Immediately upon being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer 3+ years ago, I wondered "why me?" of course. Not that I was without vices but I considered myself to have a healthy lifestyle. I exercised regularly and ate mostly vegetarian. I was days away from my 6th marathon. I kicked into a classic faith versus acts debate - asking myself why I qualified to have this disease. What had I done to my physical body in this life to start this tumor off? Or, what had I done against God to deserve this bleak fate. In the old days – B.C. – it was believed that people were stricken with maladies because of some sin of their own. My "bad" acts certainly didn't seem to merit this outcome (as if it ever does for anyone).
Similarly, there has been a controversy, in Christianity, for more than 500 years around the relationship between faith and acts. Put another way, is it strong faith that puts us in God's good graces or do we earn it by our actions. What, if anything, do we have to do to earn God's favor? Will only those who live lives of moral merit be saved (i.e., go to heaven)? Some maintain that we are we automatically in by virtue of being God's children. If it's all faith and good acts are not required, then why even bother to be good? How exclusive is this club and just how does one get in?
Different denominations find themselves on various points along the spectrum between (a) believe and you are in and (b) we will all be judged on how we've lived our lives. Regardless of religious affiliation, each of us falls somewhere along this continuum in our personal attitudes. Maybe you believe that we get what we deserve in life; that you have no one to blame but yourself for your situation. We all believe in something. Those morals, beliefs and acts define us. Faith and acts tell us who we are and it's the mix of the two that will determine who we might be.
In life, we can hope for longevity and/or we can work towards it. I took definitive acts, rather than merely counting on my strong gene pool to carry me into my 80s. Then, once my post-diagnosis reality became clear and my future foggy, my faith versus acts balance tipped a bit. Getting what I deserved became less important since I had no clue what that meant anymore. I'd thought that I had been a good enough guy (in terms of acts) to be allowed to live, but I needed more than that now. I began counting on faith as well as acts (and whatever else I could grab on to) to put me into the exclusive 6% club of five-year survivors. I wanted to will myself into seeing my kids grow up by the sheer force of prayer and optimism. Faith could save me. Just to be sure, I cleaned up my physical and mental act further – reconsidering every input into my body, meditating and sleeping more (hopefully not at the same time) and stressing less. If it's acts that can save me – I'm there. But I am not gonna let faith be my weak point either.
I am not saying that I believe that we can earn one fate over another or that I was lacking in faith before. Maybe it helps if faith precedes acts. Maybe you can't get by on just one or the other. Can good fruit spring from a bad tree; good health from a dark place? I don't remotely understand the relationship between faith and acts. I do know that deference to both is working out well for me so far. Thank God.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Get Ready to Rumble!
The thick fog of lives cut short by cancer is stifling the hope-filled sunshine that typically sustains me. My friend Michel's recent passing is the latest unbelievable loss. I am stunned by the suddenness of it even though he'd been battling cancer for some two years. My heart breaks at the pain most assuredly felt by those closest to him which I know dwarfs my own. I am angry with this outcome - though I am not sure who to direct it at. God seems like an appropriate target. Yet, I hesitate (which could probably be the topic of another day).
Besides Michel's tragic end, cancer seems to be all over my world. I just learned of the passing of a pancreatic cancer brother that I had been talking to by phone throughout the first half of 2011. A cousin was diagnosed with colon cancer and a work colleague with pancreatic cancer over the holidays. I am struggling to not drown in the overwhelming sadness, futility and sorrow of these injustices. I am struggling to see God very readily right now. Too little of it is making sense or seems fair to me – as if it ought to. As if there was any such guarantee. ("That's not fair" is one of my kids most used phrases. As if we are born with that expectation.) I feel fooled, like the rug was pulled out, while recognizing that there was never any promise. Life is not just. We can work to make it so with all that which is in our control. And then there's all that we can't. There's a line somewhere.
As usual it is the expectation of something different unrealized that creates the negative emotions. But, how to expect any different? Can we really go through life not expecting to see each person again that we say good-bye to when parting? How do we avoid expecting that we will each live to a ripe, old age, etc? The best we can do may be to sort through these emotions when the unthinkable does happen.
