These past five months have been the longest stretch with no attention to my cancer in the nearly year and a half since this adventure started. I had a CAT scan last Tuesday and the results are…all clear! The appointment with my oncologist was snow-cancelled but he did call to say that the scan showed nothing suspicious. Praise the Lord! I met with him this morning and I will be on a six-month schedule for the next couple of years. He also agreed to have my chemo port removed – in the hopeful belief that I won't be needing it anytime soon.
Moving from getting scanned every three months to (almost) six was progress but certainly anxiety-producing. It's a little bit like waiting for the sentencing phase after a conviction. And thank God, this time again – I have been spared! I could tell myself heading into it that I am fine, based primarily on how I feel. That would be conveniently ignoring the fact that I felt fine for most of the time that the cancer was growing inside me last time.
The continuation of clean can also lend credibility to alleged cancer-avoiding behaviors I've adopted like – a couple of green teas daily, lowering stress, restarting my meditation practice, minimizing the intake of fat/sugar/white flour and other underminers, etc. On the other hand, one could argue that the culpability factor is a little less pronounced in the instance of a recurrence – meaning that if you are susceptible and/or have it in you, such is your fate. Who can know?
I am also reminded of my feelings of helplessness from 14 months ago. A few weeks after my surgery, I felt powerless considering the possibility of not having any chemo or radiation to do. That would mean just hoping and praying and waiting. That's been pretty much what I've been doing since finishing up my chemo last July. I have been tending to more functional aspects of my body and health instead, like fixing broken teeth and achy feet (planters fasciitis). Some of the mundane self-care tasks that are only worth doing for those that are counting on being around long enough to see the payoff.
So, now, with the clean scan result, folks have been congratulating me. I appreciate the sentiment in the sense of a cause for celebration. At the same time it leaves me searching for a response since I did little (nothing) to deserve the congrats. (I actually looked up the word congratulations to find that it is "an expression of pleasure or acknowledgment of somebody's success or good fortune or on a special occasion".) Good fortune it is then! I don't pretend that slightly cleaner living, green tea and a good outlook on life are keeping the evil cancer away. Instead, I recognize that it is the power of prayer that gives me strength and, most importantly, the grace and goodness of God that have kept me here. For the former I have many of you to thank. For the rest, I can only thank God – that his master plan includes having me around for a while longer.
I look forward to having all of my "cat" mentions refer to the feline persuasion for the next six months.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Haiti and (Why) Me
In the instance of a disaster on a massive scale – like the earthquake in Haiti – we ask how such terrible events can happen. We wonder where the justice is in tragedies. I think that regardless of what your particular religious beliefs are, we question where God is in the midst of such overwhelming human anguish. Some curtly conclude that there couldn't be a God that would allow so much pain. Those that believe in God struggle with how he could be so dispassionate, or worse, such an angry and vengeful God.
On a personal level, even when it comes to "less severe" setbacks we may ask "why me?" Why was I the one to get fired? Why is my roof leaking? Why did she leave me? Why did I get cancer? When circumstances seem to be conspiring against you and the punches are raining down on you, it is not unusual to wonder what you did to deserve such punishment. I know that I've had that thought very many times regarding the connections between my life history and my cancer. I wondered whether or how I was responsible for what happened. Mostly it is in the sense of my physical actions that could have led to a tumor growing on my pancreas. Of course, I also considered my many moral failures in life – the many times I had hurt those that I loved, lacked heart, or rejected a Christian response.
So, whether it is a personal or global tragedy, we find ourselves asking the same questions about God, his heart, who deserves such consequences and where's the justice. Often, the scale of the catastrophe is such that it begs an explanation. We try our best to cobble one together even in the absence of any sense. Which may be why we turn to God on such occasions - he's the perfect fall guy. Our personal perspective is allowed validation regardless. If you don't believe in a God, a massive undeserved misfortune might prove just that for you. If you do, you at least have a place to vent your anger or the soothing option of writing off the tragedy to God's will.
[Though it's not something we can even consider in the midst of living through a calamity, the alternatives are worth considering during quieter moments. It may sound ideal at first glance, but what kind of life would it be if we all did live in good health, with some certainty to 80 years of age? Even with my lowered odds of making it there, I don't know that I'd choose that.]
