It happened to me. I sat in church today. And it happened.
And when it happened, tears began streaming down my face. I put my head down. And the tears fell. I felt one part shocked. One part crazy. One part relieved.
I had that moment. The moment people talk about having. The moment where it feels like the sermon was written for you. The moment where you feel like the words being spoken are coming directly from God’s lips to your ears. It happened.
I’ve talked, in very small bits, about my faith. It’s a topic I’m less comfortable talking about. I know, imagine that. I talk about placenta. And boobs. And farts. But for me, my faith feels so personal. And if it feels like, if I make it public, I am potentially opening myself up to criticism. And opinions.
I’m not interested in that part of faith. In fact, as I shared shortly after my diagnosis, I am more about faith, spirituality, and loving one another than I am about religion. I’m not interested in telling other people that if they don’t believe what I believe that they’re wrong. Because I don’t believe that. I believe what I believe for me. And I’m a Jesus gal. I’m a believer in prayers. And positive vibes. I’m a believer, as you know, that people are inherently good whether they call themselves Christians or something else. I believe in heaven, and God, and feeding my soul at church. It works for me. Personally.
So I sat in church. In a folding chair. And there was a moment. I had this moment as the Pastor spoke where my heart and mind met in one place and said, “Aha.”. Not with an exclamation. With a gentleness. Not like I was being shaken. Like I was being reminded. Guided. With a calming force. And I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
He’s talking to me, I thought. He didn’t even know I’d be here today. We’ve been so hit or miss since cancer. I’ve been nervous about germs. And also have been taking weekend sleep when I can get it. But today, we were there, in community with our church.
I’m sure I’ve sat there before and thought, “this is exactly what I needed to hear.” But today. Today I felt that peace that passes understanding. That moment of clarity. That answer that I needed. In a different way than I’d ever had happen before.
Maybe it’s the chemo. Maybe it’s the cancer. Maybe I’m crazy. It could be all three of those things.
Or. It could just actually be that the message was for me.
I’ve been struggling as of late with what I referred to as, a Mid-Cancer Crisis. I’ve broken down in tears talking to Adam. And my best friends. And then, to my dad. Because when I was diagnosed, I went straight into survival mode. Just tell me I’m going to live and I can do this, I thought. And then, before I knew it, I was thriving. I wasn’t just muddling through the days, I was living every day… feeling great about life and treatment… and then… then people started calling me strong and inspiring and all good things. And I found myself feeling nervous. What if I stop being strong? What if I stop being an inspiration? What if I don’t fulfill my purpose? There has to be a purpose.
I started putting all the pieces of my life together. I started writing about my kids 8 years ago. And almost immediately, I started writing authentically about pregnancy and motherhood. I just had the blog. But some people actually called me a writer. I got to write for Momaha on occasion. Momversation. And currently, Her View From Home. Then, last spring I decided to open myself up and have a Facebook page {which made me feel 162% vulnerable}. Then, I started doing some video blogging for Her View From Home. I started getting “followers”. I even got published. I was getting nervous… I’m not a real writer. I’m just a normal mom. What gives me the right to share my opinions? What do I say about this “hobby” that has turned into my passion? And then…
Cancer.
What? Cancer? This was not in the plan. This was not in the story I was telling about my life. And then. It was.
Because I couldn’t not tell people. I couldn’t not write about this. I had been telling my truths for 8 years. I couldn’t just stop. I had to keep going. And I did. And then you kept reading. And started cheering me on. And lifting me up in prayer. You showered me more than any one person deserves. YOU started being my daily dose of goodness.
And it has made all the difference.
But it also has me thinking, There HAS to be a purpose. Why , on earth, do I get allll this goodness? I don’t deserve this. Or everyone does… if I do…
I started getting nervous. I started saying to God, “Okay. Show me my bigger purpose.” And I got scared. And emotional. With my husband. With my friends. With my dad. “What if I don’t fulfill my bigger purpose? What if I flake out? What if my cancer goes away and so does my perspective on goodness and hope? What if people think I take cancer flippantly? And what if I don’t use this for something BIG? What if I was given this second chance and I don’t do goodness with it?” I sobbed to my girlfriends as we sat at brunch, “I know it’s self-absorbed but I just feel like God is trying to show me that I am supposed to do something bigger. I am 33 and I got cancer. And right now, I am supposed to live! If I don’t do something bigger, what is the purpose?! I just feel so guilty for getting all this goodness and that not everyone gets it.”
Adam. My girlfriends. My dad. They all essentially the said the same thing, just keep being who you are. Give yourself time. You are living your purpose.
And in addition to those thoughts, in my mind and on my heart this week as I’ve heard a few stories of recurrences and metastatic diagnoses, I’ve had a little fear: What if my cancer doesn’t go away? I’ve never had a scan… what if it’s somewhere and we don’t know it? What if I die from cancer before I’m forty?