Although it is not quite wrestling with God ala Jacob, it is grappling with tornado events that blow apart our fundamental beliefs and the resultant tattered emotions left in their wake.
The reality is that these natural events do and will happen. Sometimes rarely, sometimes barely, but always eventually. By getting dirty with them in our lives, the struggle itself offers an opportunity to grow. By sorting through our pain and loss we mature emotionally and possibly spiritually too. We do have the option available to stay "clean" – to avoid or ignore the foundational challenges and emotional toll. That may be the path of lesser resistance and work for us for a while. That avoidance is not transferable though – neither interpersonally nor in time. It does not put us in a better position to help a neighbor when a tornado hits their lives. Nor does it better equip us to handle the inevitable next disaster in ours. And don't we want to be in the best possible position to help a loved one during their time of need? Is not our emotional fitness, like our physical, maximized by the very process of tearing down and rebuilding the muscles with which we respond?
In those many instances when I cannot change the external environment, what is happening to me or how someone else is behaving – I sometimes remember that I can always change my own perspective on the situation. Often, that's all we do control.
Yet we have a self-preserving/correcting momentum towards the most stable point. We want life settled, somewhat predictable and complete with an answer key. On a day-to-day basis, that perspective does not recognize that death could come at any moment either for us or someone we love. It would require much more energy to live with that awareness in every now. So, we emotionally conserve – by denying.
I have been reminded lately of the strength that can come out of brokenness. It is broken bread that nourishes us. God can come to us most (pointedly) in our brokenness. It may be that our greatest opportunity comes at that very moment - when we most want to turn away. Let's wrestle.
Besides Michel's tragic end, cancer seems to be all over my world. I just learned of the passing of a pancreatic cancer brother that I had been talking to by phone throughout the first half of 2011. A cousin was diagnosed with colon cancer and a work colleague with pancreatic cancer over the holidays. I am struggling to not drown in the overwhelming sadness, futility and sorrow of these injustices. I am struggling to see God very readily right now. Too little of it is making sense or seems fair to me – as if it ought to. As if there was any such guarantee. ("That's not fair" is one of my kids most used phrases. As if we are born with that expectation.) I feel fooled, like the rug was pulled out, while recognizing that there was never any promise. Life is not just. We can work to make it so with all that which is in our control. And then there's all that we can't. There's a line somewhere.
As usual it is the expectation of something different unrealized that creates the negative emotions. But, how to expect any different? Can we really go through life not expecting to see each person again that we say good-bye to when parting? How do we avoid expecting that we will each live to a ripe, old age, etc? The best we can do may be to sort through these emotions when the unthinkable does happen.
Although it is not quite wrestling with God ala Jacob, it is grappling with tornado events that blow apart our fundamental beliefs and the resultant tattered emotions left in their wake.
The reality is that these natural events do and will happen. Sometimes rarely, sometimes barely, but always eventually. By getting dirty with them in our lives, the struggle itself offers an opportunity to grow. By sorting through our pain and loss we mature emotionally and possibly spiritually too. We do have the option available to stay "clean" – to avoid or ignore the foundational challenges and emotional toll. That may be the path of lesser resistance and work for us for a while. That avoidance is not transferable though – neither interpersonally nor in time. It does not put us in a better position to help a neighbor when a tornado hits their lives. Nor does it better equip us to handle the inevitable next disaster in ours. And don't we want to be in the best possible position to help a loved one during their time of need? Is not our emotional fitness, like our physical, maximized by the very process of tearing down and rebuilding the muscles with which we respond?
In those many instances when I cannot change the external environment, what is happening to me or how someone else is behaving – I sometimes remember that I can always change my own perspective on the situation. Often, that's all we do control.
Yet we have a self-preserving/correcting momentum towards the most stable point. We want life settled, somewhat predictable and complete with an answer key. On a day-to-day basis, that perspective does not recognize that death could come at any moment either for us or someone we love. It would require much more energy to live with that awareness in every now. So, we emotionally conserve – by denying.
