Just Hold On

The waves of death swirled about me; the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me. The cords of the grave coiled around me; the snares of death confronted me. “In my distress I called to the Lord; I called out to my God. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came to his ears.” 2 Samuel 22:5-7

This was my feeling when tragedy hit my life. I felt death around me and I felt death waited for me as well. The death of my mother at the age of sixteen was a very penetrating and personal loss, as yours may be. You may have also lost a loved one, lost your spouse to divorce, lost control of your child, or lost control of your own body. Whatever form of death you face, I want you to know that there is still life and all its fullness to be had and enjoyed. The Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, is the only one who has the power and capability to change this death to an abundant life as He did with my own. He proved this unyielding power with His miraculous resurrection and my transformation into an understanding that everything is under His almighty control. He gave us proof that death has no hold on Him, and if we believe in Him and his transforming power, death has no hold on us either.

In my experiences, I have learned that as powerful and capable as His resurrection power is, the Lord will not remove these 'cords of death' from our lives. However, this is for our benefit and for His glory. The 'cord of death' we face now or have faced is now going to take a different position in our lives. It is no longer going to be entangling, restricting, or immobilizing us. It is not going to haunt us with the anguish and destruction of the grave. This same 'cord of death' stays in our life, but our Lord repositions it. It now serves as a tool to advance us closer to the Kingdom of God. Jesus Christ now holds the other end of this once entangling cord and will use the testimony of what created this cord of death around us to now bring strength, life, and purpose to others who are still entangled and tormented by their own cords. The message I pray this book brings is that there is life after death if we JUST HOLD ON!

CHAPTER ONE

Growing up, my parents supported every sport and event I set my heart and mind into. I do mean everything! I was in volleyball, basketball, tennis, track, golf, softball and the UIL academic events as well. Coming from a small town, they usually needed the full student body’s participation in each sport in order to have enough to make a team and have a few extras in case of injuries. Funny, but true. So, at every boring, hot, distant destination, my parents were there enduring it all because they loved me. During my childhood, I never lacked, or felt that I lacked anything physical or emotional. Everything was filled and even overflowing. I had my share of sickness when I was younger, suffering from asthma and a recurring tonsillitis that happened every February, but after about the age of 12, everything subsided. I was always able to get over things easily. Nothing was so tragic that I couldn’t handle or understand. Things were quickly about to change.

BAD NEWS

Bad news never strikes gently or when you expect it. I know coming in from a hard volleyball practice one evening was not the opportune time to tell me any bad news. I know my parents had practiced this speech repeatedly before I got home, but unfortunately for them, I didn't hear a word of it. All this 13-year-old heard was that my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. My mind was racing and my heart was breaking. This can't be happening.

How could this be happening to MY mom? This is a mother who never drank in her life, never smoked (detested it), always ate healthy and was always trying to stay in shape. She never missed church, always prayed her rosary, helped people all the time, and even fed our hometown priest every Sunday after church…on our good china! How could she, of all people, get cancer! The only thought that kept racing through my mind was, ‘God, she’s so good, how could you let this happen to her?’ But being Catholic at the time, we’re not supposed to question God, so I just put it on faith that she would be healed and she was strong enough to fight it.

She fought valiantly! Never once did I hear her complain or so much as moan at any pain she was assuredly enduring. Even when she had to have a mastectomy, she bravely showed me, her 13-year-old daughter, that she was looking the devil of cancer in the face and not flinching one bit. I still remember her getting fitted for her “breast replacement”. We were standing in her bathroom at home, looking through the packages and new bras she was going to be wearing. She placed this gel-like mold of a breast in my hand. It was strange how awkwardly real it felt. She jokingly commented on how nice it would be to have perky girls again. Then I saw it. She revealed the 4-inch-long-scar that was left in place of her breast. I tried not to stare, but it was surreal. A woman should have two breasts. Stitches should not be there in place of a breast. It took me a minute to have that settle in my mind. Then I looked up at her. She smiled. Did she really just smile? She hid her pain so well. It made me think, ‘If she can hide it, so can I’.