Tension between Joy and Sadness

My family is experiencing an odd conundrum. One family member is recovering from cancer and surgery, a second was diagnosed with cancer and is facing surgery. Recovery for the one has been slow and chemotherapy zaps his strength. I’ve seen signs of his old self return recently and that makes me smile. It seems he has dodged a bullet and we know God has given him more life to live. It also came as a complete surprise. The majority of people with his type of cancer develop inoperable tumors. The success of his surgery was rare. It gives me hope for a good prognosis. Honestly, I’m not even thinking about prognosis at this point; I only want him to get through it and get his old zest for life back. I’ve seen some fight in him recently. It surprises me and I’m thankful for it. He’s taking ownership of life again and has developed a deeper appreciation for the love of God. I don’t remember ever seeing him as comfortable in his own shoes and so desirous to appreciate his spouse and his family.  I’m really thankful for it. This sidelined him for a while, and he has a ways to go. He’s demonstrating grit and inner strength borne of peace in God and desire. God continue to give him that.

There is an odd tension between joy and sadness when both are real and both simultaneously belong to you. Nowhere is this odd tension between life as normal and the fact that life is no longer normal more evident than the situation with the second family member. She is doing everything to make the most of the life she has and is being realistic about necessary upcoming changes to her lifestyle as a result of it all. I’m proud of her for it and experience that same tension as family member, but to a lesser degree.  I feel for her husband.  Thankfully, I don't have to understand it. 

When I interact with her, I see her as she is (as I know her) and as someone who is addressing turmoil, and am holding off any thought of (see, I can’t even say it). I think she is, too. The other day, I approached life in her presence the way I normally would but I specifically wanted to make her feel loved when we said good-bye. The cancer added a sobering reality to the occasion . . . and it will continue in days to come . . . maybe it makes us grateful for life. 

In both cases, my family has come together; and in both cases, the impact of the cancer is nowhere greater than that to the person with the disease (or is it just different?). This second cancer feels like a double-whammy to my family and I (we?) don’t know what to do about it. Think we're all processing through it.  I know others have processed through similar situations before us.  That helps.  ". . . the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by our brethren who are in the world."

The spouse of the first family member commented how much the situation has changed and affected her. She is not the same person she was prior to this happening and they had just come off a three year trial when he was diagnosed.  They now get to care for the second family member.  That's odd and strikes me as odd.  It's tough.  The second family member has been talking about proactive lifestyle changes because once you have cancer, you remain constantly vigilant thereafter.

What is the purpose of life on this earth? Of interactions with family, of going the extra mile, of living life like it counts. What gives life meaning? Max Lucado, in his book, Out Live Your Life, talks about the point at which it dawns on us that life is short, that it’s our life to live, and that one day we’ll wake up and wonder where it went.  Think events like this highlight that point even more.  God gives. 

By the time you knew what to call it, you were neck deep in it. You’d toddler-walked and talked, smelled crayons and swung bats, gurgled and giggle your way out of diapers and into childhood.

You’d noticed how guys aren’t’ gals and dogs aren’t cats and pizza sure beats spinach. And then, somewhere in the midst of it all, it hit you. At your grandpa’s funeral perhaps. Maybe when you waved good-bye as your big brother left for the marines. You realized that these days are more than ice cream trips, homework, and pimples. This is called life. And this one is yours.

Complete with summers and songs and grey skies and tears, you have a life. Didn’t request one, but you have one. A first day. A final day. And a few thousand in between. You’ve been given an honest-to-goodness human life.

You’ve been given your life. No one else has your version. You’ll never bump into yourself on the sidewalk. You’ll never meet anyone who has your exact blend of lineage, loves, and longings. Your life will never be lived by anyone else. You’re not a jacket in an attic that can be recycled after you are gone.

And who pressed the accelerator? As soon as one day is lived, viola, here comes another. The past has passed, and the good old days are exactly that: old days, the stuff of rearview mirrors and scrapbooks. Life is racing by, and if we aren’t careful, you and I will look up, and our shot at it will have passed us by.

Lucado’s book talks about living life now so as to have your life outlive itself when you’re gone: “Here’s to a long life: goodness that outlives the grave, love that outlasts the final breath. May you live in such a way that your death is just the beginning of your life.”

This new cancer situation highlights the fact that we are living on borrowed time . . . and that's bittersweet . . . and motivating.  It strips away the desire to do anything but things of consequence.  It adds to the desire to honor God with my life (which means throwing off sin). It highlights the need to humble myself more willingly. It takes away all embarrassment for saying “I love you” to family members. It makes me see nieces and nephews in a perspective tempered by the brevity of life and how fragile life is – it’s bittersweet! It highlights my own physical ailments and wear and tear on my body, and reminds me of my age (which adds to my desire to make the most of my life). “I don’t have time to waste” takes on a whole new light. I feel like I have accomplished little. All my activity seems a road leading to nowhere and that bugs me. Want to live life (from now on) with no regrets and nothing to hide. Want to overcome any fears that are holding me back from living well (faith, family, friends and work that is meaningful to me). How and when I use my money is being cast into a whole new light. Some things I’ve withheld from myself, now appear worth what they cost. 

It makes me want to throw off petty differences and the sin of pride that holds onto those differences.  I've wasted so much time with that.  I want to greatly value those of value to me - and love them well.  I want to invest my life in things that are important to God.  I want to trust God more fully, and willingly.  I want to be more generous.

The Psalmist writes, “Teach us to number our days that we may present You a heart of wisdom.” Sounds about right.

Some questions are more difficult to answer when something like this comes along.  Faith can be a reality check (and brings us to our knees).  Faith requires hope. 

I wonder what will happen to the second family member and how this will affect her family.  I want to offer her all the support I can.  I want her to live, and live well. I want her to make it through and I want her family to make it through with her.  I want them to experience God as the Good Shepherd (we are the sheep of His pasture) and to experience His lovingkindness daily (all the time!). 
 
It’s sad, yes - and difficult (joy?).  I want life to return to normal for her (and for me) and I realize that it’s true – that her life (and mine) will be forever changed by this.  It already has.  This will change her family, too.

At this point, I don’t want to think about the hope of heaven, but then again, I do.  Can’t wait to get to heaven, but that’s the point. We are very thankful for heaven – and whatever happens, one day we’ll be with Christ -- and that brings peace. 

I have a sense of helplessness . . . but then again, I don’t. If God is for us, who can be against us! If God has been my refuge in the past, God will be my refuge now -- and God can be hers (and is)!

I don’t want to live with that tension of knowing cancer can be deadly and wanting my second family member to make it through.  I don’t want to treat her as anything but normal, and I can’t deny the elephant that is no longer in the room. 

This one surprised us, too. I can’t imagine being in her shoes. I’m terribly proud of her.

God bless her. God give her strength. God grant her joy and peace and a strong sense of His presence guiding and keeping her. God give her a strong sense of expectancy and a desire to overcome.  God give her the love of her family.