I have been reminded lately of the strength that can come out of brokenness. It is broken bread that nourishes us. God can come to us most (pointedly) in our brokenness. It may be that our greatest opportunity comes at that very moment - when we most want to turn away. Let's wrestle.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Milestones Along the River
In a life where every day feels like a blessing, particular milestones have me reconsidering my life's flow. Holidays and anniversaries seem to be zipping by, each offering me perspective. Some are secular, some medical, some both; some personal, some communal, some both. All are poignant prompts.
The tenth anniversary remembrances of 9/11 allowed all of us to look back at all that's happened since everything changed. A turn of events we couldn't have imagined transformed our reality. There is no going back.
The more mundane Halloween has connotations for me beyond the faux fear of costumed children. It is the anniversary of my diagnosis. Has so much time really passed since everything changed? It's been about a thousand days, on top of everything else that God has willed me.
Followed shortly by my 45th birthday – (again) has so much time really passed?! The number matters none when I am feeling this young.
Then…Thanksgiving – newly one of my favorite holidays. A day devoted to gratitude! It's a day where we all pause to celebrate the blessings in our lives. How beautiful is that?!
Dec. 1st was the 3rd anniversary of my rebirth. The 'textbook-case" completion of my Whipple surgery was my own personal resurrection. Since then there's been grieving, letting go, accepting and choosing. The last with a little more clarity and maturity these days (I hope).
These milestones are like a church bell that tolls midnight with a dozen dongs on a crisp November night, slow and meaningful.
There have also been a rash of "remember that time…" mementos lately too - each uniquely and cumulatively good. On a glorious weekend just after my birthday, I helped the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network register the 1,400 walkers and runners that raised $250,000 for the cause of research and awareness. That Sunday evening, I appeared in the WPIX news story about the event. The night before I stretched well beyond my comfort zone in a staged reading of a series of one-act plays performed in our church sanctuary. That stretch is like pulling oneself up on a frayed and knotty rope strung across that river of life. Like milestones, it gives you a new perspective on who you are, where you've been and where you might go.
And where is God in all of this? God is at the center of each of these events because it is God's grace that allows me to experience these time milestones. It is that grace which allows me to hope into the future, to make plans for more and even better things.
Without any merit on my part, God has given me time – to experience, give thanks and contemplate. It's that last part that I am working on most. In my relationship with time, there's a tension between action and reflection. Action often gets the better of the bargain. It's all about finding that balance. Our actions define us but it's the moments in between that provide the fodder. The soul's purpose and direction are found in the pauses. I am learning.
I long to sit on the bank beside the stream more often. And for a little while longer, God willing.
The tenth anniversary remembrances of 9/11 allowed all of us to look back at all that's happened since everything changed. A turn of events we couldn't have imagined transformed our reality. There is no going back.
The more mundane Halloween has connotations for me beyond the faux fear of costumed children. It is the anniversary of my diagnosis. Has so much time really passed since everything changed? It's been about a thousand days, on top of everything else that God has willed me.
Followed shortly by my 45th birthday – (again) has so much time really passed?! The number matters none when I am feeling this young.
Then…Thanksgiving – newly one of my favorite holidays. A day devoted to gratitude! It's a day where we all pause to celebrate the blessings in our lives. How beautiful is that?!
Dec. 1st was the 3rd anniversary of my rebirth. The 'textbook-case" completion of my Whipple surgery was my own personal resurrection. Since then there's been grieving, letting go, accepting and choosing. The last with a little more clarity and maturity these days (I hope).
These milestones are like a church bell that tolls midnight with a dozen dongs on a crisp November night, slow and meaningful.
There have also been a rash of "remember that time…" mementos lately too - each uniquely and cumulatively good. On a glorious weekend just after my birthday, I helped the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network register the 1,400 walkers and runners that raised $250,000 for the cause of research and awareness. That Sunday evening, I appeared in the WPIX news story about the event. The night before I stretched well beyond my comfort zone in a staged reading of a series of one-act plays performed in our church sanctuary. That stretch is like pulling oneself up on a frayed and knotty rope strung across that river of life. Like milestones, it gives you a new perspective on who you are, where you've been and where you might go.
