Encounter with my very own cancer…

            I’ve encountered IT before, cancer I mean.  But it’s always been someone else’s cancer.  This summer, it’s been mine.  Last night when John and I were eating supper near the open windows with that balmy Big Lake breeze wafting inland to our place, I couldn’t help but think back to this past winter.  “Remember how cold, how long, how snowy it was then?” I asked.  “Back then I thought this summer would be so wonderful compared to such a terrible winter.”  However, the summer had barely begun when I was diagnosed.  And I soon discovered that cancer sets such a high score in the bad-news category that previous bad days hardly seem worth mentioning by comparison.

            I was also surprised by another discovery.  After years of thinking of myself as rather indecisive much of the time, I found out that I can be extraordinarily decisive when faced with something as jarring as cancer.  Suddenly I had an instant motivator for re-prioritizing my life.  Not that all my old choices were bad; they weren’t.  But almost immediately, it became very clear to me that I was paying a lot of attention to things that merely filled up my time without adding much real value to my life.  Enough of that! So I unceremoniously dumped what wasn’t worth my time and, believe it or not, I almost felt physically lighter.  Easiest diet I’ve ever been on – a “spiritual” cleanse, of sorts -- and the best part was that I didn’t even have to whip up something green and Kale-ish in my blender and convince myself to drink it!

            I hope I’ve learned a lot these past three months.  I think I may have.  I’ve been reminded again how much closeness matters.   I earnestly sought out closeness to God.  In church services, I listened for words to remember later while waiting in the doctor’s office.  I copied down a verse from a hymn and sang it silently.  I covered some familiar faith-ground by thinking again how grateful I am that Jesus came to live among us.  I need the kind of God who would do that to convince me I’m not alone and that my fears and troubles are known and cared for.  I did not want God to be distant.     

            I also wanted closeness with those whose faces are so beautiful to my way of thinking that I almost tear up just bringing them to mind, my own loved ones.   And then, at the same time, I found myself more acutely aware of suffering people. For me, one of the more amazing things about coming in to the cancer center for treatments day after day has been seeing others who are going through the same thing or something even more challenging.  They smile, they talk quietly to one another, they hold the door open, wait patiently in lines, and even work on a jigsaw puzzle on a table together.   In some ways, I think we are all puzzling our way through.  

            I’ve learned something about my deep-down, bottom-line belief about prayer too.  It started with a practical question early on: who needs to know?  Who should I tell?  Again, I was surprised at my own reaction.  I didn’t feel the need to be on a massive number of prayer lists.  (I’m currently connected to four congregations in four different denominations.  Trust me, I could summon prayer partners like Jesus could summon angels!) However, especially in those first few days when I was waiting for answers to very scary questions, I longed for private, heartfelt prayers, not necessarily numbers of them.  I’m not so sure that God is impressed with volume as much as quality. I was confident in the group I turned to.  However, I soon realized that their lives weren’t carefree at the moment either.  So, we began praying for each other.  I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated the bond that comes from giving AND receiving prayers like this before.  It levels the ground and lifts my spirit. 

            I have learned that I love life.  I like the look of a delicate cosmos blossom and marvel that my dahlias are so huge and gorgeous, although they are grown from tubers that I stuffed into ground that hadn’t been tilled in nearly two decades.   I love the softness of skin, the sound of familiar voices.  I love the gift that life is and at the same time, I grieve that, for some here on this earth, life is incredibly brutal or endlessly bleak.  That troubles me more than cancer does. 

            When people ask how I’m doing, I usually say something about being grateful for good news, about the outcomes of tests and where I am in the process, but that’s not the half of it really, you know.  God is close.  I am blessed and I marvel.  I pray and I’m not afraid.  I am not alone.  I am loved.  I can share what really matters.  And although none of this is news, it is all so very fresh and new to me today because cancer passed my way. 

Pastor Shirley