And those thoughts of not making it… those have been few and far between since my first round of treatment. Because I know that worry won’t work. And so generally, I can keep any worries at bay. Because it is getting better. The mass is shrinking. The Doctors I see are so positive. Heck, I’m so positive. But every once in awhile, when I hear about the not-so-positive stories, I think, why do I deserve a better outcome than that person?
And I think part of those thoughts are coming because Chemo is almost done. It’s because as I’ve been doing chemo, that’s been my job. I do chemo, I crash, I recover, and we do it again. We’re in a pattern. A routine. Our current “normal”. It just feels like a beautiful life I’m living. And I don’t think I understood from the get-go that I’d actually get to see the chemo working. It’s been showing efficacy. It’s been my focus. And next, next is surgery. And that is another hurdle. Another batch of tests will be done. But the major chemo will be over — my crutch over the last 18 weeks. The killer of the disease. My path to being cancer-free.
And so I’ve been, I suppose, a little scared this week. Of not fulfilling my purpose. Of the cancer not being eradicated. Of celebrating too much about being nearly done with chemo when I still have a row to hoe.
And then. Then I sat in church this morning. It was bitterly cold. I would have rather stayed in bed. But there is a reason we were meant to sit our butts in the chairs this morning. And I got the message loud and clear.
As our Pastor began his sermon, he talked about mountains. He talked about the idea that we all have mountains in our life. And he asked us to open our bibles to Mark. He began reading the scripture…
And I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. Because I am facing a mountain. I am in the middle of my climb. And I prayed and prayed at the beginning of all of this for God to please, just don’t let it be cancer. Don’t let it be cancer and I will be so thankful for life, God.
And so, as I read this line again…
“But you must really believe it will happen and have no doubt in your heart.”
I couldn’t believe it.
Oh. I had been lacking in faith. I hadn’t really believed that God could move that mountain. That’s what that must mean.
And then. Then the Pastor said these words:
“You might read those words and think that if you don’t get what you pray for that means you didn’t have real faith in your requests. But I don’t want you to go away thinking that’s what those words mean. I think what is happening here is the scripture is reminding us that God does not always give short-term relief in favor of long-term growth to show us our true purpose.”
And. I. Wept.
It was as if he knew how I’d read the words verbatim. Like so many do with scripture. I’d read them and thought that I hadn’t had faith enough when I asked God for my lump to be benign. I’d heard them and thought I hadn’t trusted God’s plan. That I hadn’t really believed in the prayers I was saying.
And in one fell swoop, the emotions I’d be shedding this week — from the fear that I’m not fulfilling my purpose to my fears that my cancer might not ever go away — were addressed.
He continued to speak about the words saying,
“Have faith. We should pray to move the mountains and it will move. Sometimes God is just lining up our desires to his plan. Name your impossibilities. Have faith.”
Oh. my. goodness. Yes. GOODNESS. I don’t need to rush right now for short-term relief. It will be okay. There is a purpose. But we don’t have to know it right now.
I don’t need to worry about my whole mountain moving right now. I don’t have to know what the purpose for all of this is. I need to beat cancer first. I need to just know that I am enough. I need to focus on the task at hand and know that is enough. I need to know that no one expects me to change their life right now. They just expect me to be me. And that’s all.
Aha. {deep breath} aha.
aha.
We don’t ever need to move the mountain in one day. My doctors know that. They have been telling me that from the beginning. I lost sight of that this last week. But I think that’s why so many people call breast cancer treatment a journey. Because it is. It is a journey because each step you have to take has to happen. You can’t just fast forward through it and be cured. You have to take each step.
And honestly, I don’t hate the steps. I don’t hate the journey. I should, maybe. But I truly don’t hate my life right now. I’m not mad about it. I never have been. I’ve been wrapped in goodness. And maybe that is the bigger purpose. For me to get to see all the good… maybe it’s my own gift that I get to experience. And I just need to experience it, soak it up, and embrace that fact while the mountain gets moved.
He spoke to me today. My Pastor. God. Someone spoke to me today and reminded me to have faith. Thank God for that. And my husband. And my girlfriend. And my dad. Thank God for them telling me to be still. To get over my mid-cancer crisis. To understand that this is a process. To continue doing what I do. To be my wacky self. To not apologize when I get scared or worried. To name my impossibilities. To continue to be positive. And real. To continue to share. To have faith and share that when I choose. And most importantly, to remember to ask for the mountain to be moved. And in time, it will be. In fact, it already is, every day.
We are all a work in progress. We all face mountains. We all, I think, at times wonder what our purpose is while we’re here. And to that, today, I said, “aha”.