And where is God in all of this? God is at the center of each of these events because it is God's grace that allows me to experience these time milestones. It is that grace which allows me to hope into the future, to make plans for more and even better things.
Without any merit on my part, God has given me time – to experience, give thanks and contemplate. It's that last part that I am working on most. In my relationship with time, there's a tension between action and reflection. Action often gets the better of the bargain. It's all about finding that balance. Our actions define us but it's the moments in between that provide the fodder. The soul's purpose and direction are found in the pauses. I am learning.
I long to sit on the bank beside the stream more often. And for a little while longer, God willing.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Crossroads and Anvils
A couple of weeks ago, I had two life-changing verdicts arrive within days of one another. I was expecting one outcome to create a big redirection of my career path and earnings forecast. I was anticipating a life-change. The second result was much more important. I needed that info to come back as more of the same, no change – a cancer-free life continuing.
On one Friday, the first decision came back opposite to my expectation. I still have a job - the same job. With this news, life goes on mostly unchanged during my nine to five. It's up to me to get back to the grind and polish that stone into a diamond (or at least something semi-precious).
The next Thursday, I met with my oncologist to review the results of my 6-month CAT scan and blood work. This is the sit-down that really mattered - facing life or death in a well-lit room.
Once again I have been granted more life. Another clean scan! No changes. Thank you God! This trend towards more of the same is much more welcome than the last. What happened work-wise was a distant second to good health news – a side of gravy to the finest meal ever. I am unbelievably relieved. An incredibly good life full of possibilities continues.
Until…just like that, life changes. Within 24 hours of my renewed lease, my sister-in-law Jennifer was injured in a devastating auto accident. She is going to be okay but faces a long and already painful recovery. She has multiple broken bones and fractures – foot, arm, hand, ribs, back and eye. We are counting on the amazing talents of her medical team and her own spirit of perseverance to get her all the way back. The outpouring of love, thoughts and prayers are much appreciated and will certainly help. Thankfully, she and the friend who was driving her car have been improving daily.
Jennifer's accident represents a third direction that one's life can take that confronted me that a week. A life at a major crossroads can (i) continue on largely unaffected, or (ii) take a turn for the better or worse (sometimes we may not know which until the end of that particular road). Or the crossroad (iii) comes suddenly on an otherwise bucolic country road, a broadside out of no where.
Our default perspective is that our own life's "trajectory" is traced out ahead of us – as if there is a path. That ruse is laid bare when life pulls the rug out from under us and the truth falls like an anvil. Just like Wile E. Coyote, we have a hard time incorporating the lesson (of how transitory life can be) into our lives. That trajectory is really just momentum, and the confluence of factors that maintain our day-to-day consistent. Pull out any particular gravitational force and a life can go careening through space. There may be a path, but you'd be a fool to think that you can see much of it in front of you.
Once past the stunned stupor of Jennifer, I am simultaneously questioning and appreciating God. "How could God let this happen?" and thank God that it wasn't worse.
There's no making sense of life, or getting too comfortable in it.
Never forget to say "I love you".
Don't take anything for granted.
Syrupy, I know, but very true too.
PS – My thoughts are very much with three exceptional fighters that cancer took this past week. Wendy - who threw the first ball out with me at the Somerset Patriots Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Day in July. Mary Kay – who mothered all of the Flushing boys. God bless her. And Steve Jobs. Peace to you all and your families.
On one Friday, the first decision came back opposite to my expectation. I still have a job - the same job. With this news, life goes on mostly unchanged during my nine to five. It's up to me to get back to the grind and polish that stone into a diamond (or at least something semi-precious).
The next Thursday, I met with my oncologist to review the results of my 6-month CAT scan and blood work. This is the sit-down that really mattered - facing life or death in a well-lit room.
Once again I have been granted more life. Another clean scan! No changes. Thank you God! This trend towards more of the same is much more welcome than the last. What happened work-wise was a distant second to good health news – a side of gravy to the finest meal ever. I am unbelievably relieved. An incredibly good life full of possibilities continues.
