steady on

There’s a story that we tell in our family of a time that my brother and I trekked through a snowstorm to get to school, or home from school… I’m not even sure which it was. As memories go, the story has taken on a life of its own over the years, but the gist of it is that it was so cold and blowy that I wrapped my brother inside the giant red coat I was wearing, with me still in it also, and we walked home through the field in the midst of the storm. In the telling I am an epic big sister, both hilarious and heroic all at once. It’s a pretty good visual in my mind, fiercely facing the storm, protecting my brother, with only a giant red coat as I forge on ahead…

There’s a song that I’ve come back to many times over the ups and downs of the last few years, and I may have even shared it here before. It’s called Steady Heart and is by Steffany Gretzinger & Amanda Cook.
[You can listen here: https://youtu.be/hfh_x5rFuWc?si=-92nTWRdmQHELx1E]

And I’ve been sitting with it the last few weeks, thinking about what it means to be steady.

Being steady first implies a certain strength, a hardiness, a kind of robust certainty and determination - maybe like a ten year old braving a fierce storm :)…
And while these are the things I long to be in this season of life, they do not aptly reflect how I have been feeling or finding myself in these last weeks…

But as I sat with the concept of steadiness some more, different images and connections also came to mind.
I was thinking of a horse that is ready to spook, on the edge of bolting or bucking, and how its rider would call out the familiar and known command of ‘steady,’ in hopes of calming the horse and staying on the path…

I was thinking about a ship, finding itself in the middle of a wild storm, and how the crew would call out “steady as she goes,” encouraging each other to hold fast to their posts, to do the work of clinging and steering through the storm until a calm returns, until they can take stock of where they have ended up, and how to continue from there…

These versions of steadiness seem much more relatable to me.
This kind of steadiness that is a cry for help, that is a recognized need and uncertainty, feels like a steady on that I can walk in. It feels like a way that is honest and real. This is a steady on that encompasses a crashing together the hard pieces of what has been and what may still be to come.

photo credit: Torsten Dederichs from Unsplash

Steady on, lovely one. You’re okay.

I have come to the end of the twelve rounds of chemo, completed just over two weeks ago. I rang the bell and then went home to live through the effects of it for a few more days. As of about last week this time I would have felt the actual end of it, and I am thoroughly delighted that I did not have to go for a next cycle this past Tuesday.
I did have my first solo immunotherapy treatment today. It was quick and so far seems to be okay in its impact. My energy is generally pretty low these days, so it’s kind of par for the course to feel worn down, but on the whole I feel okay.
I am so thankful to have reached this point of pause. And I’m hopeful that I’ll continue to have more energy and less side effects as the days and weeks of rest continue.

There is difficulty in this pause also though. As much as the chemo is done at this moment, there’s not really a known ending to reach with this cancer or this treatment, at least as it stands right now.
So we wait and see, and in some moments it feels like a bubble of panic, a desire to run away, a storm that comes out of nowhere and obliterates any sense of direction or security. There’s nothing steady about how I feel in those moments, in those unknowns… it’s a lot.

And I remembered a chunk of scripture that felt like home as I walked through my first cancer diagnosis and treatment. I preached from them at church, and often when we hold a truth close like that for a time, it sticks deeper and stronger - listen to these verses from 2 Corinthians 4:

We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies…

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day.

This is the kind of ‘steady on’ that we’re called to walk.
One in which we will be pressed on every side, one is which we will be confused, hunted down, knocked over.
But also, also, one in which we will never be crushed, we will never be consumed by despair, we will never be abandoned by God.
We will be renewed. We will be given life. We will be rescued and the also purposed by our faithful, present God.

This is a steadiness I can get behind. A place I can call home. Because it’s not dependent on my own strength, but on God’s holding. And as I whisper (or shout) my need, he is the one who steadies the way. He is the one who calms the raging sea.

I do, in fact, feel pretty knocked down. Not all the time. But it has been quite a lot.
Not the worst ever either… but a lot.
So yes, knocked down. But not destroyed. More than a bit rumpled, and even crushed at times. But not given over to despair. This is the place of steady on.
This is where we come to the feet of Jesus, and there we find the ability and strength to continue. It’s there that we remember hope, we receive love and equipping; it’s there that we return to what we know to be true. And in such a miraculous way we are restored, renewed, repurposed - we come back to life!

So on we go. And it’s hard and it’s good. It’s death and it’s life. It’s wildly heart-wrenching in both awful and beautiful ways. And when I get down to it, my soul is so very okay, and so very thankful in the midst of it all.

The reason this is possible, is because while my ‘steady on’ is quite a roller coaster of real life feelings, the rock-solid, steadfast love and provision of God never fluctuates in the slightest. He is sure.

These lyrics borrowed from Lamentations ring beautifully true, loud as a bell, to mark their significance:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning, new every morning. Great is your faithfulness oh Lord. Great is your faithfulness.

And because of his great love, the way of steady on is not just one of survival, but one of abundant life.
Jumping back to 2 Corinthians earlier verses describe us as fragile clay jars, holding the great treasure of truth that is God’s love and presence. There shouldn’t be any confusion about who is bringing the light, who is making it possible to carry on. But also, our fragility, and even our brokenness, make us ready to receive and to be remade by our God of grace.

He leads us on.
May we trust in the work he is doing in us and through us as we take it one step at at time from here.

photo credit: Annie Spratt from Unsplash

I love this prayer by Jan Richardson, and know it’s one for me to sit with more in the coming days of carrying on, trusting in the new life that Jesus will continue to bring forward.

Blessing for a Broken Vessel
Do not despair.
You hold the memory of what it was to be whole.

It lives deep in your bones.
It abides in your heart, that has been torn and mended a hundred times.
It persists in your lungs, that know the memory of what it means
to be full, to be empty, to be full again,

I am not asking you to give up your grip
on the shards you clasp so close to you

but to wonder
what it would be like for those jagged edges
to meet each other in some new pattern that you have never imagined,
that you have never dared to dream.

Praying, lovely ones, that you will feel the invitation to carry on with Jesus, wherever you find yourselves. That you will entrust your real feelings, your real questions, to his holding, and that you will find rest and steadiness in his leading as you carry on forward. It’s good. It’s enough. What a wonder.

L xo