Interestingly, I can't say that I've questioned God's existence more throughout my ordeal. If anything, I have felt his presence and so have come to believe in him more strongly. I see him much more evidently in my life now. I feel his presence when I am struggling (though I'd like to call upon God more readily with my daily challenges). I see his face in my joys – whether that first-light warmth on a new morning or the pure-joy laughter of my babies. And since I have kept God around more lately, I have certainly pleaded and bargained with him. True to form, he's kept up his end of the deal better than I have. I'm still here even though I've regularly fallen short of being the new and improved me that I've promised. Finally, I can't say that I haven't been angry with him from time to time.
Also in the interests of fairness, isn't it curious that we don't ask the "why me?" question when things are going well. It's as if, deep down we have an expectation of our ship coming in or our lottery numbers being drawn regardless of our merits. If the outrageous blessings are going to flow to someone, it might as well be us, right? We count on God being somewhat liberal when handing out the prizes and conservatively judicious with the punishments. We're funny like that.
Ultimately, the "why me?" question gets at the heart of our hopes and beliefs. Without knowing the mind of God, it's a question that we can't answer. God-willing, we'll find out one day when we are in a better place and the whys matter much less.
On a personal level, even when it comes to "less severe" setbacks we may ask "why me?" Why was I the one to get fired? Why is my roof leaking? Why did she leave me? Why did I get cancer? When circumstances seem to be conspiring against you and the punches are raining down on you, it is not unusual to wonder what you did to deserve such punishment. I know that I've had that thought very many times regarding the connections between my life history and my cancer. I wondered whether or how I was responsible for what happened. Mostly it is in the sense of my physical actions that could have led to a tumor growing on my pancreas. Of course, I also considered my many moral failures in life – the many times I had hurt those that I loved, lacked heart, or rejected a Christian response.
So, whether it is a personal or global tragedy, we find ourselves asking the same questions about God, his heart, who deserves such consequences and where's the justice. Often, the scale of the catastrophe is such that it begs an explanation. We try our best to cobble one together even in the absence of any sense. Which may be why we turn to God on such occasions - he's the perfect fall guy. Our personal perspective is allowed validation regardless. If you don't believe in a God, a massive undeserved misfortune might prove just that for you. If you do, you at least have a place to vent your anger or the soothing option of writing off the tragedy to God's will.
[Though it's not something we can even consider in the midst of living through a calamity, the alternatives are worth considering during quieter moments. It may sound ideal at first glance, but what kind of life would it be if we all did live in good health, with some certainty to 80 years of age? Even with my lowered odds of making it there, I don't know that I'd choose that.]
Interestingly, I can't say that I've questioned God's existence more throughout my ordeal. If anything, I have felt his presence and so have come to believe in him more strongly. I see him much more evidently in my life now. I feel his presence when I am struggling (though I'd like to call upon God more readily with my daily challenges). I see his face in my joys – whether that first-light warmth on a new morning or the pure-joy laughter of my babies. And since I have kept God around more lately, I have certainly pleaded and bargained with him. True to form, he's kept up his end of the deal better than I have. I'm still here even though I've regularly fallen short of being the new and improved me that I've promised. Finally, I can't say that I haven't been angry with him from time to time.
Also in the interests of fairness, isn't it curious that we don't ask the "why me?" question when things are going well. It's as if, deep down we have an expectation of our ship coming in or our lottery numbers being drawn regardless of our merits. If the outrageous blessings are going to flow to someone, it might as well be us, right? We count on God being somewhat liberal when handing out the prizes and conservatively judicious with the punishments. We're funny like that.
Ultimately, the "why me?" question gets at the heart of our hopes and beliefs. Without knowing the mind of God, it's a question that we can't answer. God-willing, we'll find out one day when we are in a better place and the whys matter much less.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Relativity & Connectedness
Challenges bring opportunities to learn and grow. I've learned a lot about myself, about life and others in the past year. I hoped to reflect on those three linked aspects of my experience for a couple of paragraphs.
I expected to be able to make a list of what I learned about myself, but couldn't very readily. I can say that from a very small circle/me sense, I am now willing to sacrifice much of what I once valued to live longer. All else about me these days ultimately relates to that.
