Gindi Vincent

The Dish on Career, Fashion, Faith, and Family

Faith

Day 2 – Sealed

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I wrote last week about my plans for a renewed focus on decrease this Lent. 

In addition to writing that reminder on my doors and mirrors (He must increase, but I must decrease), I wanted to write some other scripture around the house. 

I sat with the scripture and felt led to research “sealed” in the Bible.  Not seals like those of Revelation, but how we are sealed in Him.

From Deuteronomy 29 to Ephesians 1, there were beautiful reminders.  (The Lord is sealing you with an oath.  You were marked with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit.)

But this is the one I keep coming back to: 2 Corinthians 1:22.  The words in context say this:

But as surely as God is faithful, our message to you is not “Yes” and “No.” For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you …was not “Yes” and “No,” but in him it has always been “Yes.” For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God. Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

Marked with a seal. 

You may have seen in yesterday’s Day 1 post the markings all over my chest for radiation.  The very first mark the technicians made last week is the one over my heart.  In the center of my chest.  A purple cross.

And when I lay down on that radiation table, I look up at the ceiling. Directly above me, a wooden cross.  They don’t know it’s a cross.  The purpose of the “cross” at MDA is to have a cut out, from wood, so a green laser beam can stream down onto my body.  But when I look up, I see a cross. 

Marked with a seal.

The seal of a cross is physically marked over my heart right now. 

The door to my home bears this handwritten scripture. 

A reminder.

No matter the circumstances. 

We are sealed. Maybe not everyone gets a cool sharpie on them like me, but we are all sealed in Him.  We say yes, and we are permanently and forever sealed.  Held.  Known.  With hope for what’s to come.

Days of Decrease

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Today is the first Sunday of Lent. In 40 days, it will be Good Friday. So today I’m beginning a series of days of “decrease.”

I’ve written for years about Lent. Mainly because I’m still Learning Lent, as I wrote in 2013. My childhood faith tradition did not recognize a practice of Lenten sacrifice. But as I shared eight years ago, “Lent isn’t about forfeiting as much as it’s about formation. We renounce to be reborn. We break away to become.”

In 2015, I shared another new learning on Lent. Lent is a wise tradition that insists we deal with our heart’s biggest spiritual issue. We are prone to wander, to forget, to blame, and to hide. We want to make our own way.

Even last year, I grappled with the season (years I give up, years I give back…). I tried to give up yelling. (Little bit reminds me today it wasn’t that successful. And THAT was pre-COVID.)

I missed this kick off to Lent this past week. Mainly because on Ash Wednesday over half of Houston WAS sacrificing without power, water, or cell service. We GAVE UP a ton of stuff.

But not for 40 days.

As I sat in church this morning (thankful to be back after surgery) and in the pastor’s class afterwards, Lenten sacrifices swirled in my head. No one specifically coming to the fore. Then someone mentioned Lent as a period of decrease.

John the Baptist’s words from John Chapter 3 immediately jumped into my head, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

There is a lot in my life there is TOO MUCH of. Things which weaken my faith or take my attention away from Jesus because there is just TOO MUCH. Too much social media, too much wine, too much impatience, too much need for control, too much sloth, too much worry, too much yelling, too much eating, too much apathy, on and on.

What if, instead of selecting ONE thing to give up, every day I pray for one area to decrease?

What if I put sticky notes on my doors and my mirrors reminding me that I need to ask where God is calling me to limit, eliminate, lay down? Last year, for example, I did better with not losing my patience and hollering at the kids, but I certainly didn’t succeed every day.

But one day. Well that feels very manageable. Plus, I have SO many areas to choose from where God needs my sacrifice (sigh, all these years of faith and still so far to go). This season can teach me in more area than one.

How do I go about these days of decrease?

One, I need to wake up earlier. Between COVID and the cancer diagnosis, I have allowed myself to sleep in far later than I have in my adult life. It was just a couple of years ago when I was working out at 5:15 in the morning with my neighbor. Now there are days I’m not out of bed until close to 7. That means rushed mornings with absolutely zero time for listening to God.

Two, once I’m up, the first thing every morning will be time in prayer. Some days it may be shorter than others. But I can read a devotional or a scripture and pray for what God would have me decrease that day.

Maybe I go to Him with my problems instead of my friends. Maybe I don’t open a single social media app. I might need to clean. To exercise. To fast. Who knows? I really don’t. I have no preconceived ideas of what this season will call for.