Until…just like that, life changes. Within 24 hours of my renewed lease, my sister-in-law Jennifer was injured in a devastating auto accident. She is going to be okay but faces a long and already painful recovery. She has multiple broken bones and fractures – foot, arm, hand, ribs, back and eye. We are counting on the amazing talents of her medical team and her own spirit of perseverance to get her all the way back. The outpouring of love, thoughts and prayers are much appreciated and will certainly help. Thankfully, she and the friend who was driving her car have been improving daily.
Jennifer's accident represents a third direction that one's life can take that confronted me that a week. A life at a major crossroads can (i) continue on largely unaffected, or (ii) take a turn for the better or worse (sometimes we may not know which until the end of that particular road). Or the crossroad (iii) comes suddenly on an otherwise bucolic country road, a broadside out of no where.
Our default perspective is that our own life's "trajectory" is traced out ahead of us – as if there is a path. That ruse is laid bare when life pulls the rug out from under us and the truth falls like an anvil. Just like Wile E. Coyote, we have a hard time incorporating the lesson (of how transitory life can be) into our lives. That trajectory is really just momentum, and the confluence of factors that maintain our day-to-day consistent. Pull out any particular gravitational force and a life can go careening through space. There may be a path, but you'd be a fool to think that you can see much of it in front of you.
Once past the stunned stupor of Jennifer, I am simultaneously questioning and appreciating God. "How could God let this happen?" and thank God that it wasn't worse.
There's no making sense of life, or getting too comfortable in it.
Never forget to say "I love you".
Don't take anything for granted.
Syrupy, I know, but very true too.
PS – My thoughts are very much with three exceptional fighters that cancer took this past week. Wendy - who threw the first ball out with me at the Somerset Patriots Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Day in July. Mary Kay – who mothered all of the Flushing boys. God bless her. And Steve Jobs. Peace to you all and your families.
Monday, August 29, 2011
The Titanic
The ship is going down like the Titanic – a huge vessel, gradually sinking with devastating consequences for the passengers. I am not necessarily saying that the company is going under. Only time will tell. I am convinced, though, that it will never again be the same rewarding, fair, reasonable, fun and caring place to work again. I've seen many friends let go. Most of the rest of us are dangling, waiting to hear what our fates will be. Another 12% of the workforce on top of the 15% announced last year.
While reduced to mere gratitude for surviving each reorganization, many are wondering whether it is better to be left on the ship or to board a lifeboat. In staying, it seems like just a matter of time before your particular deck (level) goes under (water). In the meantime, you find yourself drowning in the work left behind by your dear colleagues that have already been "separated".
When they are targeting this many bodies, they go as far as to ask for volunteers. The company will seek out "hand raisers" who offer to be terminated in exchange for a separations package. It's getting into the lifeboat before it even gets lowered or the iceberg impacts.
It certainly takes a degree of courage (or exhaustion?) to voluntarily climb in. It is not a comfortable place to put oneself, for sure. It's a tiny vessel, close to the water and liable to be tossed by any wake or waves. Sure, there might be some provisions but it's tough to say whether they'll last. Floating on a seemingly endless sea – the economy being as bleak as it is - with no land in sight is nerve-racking. In the end, it could be a sweet island in the Caribbean - maybe the land of milk & honey. Or it might turn out to be trading a frying pan for the fire of another place of corporate ugliness with less seniority and vacation time.
For me, a separation package could also provide just enough cover to make the leap to what I want to be when I grow up. It frees up the time (and/or money) to make a running start at independence from "The Man" and his rotten system. Academically and professionally, thus far in life, I've pursued my strengths (math & science) – not necessarily my likes or wants. Or I've taken pains to become a more rounded employee or more "marketable" (an MBA). Always working toward some future payoff. That future seems simultaneously far away and very now.
Sadly, there are more than 15 million lifeboats out there. As is true for too many others, I wouldn't be in that lifeboat alone. The ante is upped by the precious family in my arms. But, as in every misfortune lie the seeds of a new opportunity. To achieve a new life, you often have to step (or get pushed) out onto that limb. Perched unnervingly, you can't help but be available to a whole new set of possibilities. For those of us light on imagination or guts – being tossed into that lifeboat might be just the ticket. Recognizing the all-powerful sitting beside me with the surest life vest ever will go along way to helping the faith part of the equation.
