I began treatment for Stage 3 breast cancer in June 2011. The plan was for chemo first, with surgery to follow and lastly, radiation. I was told the next 6 months would need to have a singular focus – fighting the unwelcome intruder in my body that had the power to kill. So, being the planner I am, I determined to go into battle armed with the sword of my calendar. That was when my oncologist wisely said, “Susan, I encourage you to only plan in pencil, for this journey is not set in stone.”
Boy, did I learn that lesson! No cancer battle is easy, though my journey was not as difficult as what many experience. When we think of cancer, it’s easy to immediately think of its physical impact. Things like nausea from chemo, the loss of hair and possibly body parts, along with their enduring scars, come to mind. Yet it is the emotional and mental impact that may be most shaping. With all the cumulative “hard”, could any “good” possibly come from cancer?
The Danger of “Fast Forward”
I believe that in any fight in which we find ourselves, it’s natural to want to focus on getting to the “other side”. If our battle is physical, we want to be become well again. If a disagreement has separated our intimacy with someone, we long for reconciliation. While this isn’t wrong, I think our loss can become greater when we fail to focus so much on a desired “outcome” that we miss the gifts right in front of us.
When it came to my cancer battle, yes, I longed to be done with treatment. And even more to one day hear the words, “cancer free”. What I didn’t expect from my cancer journey were the many beautiful, and life-changing gifts I discovered along the way.
Identifying “Bonus” Gifts
One of the first I experienced, was an overwhelming outpouring of love and support – the expression of which never dissipated throughout my battle. To be part of a community is life giving, and my “encouragement through cancer” community was just that. Comprised of my church family, my neighborhood friends, and co-workers, they selflessly and repeatedly gave practical help and encouragement without expecting reciprocation or thanks (much was even given anonymously!).
That was the external, but remember what I said about the emotional and mental impact of cancer? As I anticipated the limitations cancer treatment would bring, and the likely necessity for me to depend on others, I struggled – hard. I liked being independent – the helper, not the one being helped. As the tables turned, God used my cancer to show me my own pride. And in learning to humbly receive, to also praise Him for His goodness at using so many to fulfill His promise to meet all my needs (Philippians 4:19).
My cancer diagnosis came at the age of 41. I was prepared to die, spiritually speaking, but considering the end of my life or the realities of heaven, didn’t consume much of my attention. A cancer diagnosis has a way of making you face your mortality, and as the original shock wore off and my treatment began, I found myself wrestling with fear – and with God. I didn’t want this cancer to take me (so soon) from all I loved and enjoyed in life. Just as Jacob wrestled with the angel, as detailed in Genesis 32, and left that experience changed, so my own wrestling did the same. Yes, statistics give cancer patients an expected chance of recovery if all the suggested protocols are followed, but I believe we inherently know there are no guarantees. Thus, cancer, and any other “unknown”, begs the question, “Where do I place my hope?” My wrestling ultimately led me to the place of surrender. Surrender to the One of Whom Scripture says has pre-determined the date of my birth and my death (Psalm 139:16, Ephesians 1:11, James 4:13,15). Reminding my soul that nothing I could do or not do would determine or change the outcome, allowed me to rest and trust more fully in His goodness and perfect plan for me in the midst of my unknown. A second gift that came through my wrestling is that my hope of heaven became much more tangible and real. And not just for that season. Even now, 13 years later, it is that hope of heaven that continues to help me find purpose and joy in the face of every trial and suffering that comes my way.
I want to close this blog by sharing one more gift I received from cancer. It was the gift to truly live. Don’t get me wrong, prior to my cancer diagnosis I loved life, intentionally living for the Lord and loving people well. Yet there was something about facing the fragility of my life that caused me to begin to savor and soak in the moments – even the everyday ordinary ones. Perhaps especially the everyday ordinary ones. Taking pictures (lots of them) became a new love – a way to capture and treasure the gifts I saw unfolding in those moments.
Continually reminded of my physical weakness and the uncertainty of life, I wanted to make the very most out of what was before me. I remember wondering at the time, should I be given another chapter of life, would this gift of “presence” and wonder dissipate? I didn’t want it to.
Learning to Truly Live
The truth is that is has – in part. Thankfully, not in full. The gifts I received from cancer have melded in such a way that I am forever conscious to intentionally live as Paul admonished us in Philippians 1:27, “Just one thing: As citizens of heaven, live your life worthy of the gospel of Christ.” With a deep appreciation and gratitude for those in my life, an ever-increasing reliance on God’s strength over my own, and an increased hope of heaven, cancer has taught me to more truly live for the “progress and joy in the faith” for myself and for others (Philippians 1:25).
I do not wish the experience of cancer on anyone, and yet I can say without hesitation that in God’s redeeming hands, any trial or suffering you may face will also be filled with gifts. Will you choose to keep your eyes fixed on God, and ask Him to open your eyes to see the unique and individual gifts He has for you? Wrestle with Him as you need, but don’t let go. You will receive His blessing.