But I have long been struck by the value of a 40 day period. I’ve written about it and studied it. Coming off of a year of COVID and breast cancer, I can’t think of a better time for a 40 day rebirth.

Our church put this meditation on the screen this morning: During the season of Lent, the church travels with Jesus on the road to the cross. As we prepare to remember our Savior’s betrayal, arrest, suffering, and death, we reflect on what things in our lives we may need to put to death so we can live in the newness of Jesus resurrection and ascension. May the light of Christ shine more deeply into our hearts as we walk this road with him, revealing the darkness within us, and making us new.

Today is Day 1 on the road to Good Friday’s Day 40. It turns out, coming into this season a little belatedly is okay. We still have 40 days to lay down the things that are obstructing our faith. To pick up the things that draw us closer to Him.

It’s not a traditional Lenten “what I’m giving up” resolution. But this is no traditional year. If ever there was a time to deal with dark corners of my life in order to live more filled up with Light, then this is it.

So then, since we have a great High Priest who has entered heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to what we believe. This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. Hebrews 4

Zoom Out

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We’ve been at the farm this week. The top photo was a shot I took as the sun was setting. I zoomed in on the sunset to crop out all the stuff that took away from its beauty. But then, when you zoom out, you see what’s around it.

Zoom out. There’s work trucks. A trash bin and loading pallet. There’s a storage container. Because as you know, Hurricane Laura decimated the Vincent family farm. And then it got hit again by Hurricane Delta. Progress is being made, but it’s slow going. Rebuilding from the ground up.

Then, if you pan over a little to the left, you’d see this picture at sunset.

Zoom in – sunset exclusively in focus. Zoom out – sunset distracted by hurricane clean up pieces. Zoom over – a handsome son enjoying a fire he built.

I planned to write. For over a week. I meant to. But I’ve been pretty antisocial this holiday. I’m avoiding telephone calls. I haven’t seen anyone besides my crew. And everytime I go to do something, I just stop.

So when I finally made myself sit down to write today, I thought about how our perspective changes when we zoom in or out or over. (And I seriously hesitated using the word Zoom at all in a 2020 wrap up post.)

For the first few weeks after I received my diagnosis, I was very focused on seeing all the good. The blessings. The miracles.

I stopped that last week. Not permanently of course, but I allowed myself to be grumpy. And conflicted.

I wanted the kids to stay home because I wanted to spend time with them because TIME FEELS VERY PRECIOUS. Except while they were home they were fighting and I was yelling at them and I just wanted a break. A break from my kids? While I have breast cancer? It felt terrible to even think because time feels shorter and I should treasure every moment. But I couldn’t treasure a thing because I was tired and had a ton of cooking to do and the house was messy and the kids were fighting. (It got better! We had a great Wednesday! All the cooking got done!)

Perspective. How do you reconcile the warring perspectives? Zoom in, kids fighting and chaos. Zoom out, life is short and enjoy every minute. Zoom over, good progress on treatment.

I had a really positive appointment with the medical team at MD Anderson last week too. It turns out the cancer is Stage 1 not Stage 2, hallelujah, and it looks like the garden variety, hormone positive, breast cancer that makes up 70% of the cases. Another huge praise. When you have cancer, you want the early stage, run of the mill stuff.

There are still things to pray about. We are praying my genetic testing comes back all clear. Praying the surgery (which is scheduled for February 4th) will confirm no cancer in the lymphnodes like the ultrasound showed. Praying the genomic testing done on the tumor doesn’t show a high reproduction rate so I won’t need chemotherapy.

While I feel like I’m constantly zooming over to the treatment course, another phone call today to move forward with the genetic counseling, I’m trying to remember to zoom out more.

How far out? Well, at least as far out to see the glorious 2021 in the near future.

I’m not delusional. I do not think 2021 is going to be a panacea. We still have a world fighting a pandemic and inequality in the distribution of medicine to stop it and inequity in our socioeconomic and racial fault lines and infighting over silly political memes.

Yet. I find hope in 2021. I find hope in a relief from an election year. In a vaccine which will hopefully curb the spread of this vicious virus. In a 5th grade graduation ceremony and 15th wedding anniversary and hubby’s 50th birthday. I believe this time next year I will be cancer free and hopefully able to love on the next round of women who are feeling all the things I’m feeling right now.