In the meantime, I am working on my rowing technique and trust every day.
While reduced to mere gratitude for surviving each reorganization, many are wondering whether it is better to be left on the ship or to board a lifeboat. In staying, it seems like just a matter of time before your particular deck (level) goes under (water). In the meantime, you find yourself drowning in the work left behind by your dear colleagues that have already been "separated".
When they are targeting this many bodies, they go as far as to ask for volunteers. The company will seek out "hand raisers" who offer to be terminated in exchange for a separations package. It's getting into the lifeboat before it even gets lowered or the iceberg impacts.
It certainly takes a degree of courage (or exhaustion?) to voluntarily climb in. It is not a comfortable place to put oneself, for sure. It's a tiny vessel, close to the water and liable to be tossed by any wake or waves. Sure, there might be some provisions but it's tough to say whether they'll last. Floating on a seemingly endless sea – the economy being as bleak as it is - with no land in sight is nerve-racking. In the end, it could be a sweet island in the Caribbean - maybe the land of milk & honey. Or it might turn out to be trading a frying pan for the fire of another place of corporate ugliness with less seniority and vacation time.
For me, a separation package could also provide just enough cover to make the leap to what I want to be when I grow up. It frees up the time (and/or money) to make a running start at independence from "The Man" and his rotten system. Academically and professionally, thus far in life, I've pursued my strengths (math & science) – not necessarily my likes or wants. Or I've taken pains to become a more rounded employee or more "marketable" (an MBA). Always working toward some future payoff. That future seems simultaneously far away and very now.
Sadly, there are more than 15 million lifeboats out there. As is true for too many others, I wouldn't be in that lifeboat alone. The ante is upped by the precious family in my arms. But, as in every misfortune lie the seeds of a new opportunity. To achieve a new life, you often have to step (or get pushed) out onto that limb. Perched unnervingly, you can't help but be available to a whole new set of possibilities. For those of us light on imagination or guts – being tossed into that lifeboat might be just the ticket. Recognizing the all-powerful sitting beside me with the surest life vest ever will go along way to helping the faith part of the equation.
In the meantime, I am working on my rowing technique and trust every day.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Advocacy 2011
I participated in the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network's Advocacy Day in June. Survivors and loved ones of those taken by this disease go down to DC to urge Congress to pass a bill that would lead to a strategy that would make this diagnosis less than the death sentence that it currently is. I have been thinking a lot about advocacy and what it means since then. (A wonderful two weeks in Croatia kept me from capturing these musings sooner.)
Advocacy sounds like such a formal word and is not typically used to describe the activities of our daily lives. And yet, I believe that we do so quite regularly. There's the advocacy akin to lobbying for a position in the halls of power. But what about the advocacy we do for each other – for those in our family, our friends, our neighbors, those we love and those in need.
On the more institutional side, I was down in Washington advocating for more funding for cancer research. I find it interesting that in many languages, the word that we translate colloquially as "lawyer" is "advocate'. In that sense, it actually makes sense (and may not be such a negative) that many of our elected officials are lawyers.
This was my second year down and I, once again, found it to be near equal parts exhilarating and frustrating. On the one hand, what other country would allow an average citizen to speak with two Congressmen, one Senator and several aides about a single (relatively minor, in the grand scheme of things) issue in a single day? What an amazing country we live in! On the other hand, our priorities drive me batty. We routinely find the money to support the profits of large corporations and our nations richest but have to fight for years to take care of our sick and needy. The benefit from medical research is much clearer to me than what we gained by the $4 trillion spent on the Iraq and Afghanistan wars or tax cuts for the wealthiest 1%. I very firmly believe in a government of, by and for the people and it is maddening to me that we willingly relinquish that power. Forgive the soapbox, but… I see our priorities as a citizenry severely misplaced. I am convinced that the only way we can start putting real, deserving people ahead of faceless institutions is for us to talk about it and exchange ideas amongst ourselves. (So, I invite any and all of you to engage me in civil discussions if you agree with the choice of war funding and tax cuts for the rich instead of better pay for teachers, cops and soldiers and better cures for the diseases my children face. Please help me – because, I don't for the life of me understand that choice and really need to.)