What I learned is that, "life" for me boils down to the space between me and others. Via the abrupt revaluation of what's important that a serious illness offers, I developed my very own theory of relativity. It's actually beyond a theory, having been proven repeatedly. The fact is that it is all relative for me. I am part of an intricate and beautiful web. The same principle applies to my priorities in life – they exist in relation to those I love most.
In the spirit of connectedness, one huge discovery I made is that if you put things out there, they will come. Most of us have been taught to (and thus so often) keep our struggles to ourselves. I know that that's how I was raised, and it's what I did. We keep our failures under wraps, our misfortunes secret and tragedies hushed. Unfortunately, that leaves us very alone exactly when we most need the support of others. What worked best for me was exactly the opposite of what I'd been led to believe. It turns out that one person's painful experiences can become the shared concern of a much larger caring circle. The concern of others, in turn, taught me about strengths that I never knew I had. All those that responded to me in their compassion helped me to develop further and made me stronger.
Then there is a whole other level of spiritual support available to us. Given that we are all God's children, he is there in our pain. First, he accompanies us through the challenges – never leaving our side, whether we welcome him or not. To recognize that opportunity for grace and strength is an amazing blessing. Also, we find him in the struggles of others – if we are willing to look and others are willing to let us see him. This is why it is so important to put it out there. It is an invitation to each other and so, to God, to travel our most difficult roads with us.
The greatest lesson of all has been what I learned about you, those around me. My friends and family have shared their faith and fears with me. I am more intimately familiar with people's triumphs and trials. I know my friends better and have more one-time acquaintances I can now call friends. As a lovely complement, I also have more friends with whom I can share. Some of you have experienced both ends of that firsthand. [This entry was prompted, in fact, by a recent conversation with someone I am sharing more with now than I have in 25 years.]
I've found that the compartments I had set up when beginning to write this were false. The me/life/others construct represents an old, flawed approach. They are all intertwined and keeping them separate is both laborious and fruitless. My ultimate learned lesson about me, others and the space in between is that I am loved by God and his children in so many ways. We all are – in all of our tragic and hopeful brokenness.
I expected to be able to make a list of what I learned about myself, but couldn't very readily. I can say that from a very small circle/me sense, I am now willing to sacrifice much of what I once valued to live longer. All else about me these days ultimately relates to that.
What I learned is that, "life" for me boils down to the space between me and others. Via the abrupt revaluation of what's important that a serious illness offers, I developed my very own theory of relativity. It's actually beyond a theory, having been proven repeatedly. The fact is that it is all relative for me. I am part of an intricate and beautiful web. The same principle applies to my priorities in life – they exist in relation to those I love most.
In the spirit of connectedness, one huge discovery I made is that if you put things out there, they will come. Most of us have been taught to (and thus so often) keep our struggles to ourselves. I know that that's how I was raised, and it's what I did. We keep our failures under wraps, our misfortunes secret and tragedies hushed. Unfortunately, that leaves us very alone exactly when we most need the support of others. What worked best for me was exactly the opposite of what I'd been led to believe. It turns out that one person's painful experiences can become the shared concern of a much larger caring circle. The concern of others, in turn, taught me about strengths that I never knew I had. All those that responded to me in their compassion helped me to develop further and made me stronger.
Then there is a whole other level of spiritual support available to us. Given that we are all God's children, he is there in our pain. First, he accompanies us through the challenges – never leaving our side, whether we welcome him or not. To recognize that opportunity for grace and strength is an amazing blessing. Also, we find him in the struggles of others – if we are willing to look and others are willing to let us see him. This is why it is so important to put it out there. It is an invitation to each other and so, to God, to travel our most difficult roads with us.
The greatest lesson of all has been what I learned about you, those around me. My friends and family have shared their faith and fears with me. I am more intimately familiar with people's triumphs and trials. I know my friends better and have more one-time acquaintances I can now call friends. As a lovely complement, I also have more friends with whom I can share. Some of you have experienced both ends of that firsthand. [This entry was prompted, in fact, by a recent conversation with someone I am sharing more with now than I have in 25 years.]
