What Cancer Can't Do

A good friend gave me a bracelet for Christmas. In the middle it says, “What cancer can’t do.” On either side in small letters it says, “corrode faith, shatter hope, destroy peace, silence courage, invade the soul, steal eternal life, conquer the spirit, cripple love, kill friendship, suppress memories.”

It is a good reminder as I face the beginning of radiation next week. It is also a good reminder for me that many persons facing cancer, and other trials in life such as the death of a loved one, do find their faith corroded, their hope shattered, and all of it. As I ponder this, I confess that there have been moments that have been tinged with a bit of fear and despair. For me those moments come most often at night, and at times I am trying to power through all on my own.

I give thanks that God knows me so intimately, down to my cellular DNA as I said to someone today, that my moments of fear and despair aren’t hidden but held in a deep embrace of acceptance. It is when I am held in that embrace that my faith and hope are restored, that peace returns, that courage rears up, and my soul is strengthened. It is then that I know a hint of the joy of eternal life in my healing spirit, in the love that surrounds me, in my friends, and in my memories.

For everyone who is sitting on the edge of hope but not quite able to dive in, may the waters of grace lapping at their toes invite them further in.

Romans 8:24-26

For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

Release to the Captives

Tonight, in our Renovaré group, we reflected on this question: “How does Jesus speak the good news of ‘release to the captives’ to your life?” There are so many persons who are in real captivity—to oppression, to addiction, to war—that to consider myself a captive seems a bit self-centered and maybe even arrogant. As we talked, I realize that I am captive in a way.

There are some, many even, mornings that I wake up and my first thought is not joy for a new day, but a sense of “oh, it’s yet another day.” Last week, I stood in the shower suddenly overwhelmed by all the decisions and details that face me; and I realize that I feel like I am held in captivity all alone.

It might seem that release from this captivity would be to be relieved of having to make the decisions, but that is not realistic, nor even desirable in the long run. So what “good news of release” can, or does Jesus speak to me? He reminds me that though I may feel alone in this journey, I am not alone. He is with me, and he has given me others with whom I can touch base, who support me, who lift me up when I feel low or overwhelmed.

When the people who sat in darkness saw a great light, it was not someone to take them away from their situation, but it was and is Someone who came to be with them in the midst of life—the One who chose not to grasp at equality with God, but humbled himself in human likeness. And so this Advent—this approaching Christmas—I hear a word of release, and I see a light in the darkness.

Luke 4:17b-19

He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ¹⁸“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, ¹⁹to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

An In-between Time

A time between two Advents: the first coming of Christ in the Babe of Bethlehem and the second coming of Christ when the New Creation will be all complete; in the-already-and-the-not-yet. This Advent seems to have more of this resonance than usual, especially the 14^th. It would have been Jeff’s 57^th birthday and it was the day before Aaliyah’s second birthday, so she was over to celebrate with us. I think all three of us have particularly been missing Jeff this week in our own ways.

The news yesterday from my medical oncologist was good. I don’t need chemotherapy so can start hormone therapy and radiation. Tonight I took the first pill that I will take every day for five years. It feels like an another already-and-not-yet for me. The happiness over the news has now moved into the reality of long-term treatment. I am mostly confident, but I confess to some tremulousness about the treatment itself and its outcome.

It is especially in a time like this that the almost mournful melody line and words of that great hymn echo in my head and in my soul:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand;

ponder nothing earthly minded, for with blessing in his hand,

Christ our God to earth descendeth, our full homage to demand.

         …the Light of light descendeth…

         …the powers of hell may vanish as the darkness clears away.

I stand, we stand, in this holy, tremulous place and time, in between, touched both by the grief of this world and the hope that lies ahead.

Revelation 21:4b-5

“Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.”

Preparation

Preparation.  That's the word for this week in my online Advent retreat. In the season of Advent we prepare for the coming of the Christ-child, God incarnate among us. We also prepare for the celebration of the season, decorating our houses and our trees, putting presents under the tree.

Last Saturday, a group of six band students spent four hours in helping prepare our yard for the winter. In addition to raking out the leaves, they trimmed back the day lilies and the irises, the butterfly bush, the burning bush and the miscanthus (ornamental grasses). The year's growth has been spent, and now the plants need to lay dormant for the winter so that they can prepare for next year's growth.

Earlier in the year, I spent a lot of time in a different kind of preparation. At times, I prepared for what lay ahead by making sure that our legal papers were in order, that the forms for Jeff's disability leave were completed, that materials got back and forth to his school. I prepared by making sure that the appropriate pain medicines were on hand. I made plans for the services to celebrate his life and resurrection. And I tried to gently prepare the boys and Jeff's family.

All the while, Jeff was preparing as well. While my preparations involved more action in the world, Jeff's took him further and further within himself. He would rouse himself from this inward journey every now and then with instructions for the boys and for me--things that he wanted to make sure we remembered. As time went on, those arousals were fewer and further between. The last coherent words that Jeff spoke on Saturday in the hospice center were a question: did the dog get fed?

In a sense, Jeff's preparations were like the work in our yard. His outer growth had been spent, and now he was getting ready for the dormancy of winter in order to wake to a Spring of new growth.

Preparation for the coming of the God who is born among us.

Expectancy

“On the tiptoe of expectation.” I am doing an online Advent retreat that focuses on one word from the scriptures each week. This week’s word is expectancy. I signed up because I feel the need to go deeper this season, however this one word almost brought me to a standstill.

As a child, the expectancy before Christmas was wonderful. The preparations, the services—all led to an increasing sense of waiting with baited breath. I remember too the expectancy of waiting for Andrew to be born to another woman, yet placed in my arms. Waiting for the pager to go off to say she was in labor was almost agony. And then six years later, waiting for Maxwell’s borning cry was literally agony as the neonatologist worked to revive him right after birth.

There are so many different perspectives on expectancy, but what almost brought me to a standstill was the question How have you experienced expectancy in the past year? This year’s expectancy was difficult. Knowing that the death of one I loved was imminent drew me forward and pushed me back all at the same time. I was drawn forward to take the steps needed to help Jeff and all of us prepare; I was pushed back by my reluctance to say goodbye.

As I reflect on the experience of expectancy and waiting with baited breath, I become aware that I have not drawn a full, deeply satisfying breath for months. I am tensed. The tension could be from holding myself in so tightly that I cannot relax. Or sitting at the edge of expectation can be a sort of tension—the tension inherent in being poised for some action, or to spring into action. Maybe this time of grieving, and adjusting to a different life, is a season of being poised for something that is just ahead. What it is I cannot say, but I will wait for it—a new life, a new birth.  Was this how God felt waiting for Mary to come to full term? Is this how God feels waiting for us to come to full term in receiving grace?

Advent--Expectancy. Breathing. Waiting. Hoping. Abiding. Receiving.