See, you would think by zooming out, if you use those pictures above as a guide, I would see the pain and things that mar the beauty. But no! By Zooming out, you see the things that bring restoration. You see the work trucks which bring people to construct and build and clean. You see the containers that kept family heirlooms safe while the rebuilding happens.

The restoration isn’t pretty. It’s dirty and messy and ugly and takes way longer than it should. But in the end, RESTORED.

It reminds me of Nehemiah. In the beginning, the walls of Jerusalem are broken down and the gates destroyed by fire. He leads the effort of rebuilding, an effort attacked on every side. The work gets done though. When you get to Chapter 3, it lists all these different families doing the messy work of restoration (Jeshanah Gate repaired by Joiada,  Fish Gate was rebuilt by the sons of Hassenaah, Fountain Gate was repaired by Shallun, Baruch son of Zabbai zealously repaired another section, and on and on).

It’s what we’re all doing. We’re all just restoring a little bit.

Zoom out. You’re rebuilding civility. And you, you’re restoring justice. You, quiet one in the corner, you’re rebuilding with art or medicine or education.

It’s messy. Maybe it’s not as pretty a picture as when we’re so zoomed in on ourselves. On that solitary sunset. But oh how it reflects the community working together toward restoration.

And that’s why there is such hope for 2021. The teachers and medical workers and first responders and lawyers and grocery clerks and students and retirees and all of us. We’re doing the hopeful messy restorative work.

Keep going. With all it’s conflict and uncertainty and stepping on each other’s toes. It’s work worth doing.

Miracles in the Middle

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I needed to write before I went into my appointment at MD Anderson.  Before I understand more.  Before I know the treatment course. 

I wanted to make sure I capture the miracles. 

Two weeks ago today, my doctor called and said a biopsy found a ductal carcinoma on my right breast. 

In my life, there are before and after moments. 

The first one I remember is at 12.  Before and after my parents divorce.  When the world as I knew it tipped on its axis. 

Before and after marriage, almost 15 years ago.  And world shifting moments since then – before and after infertility, before and after children, before and after Bray’s job loss. 

So here’s another one of those.  In the year of our Lord, 2020. 

In the midst of the news, and the logistics, and  the processing, there have been miracles.  God working in every single moment. 

On Day 1, I spoke with two women who gave me insight into their own personal stories of recent breast cancer and treatment at MD Anderson.  As a result, I went on line that night and filled out a form to get in to see a team there. 

On Day 2, at 8 am, I received a phone call from MD Anderson.  I’d been told it could take months to get in and I should consider seeing other doctors in order to get an evaluation more quickly.  Yet here was this woman on the other end of the line saying she could make appointments for me on what would be Day 11 and Day 12. 

That same evening, a dear friend and mentor of mine introduced me to his friend leading a team at MD Anderson.  He recommended a specific surgeon in the department.  I looked into the team I’d been assigned to see on Day 12 and realized the oncologist is not one that would be who I would ultimately settle on.  He didn’t have the background or experience I was looking for in the oncologist that would be with me through the entire process. 

Meanwhile, my closest friends and family members were praying like crazy.  We had told the children and they had shared with some close friends at school, and teachers, and a few more people began to cover our family in their prayers. 

On Day 3, MD Anderson called again.  I explained that I did not want to lose my appointment but I knew the oncologist I was assigned wouldn’t be a fit.  She said she’d check for the next available team appointment.  The next opening was only ONE BUSINESS DAY LATER, today, and the surgeon on the team was the very one the MD Anderson team lead had recommended.  The same one. 

I said YES PLEASE! Another miracle.

On Day 4, I wrote about the diagnosis here and the gates of Heaven were barraged by the prayers of so many on my behalf. The biggest miracle of all.

On Friday, Day 12, when I went into my first MD Anderson appointment for testing, another miracle.  They repeated the mammograms and ultrasound and noted possible bilateral biopsy.  That was to investigate other areas of concern.  They spent time US-ing my lymphnodes.  When the technician came back, she reported no further areas of concern and I was free to go. 

Let me be clear here.  Everyone has different results.  The fact that my results went one way while another’s come out differently does not reflect anything about their faith or their prayers or their community of support. 

But what is important for my individual story, as I process, is for me to acknowledge the hand of God in every thing that happens.  The big and the small.  The significant and the minute.  Because God is not just a God of the mighty miracles where seas part and the blind see.  He’s a God of the small miracles.  The daily walking around goodness – in open parking spots and appointment availability and test results and friendship. 

People came as God with skin on these past two weeks. 