I've found that the compartments I had set up when beginning to write this were false. The me/life/others construct represents an old, flawed approach. They are all intertwined and keeping them separate is both laborious and fruitless. My ultimate learned lesson about me, others and the space in between is that I am loved by God and his children in so many ways. We all are – in all of our tragic and hopeful brokenness.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Epiphany 2010
As the "The Epiphany" officially passes on the Church calendar, I reflect on the personal epiphany I had over the holiday break. I had more than one, actually. I was off from a couple of days before Christmas until the Monday after New Years – which amounted to, my own (slightly shifted) 12 days of Christmas. Although I received terrific gifts from my true love through out the period – as I do on every other day that we are together – I also received the grace of God's wisdom.
As many folks do when turning the page on a new calendar year, I wanted to take stock of various aspects of my life during my downtime. For instance, I reviewed our family's finances for the year to figure out just where all that money went and how we might get by with less if we had or chose to. Amongst the many things that I hoped to get done over the break were some spiritual to-dos too. While related to the monetary aspects of life (as much is), these had more to do with how I spend my time. Not that I think that I waste or fritter much of it away, but being so precious, I am very conscious of where I direct it. I prayed over what I could do with my professional time (work life, time for pay, etc.) and where I might want to direct more of my volunteer (free) time. I (re)considered my opportunities on both of those fronts and evaluated my options. We all have alternatives- although we often don't allow ourselves to entertain the full suite of choices that are available to us. I like to periodically revisit the why not of this or that previously made decision. Our situations change in life over time. I know mine has. I am seeing that an illness rapidly ages not only one's body but one' soul. (A recent study that found that older people, if healthy, tend to be much happier than younger folks makes perfect sense to me.) I've grown up (and old) a lot in the past 14 months.
So, like the three wise men of scripture, I went on a journey. I never left the tri-state area but tried to consider the world of options. And, like the magi, my endpoint was very important to me. Still, I was trying to appreciate the seeking as much as the finding. Because ultimately, this is not exactly a new journey for me – though it feels like it sometimes. Every morning is another step on the journey we are all on, the so called life journey. The difference for me is that I am open to different sets of directions these days. Or maybe, more accurately, it's that I am more aware of needing directions; much of what I thought I knew is less certain now.
Given the global business climate and that my employer just merged with another company, I considered what my life after Merck might look like. It would probably mean less money and that translates into less of many other things. The trick is in anticipating whether such a change could offer a net increase in time (the more valuable currency) spent doing the things I most enjoy and/or with those I love. Many of us search for the sweet spot between the tug of work demands, monetary compensation, job satisfaction and the societal benefits of our work. I struggle with whether I currently have those balanced optimally. Getting sick has only made me question the equilibrium of those values more. I find myself talking to friends about variations of this topic constantly in a search for other perspectives. I pray to God to give me the faith, courage and imagination to best use the gifts He gave me.
Then there is that time away from work. Without question, my free time focus is on my babies, family and friends. Beyond that, I have been considering several different volunteer opportunities that center around ministering to the sick. Over the holiday break, I tried to delve into why I was looking at situations that might be (as my friend Linda called them) a little "raw" for me. I realized that getting sick threw me onto a completely unanticipated but distinct path. I believe that I am a cancer survivor (rather than victim) because it is not yet my time. God has some plan for me – as He does for all of us. 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.
It turns out that my star is an abnormal growth on my pancreas. It was my sign that took me out of my comfortable space and onto a journey – ultimately, to find God in the people around me. Not coincidentally, the more that I opened myself up to others, the more that I found that God was walking the path with me. A way that seemed overgrown suddenly felt well-trod and expansive. This much I know. With God as my GPS, we are working out the directions as I keep stepping.
As many folks do when turning the page on a new calendar year, I wanted to take stock of various aspects of my life during my downtime. For instance, I reviewed our family's finances for the year to figure out just where all that money went and how we might get by with less if we had or chose to. Amongst the many things that I hoped to get done over the break were some spiritual to-dos too. While related to the monetary aspects of life (as much is), these had more to do with how I spend my time. Not that I think that I waste or fritter much of it away, but being so precious, I am very conscious of where I direct it. I prayed over what I could do with my professional time (work life, time for pay, etc.) and where I might want to direct more of my volunteer (free) time. I (re)considered my opportunities on both of those fronts and evaluated my options. We all have alternatives- although we often don't allow ourselves to entertain the full suite of choices that are available to us. I like to periodically revisit the why not of this or that previously made decision. Our situations change in life over time. I know mine has. I am seeing that an illness rapidly ages not only one's body but one' soul. (A recent study that found that older people, if healthy, tend to be much happier than younger folks makes perfect sense to me.) I've grown up (and old) a lot in the past 14 months.
