Happy Easter 2022!

Happy Easter! I know it's been literal years since I wrote on this blog, but I had thoughts to write, and this felt the most appropriate medium to share. Life update coming at a later time, as I'm toying with reengaging this blog again.  But for now...thoughts on Easter this year. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

I remember my most desolate Easter weekend. 2013. In-patient for transplant. Confined to the four walls of the hospital room. Saturday was, as usual, empty of most of my family. Christina spent Saturday night with me, but left early Sunday morning for church. My family would come after the morning service. I remember feeling so alone. That day, even the nurses seemed to reduce their frequent stop-ins. Easter is the largest Christian holiday, and it was always a huge celebration at my family’s house. For years, we had many extra guests that would sometimes join for a morning service, but always for a large lunch, games, activities, and a fun day together. Growing up, I often accompanied the large and energetic choir on piano or organ, a joyful anthem to open the service. And that day was so quiet and alone.

My second sad Easter was 2020. Under lock-down, and missing out, once again, on the wonderful celebrations and worship. More recently, I often played keyboard/organ to accompany the packed auditorium for all three services at church. Michayla and I solemnly dyed all the eggs we could find in the fridge various colors, to add a burst of cheer to our fridge in the days to come. We discussed our family traditions, and each made some of our favorite Easter foods to share with each other. Tacos and the livestream service were included. I remember sitting curled in a corner of the couch, feeling as alone as I did seven years back in that hospital room.

This year Easter is once again not as I remember or wish. I have been extended several gracious invites to join for lunch, and am grateful for them. I have been preparing with a choir to sing several beautiful anthems as well as the Hallelujah Chorus tomorrow. Sadly, a bad case of allergies combined with my severely restricted lungs have prohibited me from joining, but I will still worship with them.

Even though I’m not in active cancer treatment anymore, every time I feel alone and tired, I immediately feel triggered to back in my hospital room. Just like then, the weekends still gape emptyingly before me, sitting alone in the silence. Just like then, I find myself with no desire to eat. Just like then, I wonder if I will ever be able to move forward from this space.

Last night I attended Good Friday mass with Mandy. Hearing the story leading up to the crucifixion was incredible, beginning all the way in Isaiah. Hearing how Jesus chose to give up his life. Wow. Would I make that choice? To give my life for ungrateful, stupid, unkind people like myself? It was our infirmities that he bore, our sufferings that he endured. By his stripes, we are healed. Jesus took the guilt of us all upon himself. I was struck by how many times in the reading, it came up “that the Scripture might be fulfilled.” God keeps his word. If he cared enough about seemingly tiny details like broken bones and a drink, he surely cares about the details of my life.

Today I had to drastically cut short my visit with dear Jackie, to attend to an unexpected appointment, and it resulted in another long lonely evening. I cooked some food to take tomorrow, and as is my custom in late-night-cooking, I turned on the playlist made for me by a close friend. And the song the Deep Love of Jesus came on. Underneath me, all around me, is the current of Christ’s love. I was reminded of the story of the author of O Love that will Not Let Me  Go. The loneliness he experienced. The pain. The desolation. Probably feeling somewhat like  me right now. And yet. He had the courage to remember that there is a love so much deeper and sustaining than what our hearts crave here on earth.

I began writing this during Maundy Thursday service while sitting next to Linzi, who’s welcomed me into her row at church weekly, as well as her home and heart on many occasions. God forsook Jesus. He was all alone. Weary. In pain. Sad. Overwhelmed. Feeling the feelings a billion times more than what I’ve struggled with this week.  

I remember the 2013 Easter. No one I knew on earth at that moment understood the pain I was in. And suddenly I realized that Jesus did. He became man to feel our physical and emotional pain. To feel the pressure and crushing responsibilities. To share in the sorrow of loosing people we love. To understand the fatigue of everyday life. And when it seems like not a soul on earth understands what I’m going through today, I’m reminded Jesus does.

