46 has become my prayer and it has become my call to be still:

¹ God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
    though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
³ though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

⁴ There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy habitation of the Most High.
⁵ God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
    God will help it when the morning dawns.
⁶ The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
    he utters his voice, the earth melts.
⁷ The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our refuge.

⁸ Come, behold the works of the Lord;
    see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
⁹ He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
    he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;
    he burns the shields with fire.
¹⁰ “Be still, and know that I am God!
    I am exalted among the nations,
    I am exalted in the earth.”
¹¹ The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Trouble, tumult, and uproar are present and this Psalm reminds us that"God is present in the midst of the city."  God is VERY present and we are called to "Be Still and Know that I am God."  Yesterday our church staff made the decision to open out prayer room in hopes that people would come and seek God and spend a few moments begin still.   Last night at our Bible Study we engaged in Lectio divina using Psalm 46 as our text in hopes that God will help us focus on our response.  

Today is a new day and yet the pain, hurt, anger, grief, and fear remain.  As a person of faith and as a person of privilege, I know that I am called to respond.  I certainly don't have all the answers, but as a mom when hurt, pain, grief, anger, and fear rear their ugly heads in our house, it does us all good to stop, take a deep breath, and center ourselves.  Now is not the time to point fingers or place blame.  Now is the time start bridging the gap of racism, prejudice, and violence by being still and through our stillness we are called to action.  Perhaps if we will commit to sit and be still with God, our response will look different from the past.  Our judgement might not be so much about blaming someone else and our justice might not look like getting even.  We could be called to radically love our brothers and sisters and to seek peaceful relationships.  Our being still and calm might even enable us to sit and have a conversation with someone who is very different from us, so that together we might be able to bring about God's kingdom.  

And lest you are confused, I don't think we are called to only be still.  We are called to be still and focus on God who is in our midst! 

Darkness and Joy

This week we greet the arrival of Fall.  On September 22, the autumnal equinox will occur and a new season officially begins.  The equinox occurs when the sun crosses the celestial equator from north to south and the days and nights are equal in length.  In other words, on September 22, there should be 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness and from that day forward the nights begin to get longer and longer.  In the midst of the long nights, the mountain ranges brighten with vibrant colors of red, yellow and orange.  After the beauty of the leaves, they land on ground bringing the need for raking and the fun of jumping in large piles.  Football season kicks into high gear and a new school year is well under the way.  Temperatures begin to drop and the first frost may even occur.  Fall is certainly a time when much is changing.  

Fall happens to be my favorite season of the year.  I love the seeing all the colors, decorating my house with mums and pumpkins, wearing long sleeves, and feeling the cool crisp air in the mornings and evenings.  While, I love the season, I know that it is met with much anxiety from others who dread the longer nights and limited daylight.   I must admit the early evening and morning darkness is my least favorite aspect of the season. 

As a mother of 3 girls, I know that things seem much worse in the middle of darkness and that the evening hours are the most difficult time of the day.  At my house, the dinner time hour is met with tired and cranky kids and parents who have worked all day and everyone has expended all our positive energy and darkness is greeted with terrible attitudes.  A fever in the night is often higher than during the day and a sickness seems to be more intense or painful when darkness covers the house.  A strange noise in the middle of the night is louder and more suspicious.  Long nights are challenging and there has been sleepless nights that I never thought would end.  

Theologically speaking, darkness has been characterized as time of loneliness and pain.  God is seemingly absent in the darkness and sin come to be associated with darkness.  Thus, it seems normal that humanity would struggle with darkness.  Depression seems to grow more prevalent during the seasons where there is more darkness, so for many fall is greeted with dread and uncertainty.  People’s moods mimic the long dark nights and they find themselves lonely and without hope.  I pray that as we head into the darkness of fall and winter, that the church would proclaim to folks that, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:5).  The dark days of fall and winter will gradually be replaced with more and more glimpses of light.

As we approach the autumnal equinox, it seems important for the church to remember, Jesus was born as the light of the world and that his light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not and cannot overcome it (John 1:5).  As the night grows longer and the days grow shorter, God incarnate shines brightly and followers of Jesus bring forth joy to all they encounter.