So, like the three wise men of scripture, I went on a journey. I never left the tri-state area but tried to consider the world of options. And, like the magi, my endpoint was very important to me. Still, I was trying to appreciate the seeking as much as the finding. Because ultimately, this is not exactly a new journey for me – though it feels like it sometimes. Every morning is another step on the journey we are all on, the so called life journey. The difference for me is that I am open to different sets of directions these days. Or maybe, more accurately, it's that I am more aware of needing directions; much of what I thought I knew is less certain now.
Given the global business climate and that my employer just merged with another company, I considered what my life after Merck might look like. It would probably mean less money and that translates into less of many other things. The trick is in anticipating whether such a change could offer a net increase in time (the more valuable currency) spent doing the things I most enjoy and/or with those I love. Many of us search for the sweet spot between the tug of work demands, monetary compensation, job satisfaction and the societal benefits of our work. I struggle with whether I currently have those balanced optimally. Getting sick has only made me question the equilibrium of those values more. I find myself talking to friends about variations of this topic constantly in a search for other perspectives. I pray to God to give me the faith, courage and imagination to best use the gifts He gave me.
Then there is that time away from work. Without question, my free time focus is on my babies, family and friends. Beyond that, I have been considering several different volunteer opportunities that center around ministering to the sick. Over the holiday break, I tried to delve into why I was looking at situations that might be (as my friend Linda called them) a little "raw" for me. I realized that getting sick threw me onto a completely unanticipated but distinct path. I believe that I am a cancer survivor (rather than victim) because it is not yet my time. God has some plan for me – as He does for all of us. 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.
It turns out that my star is an abnormal growth on my pancreas. It was my sign that took me out of my comfortable space and onto a journey – ultimately, to find God in the people around me. Not coincidentally, the more that I opened myself up to others, the more that I found that God was walking the path with me. A way that seemed overgrown suddenly felt well-trod and expansive. This much I know. With God as my GPS, we are working out the directions as I keep stepping.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Is it in Giving that We Receive?
This Advent season was wonderful for me. It was minimally stressful and I managed to make time to wait expectantly for Jesus' birth. I broadened my creative horizons with a couple of exceptional Christmas choral concerts (besides the usual seasonal music at Sunday services) and also considered some Advent poetry. Familial get-togethers and nurtured relationships were all overwhelmingly positive and fulfilling. It is a time of year like no other for getting together with loved ones. But, I struggled with the commercial aspect of Christmas much more this year than ever before. I am not sure why. (In fact, I even had trouble expressing myself evenly for this blog entry.)
I am sure it says something about me, but I have never been very good with gifts – neither giving nor receiving. I am getting better though. I've learned to accept help and love much more readily in the past year. But this season, the consumerism associated with Christmas nearly overwhelmed the many magnificent aspects of the season for me.
I can accept that so much of people's attention and discussion focuses on sales, stores and presents. Ultimately, what threatens to get lost in the shopping is the very reason for the holiday, God's gift to us.
I do recognize that gifts bring joy to many. Still, it seems ironic that ubiquitous consumerism commemorates the humble birth of a poor man who spoke out consistently against economic injustice. The monetary costs of giving challenge those with little, and seem to encourage the haves to Lexus levels of lavishness. The material waste undermines our responsible stewardship of the Earth God gave us. Related to that is the question of how much is enough. Our culture rarely bothers to ask that question; more is always better. Finally, more things imply more clutter (a personal peeve of a former Manhattan studio dweller) which undermines my mental and spiritual clarity. I am not advocating asceticism, but there may be something to a simpler life. Or maybe I am expecting meaning where there isn't any.
We struggle to get the "perfect gift" for our spouses, mothers, sibling and/or friends - a thoughtful something that might say "I love you". I must admit that (much to the chagrin of my family) I struggle with expressing myself that way. Love is, after all, addressing the needs of another. It might be that a trip to Brookstone might be just the ticket. Often, though, our loved ones have told us exactly what they want from us. A gift that can't go on a credit card, is the more difficult to give. Given the choice between stuff and love, genuine love asks much more of us. And yet it is also the much more natural and life-affirming way.