They prayed.  We had two Tiff’s Treats deliveries and a delicious loaf of homemade bread. 

Five women from law school sent a “treatment tote” with incredibly thoughtful gifts, crowdsourced from their friends who had gone through this before.  Gifts for the children and button front pajamas for me and even a cute tote I could take to every hospital visit and then throw away when I beat this thing. 

Two of my best friends arrived days later with a bag laden with the softest blankets and sweaters and a diffuser with essential oils.  My best friend had the exact same sweater and wore it on Friday as I wore mine.  Solidarity with me on my first visit when she couldn’t be there. 

There’s more.  Every day, there’s more.  Family and friends and God right smack dab in the middle. 

The miracles started even before “Day 1.”  I was supposed to get a mammogram this month.  But in October, one time in the shower, I thought I felt something. I never felt it again.  But it made me call my doctor and get a mammogram a month and a half earlier than usual. 

I was supposed to get the biopsy results on a Friday.  I’d have gone nuts that weekend.  I couldn’t have DONE anything and it would have done us all in.  The boys on their hunting trip and me having to sit still.  Instead, my dear friend had an appointment (scheduled months ago) with my primary care doctor on Monday morning.  She asked her to go find the results and then I got the call.  On Monday.  When I could spring into action. 

Every day was another miracle. The God of the small and the big.

And no matter what they tell me today, no matter what the course of treatment, I serve that very same God. The one who shows up. The one who cares. The one who acts in all things for His good purpose.

Such A Great Cloud of Witnesses

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Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us… [Hebrews 12:1]

That verse has been rolling around in my head the past week.  Especially these six words:

Such A Great Cloud of Witnesses.

While I know what it refers to in the scripture, it’s taken on new meaning for me lately. 

You see, in Hebrews 11, there’s this incredible roll call of some of the fathers and mothers of the Christian faith.  It goes something like this, by faith, this person did this thing that was pretty crazy…  And that’s repeated over and over.

Then it moves straight from that set of 40 verses into these words: therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses.  This reminds us that we are part of the church universal.  A bit player in the storyline from Genesis to Revelation.  Potential tools that God can use for His kingdom purpose during the time we have here on Earth. 

But that great cloud has always felt abstract.  The closest it felt was in the form of my grandparents who have passed away but left a powerful legacy of faith behind. 

I’ve come to see, that great cloud of witnesses is here today too. 

In fact, I’ve really felt that great cloud around me this past week. 

Women of faith who God has extravagantly allowed me to share life with in these crazy times. 

My dear friend and prayer partner of 17 years who is a powerful prayer warrior and prophet, pressing into deeply challenging work. 

My ‘cord of three’ who I speak to every day, my best friend in Minnesota and our dear friend here in Houston, who have laughed and cried and prayed and encouraged each another, sometimes all at the same time.

A complete surprise bonus group, a discipleship bible study I have on Fridays, who have become so completely dear as well as integral to my spiritual growth.

A few moms from my kids school who have felt more like sisters instead of parent sojourners. 

And then, of course, my family, there at the center of it all.

As each of them have prayed with and for me this last week, those words kept cropping up in my head. 

Such a great cloud of witnesses. 

If these witnesses are both here in the present, as well as those who have gone before in the storyline of faith, what is it that they encourage us to do?  They help us “throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.”  The ESV translation says “lay aside every weight…”

Sin, for me, has been more obviously defined.  Lying, cheating, stealing, gossiping, gluttony, etc. 

But what about the weights that hold us back?  The things that hinder us?  Those are things we’re supposed to be able to shake off because of this GREAT CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 

What weighs you down? 

For me, it’s the same old weights year after year.  Worry.  Anxiety.  Stress.  Fear.  Busyness.  Distraction. 

They weigh me down and they keep me from truly running the faith marathon God has for me.  We’re supposed to run this race with endurance and this great cloud of witnesses buoys our ability to do so. 

If you, especially in this harsh 2020 environment, have been weighed down by burdens, look around.  In addition to being a character in the arc of God’s faith storyline, we are in this time and this place with others running the marathon at the same time.  They are also witnesses to our race and we are witnesses to theirs. 

Make a list of those around you. 

Let us encourage each other. 

We can challenge each other, pray for each other, cheer each other on, and remind one another to strip off every weight that slows us down.  Call out the fear or worry or distraction and hold each other accountable. 

Keep running.  And to my great cloud of witnesses, running in 2020 alongside me, thank you.