We also have a reasonable expectation of advocacy in our lives. We expect that our elected representatives will advocate for us (or ought to). We expect our loved ones to advocate for us too. We want folks to look out for us, to listen to us, to help us when we are in need.
That same challenge also lays before us when it comes to those we don't know. We are meant to advocate for each other, for the friends we don't yet know, for the least among us. We all know someone who needs an advocate. There is certainly no lack of opportunity. Advocacy is a form of love and loving our neighbor. This is, after all, what Christianity calls us to do.
We are human. We need each other – and that's good. Advocate politically, because we have this wonderful system that allows it. Demand that your government and its' representatives advocate for you, because that's their job. Advocate for your family and friends because love call you to. Advocate for the neediest in our society because it's what Jesus modeled and challenges us to do.
Advocacy is exhilarating and frustrating and the only way to change the world or a life. Let's get to it.
Advocacy sounds like such a formal word and is not typically used to describe the activities of our daily lives. And yet, I believe that we do so quite regularly. There's the advocacy akin to lobbying for a position in the halls of power. But what about the advocacy we do for each other – for those in our family, our friends, our neighbors, those we love and those in need.
On the more institutional side, I was down in Washington advocating for more funding for cancer research. I find it interesting that in many languages, the word that we translate colloquially as "lawyer" is "advocate'. In that sense, it actually makes sense (and may not be such a negative) that many of our elected officials are lawyers.
This was my second year down and I, once again, found it to be near equal parts exhilarating and frustrating. On the one hand, what other country would allow an average citizen to speak with two Congressmen, one Senator and several aides about a single (relatively minor, in the grand scheme of things) issue in a single day? What an amazing country we live in! On the other hand, our priorities drive me batty. We routinely find the money to support the profits of large corporations and our nations richest but have to fight for years to take care of our sick and needy. The benefit from medical research is much clearer to me than what we gained by the $4 trillion spent on the Iraq and Afghanistan wars or tax cuts for the wealthiest 1%. I very firmly believe in a government of, by and for the people and it is maddening to me that we willingly relinquish that power. Forgive the soapbox, but… I see our priorities as a citizenry severely misplaced. I am convinced that the only way we can start putting real, deserving people ahead of faceless institutions is for us to talk about it and exchange ideas amongst ourselves. (So, I invite any and all of you to engage me in civil discussions if you agree with the choice of war funding and tax cuts for the rich instead of better pay for teachers, cops and soldiers and better cures for the diseases my children face. Please help me – because, I don't for the life of me understand that choice and really need to.)
We also have a reasonable expectation of advocacy in our lives. We expect that our elected representatives will advocate for us (or ought to). We expect our loved ones to advocate for us too. We want folks to look out for us, to listen to us, to help us when we are in need.
That same challenge also lays before us when it comes to those we don't know. We are meant to advocate for each other, for the friends we don't yet know, for the least among us. We all know someone who needs an advocate. There is certainly no lack of opportunity. Advocacy is a form of love and loving our neighbor. This is, after all, what Christianity calls us to do.
We are human. We need each other – and that's good. Advocate politically, because we have this wonderful system that allows it. Demand that your government and its' representatives advocate for you, because that's their job. Advocate for your family and friends because love call you to. Advocate for the neediest in our society because it's what Jesus modeled and challenges us to do.
Advocacy is exhilarating and frustrating and the only way to change the world or a life. Let's get to it.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Lost & Found
I've gained and lost a lot over the past few years. I am fortunate that I continue to carry with me, all that I have lost. What's lost is precious and not forgotten.
My pain and suffering - such as it was – related to my cancer, was worth every moment of it. My physical pain was limited and bearable. It was the "emotional pain" of having my applecart so rudely and completely upset that was much more significant. That cart held all of my beliefs about life, faith, health, mortality and priorities. Having to reconsider and reorder all of that baggage, so completely and suddenly was breathtaking. I lost much in that exchange - mostly the appearance of a security that wasn't mine to begin with.