So, we come back to the greatest gift that is the pretext for all of the presents at Christmastime. The Midnight Mass sermon at the Catholic Church in town asked whether - beyond the fact that God is with us, are we ready to be with him? I have experienced the wonderful gift of God's presence in my life as I have faced my most difficult trials. Traveling with him is the greater challenge. That is where the love lies. What more perfect gift to everyone in our lives than to follow his way and walk with him?
I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2010!
I am sure it says something about me, but I have never been very good with gifts – neither giving nor receiving. I am getting better though. I've learned to accept help and love much more readily in the past year. But this season, the consumerism associated with Christmas nearly overwhelmed the many magnificent aspects of the season for me.
I can accept that so much of people's attention and discussion focuses on sales, stores and presents. Ultimately, what threatens to get lost in the shopping is the very reason for the holiday, God's gift to us.
I do recognize that gifts bring joy to many. Still, it seems ironic that ubiquitous consumerism commemorates the humble birth of a poor man who spoke out consistently against economic injustice. The monetary costs of giving challenge those with little, and seem to encourage the haves to Lexus levels of lavishness. The material waste undermines our responsible stewardship of the Earth God gave us. Related to that is the question of how much is enough. Our culture rarely bothers to ask that question; more is always better. Finally, more things imply more clutter (a personal peeve of a former Manhattan studio dweller) which undermines my mental and spiritual clarity. I am not advocating asceticism, but there may be something to a simpler life. Or maybe I am expecting meaning where there isn't any.
We struggle to get the "perfect gift" for our spouses, mothers, sibling and/or friends - a thoughtful something that might say "I love you". I must admit that (much to the chagrin of my family) I struggle with expressing myself that way. Love is, after all, addressing the needs of another. It might be that a trip to Brookstone might be just the ticket. Often, though, our loved ones have told us exactly what they want from us. A gift that can't go on a credit card, is the more difficult to give. Given the choice between stuff and love, genuine love asks much more of us. And yet it is also the much more natural and life-affirming way.
So, we come back to the greatest gift that is the pretext for all of the presents at Christmastime. The Midnight Mass sermon at the Catholic Church in town asked whether - beyond the fact that God is with us, are we ready to be with him? I have experienced the wonderful gift of God's presence in my life as I have faced my most difficult trials. Traveling with him is the greater challenge. That is where the love lies. What more perfect gift to everyone in our lives than to follow his way and walk with him?
I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2010!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Advent Waiting
The weeks leading up to Christmas are a time of expectant waiting. It is intended to be a time of spiritual preparation for the arrival of the baby Jesus. As we all know, the season between Thanksgiving and Christmas often ends up being a stressful time of shopping and social obligations. Chronological time seemingly speeds up daily with ever more to do before the 25th.
But I've come to consider a different kind of time at a Christian Ed class I attended at our excellent church. It is (in Greek) "kairos" which differs from the more usual word for time which is chronos. "In the New Testament kairos means 'the appointed time in the purpose of God', the time when God acts." Visually, I imagine it as a more circular time that (re)turns back in on itself rather than the more straight line time that we are used to. The Advent season including Christmas is a terrific example of kairos – a special time that God set aside filled with wonderful memories. Each year we long to recreate the warmth of childhood with hand-me-down decorations and traditions. For many, it is a safe place that we long to return to every December.
Besides the fond holiday memories, I've had a very different kind of kairos replay in the past couple of weeks. I have been remembering the bittersweet sequence from seeming perfect health to a cancer diagnosis and then ultimately a lifesaving surgery a year ago. Unfortunately, this year's experience is about much more than commemorating my happy anniversary. I am vicariously reliving the surreal progression from a distance as two dear cousins grapple with their own cancers. It is certainly a case of kairos – "of God’s purposes intersecting and overruling this finite world of chronological time."
