I was cleaning out some old notebooks (trying to find some I could use to hold my music) when I ran across a piece of paper.

It wasn’t just any old piece of paper – I don’t think I could come up with a post based on any old piece of paper, although that sounds like a good challenge – this piece of paper came from a very special person.

You see, a Long, Long Time Ago, In A Galaxy Far, Far Away, I used to belong to a group of people. Not just any group – but The Valley Cathedral PowerFull Praise Choir and Orchestra. It was a group of about 125 voices that had a very wide range of songs, under the leadership of Dwayne McLuhan. I ended up being the administrator for the Worship and Arts Department for a while. There was a lady who was part of the group by the name of Pat Fischer. Actually, I am convinced that she was an angel here on a special undercover mission. No matter what day or time you ran into her, no matter what kind of news she had just gotten from her oncologists, she always turned the conversation to you. How are you doing? Can we pray about anything for you? How is your family? She was designated as the “Warm and Fuzzy Coordinator” since she was warm and fuzzy for all of us anyway.

Yes, oncologists. Pat had cancer. She lived with it for many years. Lots of people say they fight cancer – Pat lived with it. She lived with it because God gave it to her, and as with any gift from God, Pat cherished it. Not because it was cancer and it would eventually take her away from us for a time, but because it allowed her to refine her walk by helping her to focus on the important things in life – God, service in Jesus’ name, and those around her.

I still have the last e-mail I got from her (not the piece of paper I am talking about) where she actually said something about herself: “Dear Cary, I have some not-so-good news. My doctors say there is nothing more they can do for my cancer. It’s OK, though, because it means that I get to go to sleep and when I wake up, I’ll get to see Jesus!” What a heart for God.

Anyway, here it is – I thought of Pat, and my sister LeaAnn, and all the people who have been dealing with cancer, and how this piece sure takes the sting away and puts it in perspective:

TENTMAKER

It was nice living in this tent when it was strong and secure and the sun was shining and the air was warm but Mr. Tentmaker, it’s scary now. My tent is acting like it’s not going to hold together. The poles seem weak and they shift with the wind. A couple of the stakes have wiggled loose from the sand. Worst of all the canvas has a rip. It no longer protects me from beating rain or stinging flies. It’s scary in here Mr. Tentmaker. Last week I was sent to the repair shop and some repairmen tried to patch the rip in my canvas. It didn’t help much though because the patch pulled away from the edges and not the tear is worse. What troubled me most, Mr. Tentmaker, is that the repairmen didn’t even seem to notice that I was still in the tent. They just worked on the canvas while I shivered inside. I cried out once but no one heard me. I guess my first real question is, Why did you give me such a flimsy tent? I can see by looking around the campground that some of the tents are much stronger and more stable than mine. Why, Mr. Tentmaker, did you pick a tent of such poor quality for me, and even more important what do you intend to do about it?

“O little tent dweller, as the creator and provider of tents, I know all about you and your tent, and I love you both. I made a tent for myself once, and lived in it on your campground. My tent was vulnerable too, and some vicious attackers ripped it to pieces while I was still in it. It was a terrible experience, but you’ll be glad to know, they couldn’t hurt me. In fact, the whole occurrence was a tremendous advance because it is this very victory over my enemy that frees me to be a present help to you. O little tent dweller, I am now prepared to come and live in your tent with you if you’ll invite me. You’ll learn, as we dwell together, that real security comes from my being in your tent with you. When the storms come, you can huddle in my arms and I’ll hold you. When the canvas rips, we’ll go to the repair shop together. Some day, little tent dweller, some day your tent’s going to collapse. You see I’ve only designed it for temporary use. But when it does, you and I are going to leave together. I promise not to leave before you do. And then, free of all that would hinder or restrict, we’ll move to our permanent home and together forever we’ll rejoice and be glad.”

I’ll just be sitting here missing Pat and LeaAnn and a few others for a while…

Chat ya later…

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