There is a reason that we don't live on the edge of death all the time. We keep our sanity by keeping our temporary-ness at a distance. That is the false sense of security, the necessary lie that allows us not to be petrified basket cases.
Nearly a year ago, I wrote this about that raw awareness of mortality:
The trajectory of my journey has forever changed and my tumor was a wake-up call. My challenge is to find out what that calling is and to act upon it. And yet, as time passes, I fear losing that understanding and urgency. Familiarity breeds complacency and soon that lightening in a bottle could dissipate. Working with other folks that are similarly challenged will keep me close to that edge and keep the gift of my cancer alive.
In the weeks and months after my diagnosis, emotional pain was thrust upon me. I've grown a bit accustomed to it. I don't run from it these days. The good health that God has blessed me with allows me the latitude to sit with emotional pain by choice rather than out of a need to survive. I've been practicing being present for others in need. I've found that it can be a life-affirming, rather than a debilitating act.
For me, it is the way that I've struggled to keep that lightening in bottle
Coming out of the locker room for this 2nd half of my life, I find myself more human with the appreciation of how broken and fragile I am.
A beautiful thing happened to me – my pain has made me more aware of others and their pain.
I've concluded that to insulate yourself from your pain is, in effect, to insulate yourself from other people and their lives. Hiding from your own hurts keeps you from empathizing with others. I can't say I chose to face mine, I had little choice. But it's had a pleasant unintentional consequence - the opportunity for greater communion w/others. So I'd ask you, my friends, to never shield me from what aches you or the truths I have coming to me. I think that I am ready on both counts.
It turns out that my heart has grown, its' capacity to love is greater. It's as if the void created in the space that the head of my pancreas, gall bladder and other parts that my great surgeon removed has been filled by more heart. I've found that it can do far more than I ever knew. And that's just the way that God works.
Here's to feeling more every day!
My pain and suffering - such as it was – related to my cancer, was worth every moment of it. My physical pain was limited and bearable. It was the "emotional pain" of having my applecart so rudely and completely upset that was much more significant. That cart held all of my beliefs about life, faith, health, mortality and priorities. Having to reconsider and reorder all of that baggage, so completely and suddenly was breathtaking. I lost much in that exchange - mostly the appearance of a security that wasn't mine to begin with.
There is a reason that we don't live on the edge of death all the time. We keep our sanity by keeping our temporary-ness at a distance. That is the false sense of security, the necessary lie that allows us not to be petrified basket cases.
Nearly a year ago, I wrote this about that raw awareness of mortality:
The trajectory of my journey has forever changed and my tumor was a wake-up call. My challenge is to find out what that calling is and to act upon it. And yet, as time passes, I fear losing that understanding and urgency. Familiarity breeds complacency and soon that lightening in a bottle could dissipate. Working with other folks that are similarly challenged will keep me close to that edge and keep the gift of my cancer alive.
In the weeks and months after my diagnosis, emotional pain was thrust upon me. I've grown a bit accustomed to it. I don't run from it these days. The good health that God has blessed me with allows me the latitude to sit with emotional pain by choice rather than out of a need to survive. I've been practicing being present for others in need. I've found that it can be a life-affirming, rather than a debilitating act.
For me, it is the way that I've struggled to keep that lightening in bottle
Coming out of the locker room for this 2nd half of my life, I find myself more human with the appreciation of how broken and fragile I am.
A beautiful thing happened to me – my pain has made me more aware of others and their pain.
I've concluded that to insulate yourself from your pain is, in effect, to insulate yourself from other people and their lives. Hiding from your own hurts keeps you from empathizing with others. I can't say I chose to face mine, I had little choice. But it's had a pleasant unintentional consequence - the opportunity for greater communion w/others. So I'd ask you, my friends, to never shield me from what aches you or the truths I have coming to me. I think that I am ready on both counts.
It turns out that my heart has grown, its' capacity to love is greater. It's as if the void created in the space that the head of my pancreas, gall bladder and other parts that my great surgeon removed has been filled by more heart. I've found that it can do far more than I ever knew. And that's just the way that God works.
Here's to feeling more every day!
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