At a Blue Christmas service this past Sunday night, I was struck again by the difficulty of kairos time. It is, for me, the most difficult challenge that God places before us – to submit gracefully to his timing for us. For instance, I wrestle with the unpleasant kairos possibility of a recurrence of my own cancer. It's a situation where I want time to be straight-arrow linear away from the days when cancer was growing inside of me. Just as God gives us life and health and abilities and wealth – God also gives us disease. Inexplicably (to us), he gives us tragedy. And the very best we can do in response- maybe the only and most impossible thing – is to submit gracefully to his timing and purposes.
The appointed time of Jesus' birth is a convergence of the sacred and the secular, of celebration and consumerism, of kairos and chronos. And each of those both invites and challenges us. May God be with you this season as you wait for the Christmas cookies to come out of the oven, for critical test results, or the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Take a moment to remember what the meaning of Christmas is and submit gracefully to his timing.
But I've come to consider a different kind of time at a Christian Ed class I attended at our excellent church. It is (in Greek) "kairos" which differs from the more usual word for time which is chronos. "In the New Testament kairos means 'the appointed time in the purpose of God', the time when God acts." Visually, I imagine it as a more circular time that (re)turns back in on itself rather than the more straight line time that we are used to. The Advent season including Christmas is a terrific example of kairos – a special time that God set aside filled with wonderful memories. Each year we long to recreate the warmth of childhood with hand-me-down decorations and traditions. For many, it is a safe place that we long to return to every December.
Besides the fond holiday memories, I've had a very different kind of kairos replay in the past couple of weeks. I have been remembering the bittersweet sequence from seeming perfect health to a cancer diagnosis and then ultimately a lifesaving surgery a year ago. Unfortunately, this year's experience is about much more than commemorating my happy anniversary. I am vicariously reliving the surreal progression from a distance as two dear cousins grapple with their own cancers. It is certainly a case of kairos – "of God’s purposes intersecting and overruling this finite world of chronological time."
At a Blue Christmas service this past Sunday night, I was struck again by the difficulty of kairos time. It is, for me, the most difficult challenge that God places before us – to submit gracefully to his timing for us. For instance, I wrestle with the unpleasant kairos possibility of a recurrence of my own cancer. It's a situation where I want time to be straight-arrow linear away from the days when cancer was growing inside of me. Just as God gives us life and health and abilities and wealth – God also gives us disease. Inexplicably (to us), he gives us tragedy. And the very best we can do in response- maybe the only and most impossible thing – is to submit gracefully to his timing and purposes.
The appointed time of Jesus' birth is a convergence of the sacred and the secular, of celebration and consumerism, of kairos and chronos. And each of those both invites and challenges us. May God be with you this season as you wait for the Christmas cookies to come out of the oven, for critical test results, or the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Take a moment to remember what the meaning of Christmas is and submit gracefully to his timing.
Monday, November 30, 2009
November Anniversaries
This past month (or so) included many milestones, anniversaries and news. The instances were good and bad - sometimes wrapped in the same package.
Cancer has been all around, beyond just pancreatic and even more so than usual.
October ended with heartbreaking news for me (again). Tony was a new friend I had been introduced to by a former co-worker. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year before I was. He had the Whipple surgery, chemo and radiation just as I did. Tony was my pace runner of sorts – a survivor whose story I could look to with hope and pride. We compared notes on our lives and lifestyles before our diagnoses and since. He was doing well but was undergoing some more chemo because of some suspicious spots on his lungs. After months of corresponding by email, we had finally met in September. A few weeks later, he had sent out a happy message to announce that the spots had disappeared and he was done with his treatment. Only a few days after I sent him an email of congratulations, I learned that he had passed away after an adverse reaction to a flu shot. It is a devastating tragedy that defies all reason. It is only as I write this that I can finally recognize that I have been angry with my God ever since.
On the eve of November, Halloween was the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. This year, in stark contrast to last, it was a day to celebrate. After all, I wasn't sure that I was going to make it this far. But, on the flipside of that celebration, is the memory of the most crushingly sad and terrifying days of my life.
The day after Halloween was a glorious day of running the NYC Marathon. I had to do it - to prove that I could and to pick up where I left off last year. And the day after that was my birthday. A day that I feared I would never see. It has been an unforgettable year that can never blend into the 42 others for me.
