Running Your Race Well
Lessons on Love, Suffering, and Surrender from Two Courageous Friends
This post is dedicated to Lisa “the Lionhearted”, and Linda our “Mama Bear”—you are both missed and loved.
The Call No One Wants to Make
Four weeks ago, I returned home from an overseas family vacation to the sudden news that I needed to call and say goodbye to one of my best writing friends.
Linda (aka our “Mama Bear”) helped author Leslie Leyland Fields lead our online writing group (the Memoir Masterclass) while she battled a second round of cancer. She’d chosen about fifteen of us from the online writing site to become “Story Leaders (SL)”, to pray and help moderate comments on our site.
Linda was a mentor, teacher, counselor, and fabulous friend to just about everyone with whom she came across. I enjoyed my role as her “Nurse Ratched” and made several trips each year to visit and help her at her home. Last spring, when her cancer journey became more difficult, Linda began mentoring me towards “shepherding” our SL group.
Illness Interrupts
Before our yearly October retreat (chosen near Linda so she could be included), Linda suffered a devastating fall. She needed surgery the same week we arrived. We were heartbroken, but amazed that she continued to visit, talk, pray, and sing with us!
During this same retreat, we learned with great sadness that Lisa, another member of our SL group battling cancer, had chosen to enter hospice. Lisa’s nickname was “Lisa the Lion” because of her big heart. She advocated tirelessly, even while battling the “big C”. Lisa helped organize her community’s annual day of prayer, and even this past year held a prayer and Bible study in her home.
Lisa reached out to me immediately after she heard that Linda was naming me as a “replacement shepherd” for our group. Perhaps she worried I might be too quiet to lead? (spoiler alert: introverts usually have more skillsets than you think :)… ) But she kindly offered her assistance, which I genuinely appreciated.
Lisa stepped into heaven the first week of November, after we were back home from the retreat.
Mentoring Moments
Meanwhile, after Lisa’s homegoing, Linda continued her “Mama Bear” role from her bedside.
“The Story Leaders are hurting right now,” she acknowledged in one of our private conversations. She instructed me to wait on sharing anything more about her OWN situation that week.
Linda and I continued communicating during the week my family went to Spain. I would text or send pictures and emojis, and she would send back voice messages from her bed in rehab.
Two days before I flew home, Linda left me this voice message in a strong voice: “Jen, I am doing well. And I can’t wait for you to get home, to tell me all about your trip…”
Life’s Sudden Turns
Immediately after we landed back in the states, I was shocked to find urgent messages from Leslie and other moderator friends: “Linda doesn’t have much time left,” and “Jen, you need to call to tell Linda goodbye.”
I doubled over in the airport, reeling with the shock. What had happened in the 48 hours since Linda’s last message?!? I struggled to wrap my mind around this sudden turn of events. Battling grief, jet lag and an oncoming virus, sleep proved difficult that night.
A Final Goodbye
Against every fiber of my being, I forced myself to make that final goodbye call the following afternoon. I found myself unable to speak, words lost in the swirling storm of grief and emotion.
“Liinndaaa?” I spoke through tears.
“Are you OK?” she asked me in only a slightly weaker voice.
“NOOOO!” I sobbed.
During those ten minutes, Linda ended up comforting ME.
“I’m sorry, Jen,” she told me. “I just can’t continue on like this. I’m ready to go be with Jesus. The hardest part for me is the pain that this causes you and others.”
And then her last words?
“Just remember that I love you. And that Jesus loves you, too. Goodbye.”
Silence. Did I really have to say this? Microseconds went by while I fought with myself. Trying to be brave, I choked it out. “Goodbye.” What I was really thinking (screaming) inside, was “No! You can’t go! I’m not ready for this!!”
Click. That was it. She was ready to go HOME, and I was nowhere near ready for her to leave.
Neither of us had a choice in the matter. Three long days later, she danced and sang her way into heaven, now joyful and whole.
But I’m still a bit broken by it all.
Running Their Races Well
In my grief, I’ve been able to reflect on the lives of these two courageous friends.
Both Lisa and Linda knew Jesus as Lord and Savior, and spent their lives working as his emissaries.
Both suffered from cancer for years. If there’s a blessing in that, it is having preparation time before death, which both Linda and Lisa utilized.
Both made a point to continue to live life, to travel when possible, to write out their stories, to plan their services, and to say goodbye to loved ones.
Both finished running their races valiantly, just a couple of weeks apart.
What They Taught Us
My group and I are forever changed by both of these strong women and their influence on our lives.
From Lisa, we learned about advocacy, speaking and speaking up, about perseverance during trials, and utilizing your support networks.
From Linda, we learned how to love and serve others well, give generously, and invest in the lives of those around us.
And I got a front row seat on leading. In our SL’s group, Linda recognized, drew out, and utilized all of our different strengths to help us function as a cohesive whole. She didn’t hesitate to confront problems and balanced honesty with humility as needed.
Lastly, Linda prayed. Oh, how she prayed—with each and every one of us, alone or together, every time we talked. She lifted us up through prayer and mentoring to become better versions of ourselves. Her faith and encouragement strengthened my own journey in the midst of chronic illness, and taught me about releasing control to God.
Learning to Let Go
Everywhere I look, I spy physical reminders of Linda’s generosity: my “all means all” bracelet, a Willow Creek figurine, solar lanterns out front, the book All Cats Go To Heaven from when Jazzy died. Not to mention the FB memories that pop up, a published story about one of her gifts, email stories we shared, prayers while driving to medical tests—so many tangible and intangible reminders of my loss.
This week, a booklet of Linda’s stories (a momento from her memorial) arrived in my mailbox. Even though I’d read most of these stories at one time, I sat down and devoured them all again. And cried.
Because I realized anew, from her own writings during her cancer journey, how very much she had suffered and lost.
Who was I (and how selfish was this desire) to keep her here in all of that pain and loss? No matter how suddenly things turned around at the end, it was more than time.
Time to let her go.
And once she knew that herself, she didn’t hesitate.
She set her face toward heaven and didn’t look back.
Running OUR Races Well
Coming to these realizations hasn’t made letting go or grieving any easier—on the contrary, I’m still wrestling with mixed emotions, as evidenced by all my attempts to process this through my writings this month.
But the lessons learned through the suffering and loss of our loved ones are absolutely priceless. Even though the road is painful right now, knowing and sharing love and fellowship with these two remarkable women was absolutely worth the grief.
I can only hope (and pray) to run (and finish!) my race as “inspiringly well” as these beautiful friends have demonstrated.
His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.[e] You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’
Matt. 25:21, NIV
Are you grieving as well this holiday season? If so, let me know so I can pray for you!
If not, how can you help those grieving and carry the love of Jesus to them during this season?
For Worship: Somewhere In Your Silent Night by Casting Crowns
(grab your tissues)
*Photo credits: 1). Greg Rosenki, 2). Senning Luk, and 3). Dominik Bednarz on Unsplash
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. http://www.zondervan.com
So sorry for your loss. It’s a tender place holding the hard and hope at the same time. Thankfully we have a tender God. May you feel his presence, our Emmanuel.
Beautifully written. Thank you. Your story sounded much like the story of my husband who passed away December 19th of 24. He fought well after a long ministry as a pastor. And died after 10 months of fighting pancreatic cancer. Just shy of a 11 months now but it's still all seems so unreal. Put your wording was some of the exact words that he said to me and we said to him as he crossed over to Glory. Being the one left behind is never easy but we have a great God who holds us up every step of the way. Be blessed my condolences to you.