The memories of my November 2008 are being replayed too vividly as I watch a dear cousin struggle with the painful process of the signs of cancer being confirmed this November. Of a similar age and place in life, I hate that he and his family have to share in this experience. And yet, there is also tremendous love and cause for optimism for him.
As it happens, November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness month. The intent is to raise awareness of the fact that pancreatic cancer is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in the United States—and has the highest mortality rate of all the major cancers. This year, 42,470 Americans will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and 35,240 will die from the disease. The number of new cases and deaths caused by this deadly disease are increasing not decreasing. Again, though very sad, there is still much hope and work to be done.
Like many emotional wounds that never completely heal but serve as lifelong reminders, I am trying to make good use of my awareness. I am willing to offer support to anyone that could use it, but wish more than anything that there was never the need to. Unfortunately, I spoke to two women this month being profoundly affected by pancreatic cancer. The father of one was just diagnosed and the second is a patient seeking out a surgeon herself. It helps us all to know that we are not alone in our struggles and pain. Along those lines, I would like to publicize a group called Imerman Angels. It provides one-on-one cancer support: connecting cancer fighters, survivors and caregivers. Imerman Angels partners a person fighting cancer with someone who has beaten the same type of cancer. Please let others that you think might benefit from such a connection know about them (http://www.imermanangels.org/).
The new month also marks the anniversary of a new beginning for me – Dec. 1st is a year since I had the surgery to remove the evil cancer from my body. It feels as if a huge reservoir of love has been zip-filed into that void. Thank you all for that.
Cancer has been all around, beyond just pancreatic and even more so than usual.
October ended with heartbreaking news for me (again). Tony was a new friend I had been introduced to by a former co-worker. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year before I was. He had the Whipple surgery, chemo and radiation just as I did. Tony was my pace runner of sorts – a survivor whose story I could look to with hope and pride. We compared notes on our lives and lifestyles before our diagnoses and since. He was doing well but was undergoing some more chemo because of some suspicious spots on his lungs. After months of corresponding by email, we had finally met in September. A few weeks later, he had sent out a happy message to announce that the spots had disappeared and he was done with his treatment. Only a few days after I sent him an email of congratulations, I learned that he had passed away after an adverse reaction to a flu shot. It is a devastating tragedy that defies all reason. It is only as I write this that I can finally recognize that I have been angry with my God ever since.
On the eve of November, Halloween was the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. This year, in stark contrast to last, it was a day to celebrate. After all, I wasn't sure that I was going to make it this far. But, on the flipside of that celebration, is the memory of the most crushingly sad and terrifying days of my life.
The day after Halloween was a glorious day of running the NYC Marathon. I had to do it - to prove that I could and to pick up where I left off last year. And the day after that was my birthday. A day that I feared I would never see. It has been an unforgettable year that can never blend into the 42 others for me.
The memories of my November 2008 are being replayed too vividly as I watch a dear cousin struggle with the painful process of the signs of cancer being confirmed this November. Of a similar age and place in life, I hate that he and his family have to share in this experience. And yet, there is also tremendous love and cause for optimism for him.
As it happens, November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness month. The intent is to raise awareness of the fact that pancreatic cancer is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in the United States—and has the highest mortality rate of all the major cancers. This year, 42,470 Americans will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and 35,240 will die from the disease. The number of new cases and deaths caused by this deadly disease are increasing not decreasing. Again, though very sad, there is still much hope and work to be done.
Like many emotional wounds that never completely heal but serve as lifelong reminders, I am trying to make good use of my awareness. I am willing to offer support to anyone that could use it, but wish more than anything that there was never the need to. Unfortunately, I spoke to two women this month being profoundly affected by pancreatic cancer. The father of one was just diagnosed and the second is a patient seeking out a surgeon herself. It helps us all to know that we are not alone in our struggles and pain. Along those lines, I would like to publicize a group called Imerman Angels. It provides one-on-one cancer support: connecting cancer fighters, survivors and caregivers. Imerman Angels partners a person fighting cancer with someone who has beaten the same type of cancer. Please let others that you think might benefit from such a connection know about them (http://www.imermanangels.org/).
The new month also marks the anniversary of a new beginning for me – Dec. 1st is a year since I had the surgery to remove the evil cancer from my body. It feels as if a huge reservoir of love has been zip-filed into that void. Thank you all for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