Walking along the Charles River last night, Mandy and I reflected on how Easter coincides with spring. All things made new. Fresh life. Growth. But the cheer of springtime doesn’t erase the sadness. Mary wept for her child. The disciples and the women with them grieved the loss of a friend. Believing for the perfect ending and the hope of eternal life doesn’t erase the heaviness of death. The hope of eternal community doesn’t erase the weariness of being alone. The hope of new bodies doesn’t diminish the daily physical pain and accompanying burdens.

He has not forsaken me. He is still here. Because, as Ellie Holcomb said, I’m loved, not because of what I’ve done. Jesus chose me. He sees me. He knows me. Nothing’s gonna change His love. Don’t forget to remember you’re never alone.

“And now, my life will sing the praise, of pure atoning grace. That looked on me and gladly took my place.”

Even If the Healing Doesn't Come

A few weeks ago, I watched the Grey's Anatomy episode for the week.  And it really hit home with some stuff I've been dealing with.  April Kepner is a talented surgeon, and grew up a devout Christian.  Through the show, we get a sense of her committed faith, and how she does "all the right things". But life hits her hard.  She fails her board exams, loses a child in stillbirth, gets a divorce, and watches so much death and trauma on the battlefield and at home. Her faith is shaken quite badly, and we see her struggling to find her way. In this episode, Eli, a dying rabbi is brought in.  He had a rare allergic reaction to medication, a very unfair and unexpected situation.  Eli draws out April's feelings, and she express her disappointment and anger at God, who could be so unfair in life, and to her, when she did everything he asked of her.  And the rabbi points out that we don't ask why when God gives us good things, only the bad ones.  And life isn't fair.  The Bible is filled with unfair situations to the people of God. Jesus himself had it pretty rough. "No one in the Bible lived a life free of suffering or injustice, so why should our own lives be any different?" 

This episode hit me pretty hard. I felt a lot like April.  I haven't done anything super bad in my life like kill someone or anything. But sometimes it seems like I've drawn the short straw.  There is so much good in my life, but sometimes it seems like the pain really just outweighs it.  And I often wonder why. I don't think I'll ever stop wondering, but there are some days that are just harder than others.  Days when I can't seem to keep up with life. Whether it be chemobrain acting up and taking me double the time to actually be able to write a report, or allergies knocking me flat on my back struggling to breathe, or even something so stupid as the rain and weather causing my knees to hurt so badly I can barely walk. 

No one tells you cancer will be with you f o r e v e r. Ending chemo or radiation or a transplant or surgery is not the end. Your life does not go back to whatever it was before.  You are forever changed- physically and mentally.  It was/is a hard realization.  Now I'm far enough out that I don't really remember my life trajectory before cancer. But I wonder what my day would be like without the pain and side effects that cancer left. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever get over my knee-jerk reaction of "the cancer is back" when I'm unusually tired or can't breathe. I wonder if I'll ever be able to smell foaming hand sanitizer and not gag. I wonder if I'll ever be able to stop dreading every doctor's appointment, and what they might find.  There's a word in the cancer community- scanxiety.  Anxiety brought on by impending medical imaging.  It's real- ask any cancer fighter. I don't think it goes away. I reached 5 years post transplant last month. Whoop dee do. I feel like I should be more excited.  Five years is a big mark. It signifies a reduced risk of the cancer returning.  But somehow I felt like a deflated balloon.  My insulin pump is not going anywhere.  Neither is the estrogen or hormone therapies. Neither is the stomach issues that are forcing me to be increasingly guarded in what I eat. Neither is the joint pain with the weather changes. I  never dreamed I'd be 23 and feel like I was trapped in an old body. It's hard. It's devastatingly hard to comprehend that this is my reality. That the stash of pill bottles on top of my fridge is never going to decrease, and same with the insulin supply inside the fridge. 

Since cancer, I never planned my life more than till the next scans.  If I was feeling courageous, I'd plan till the end of the semester. Now, my calendar is scheduled to August, and I'm being asked to block out vacation time months in advance. It's a weird and hard thing to deal with. I long to tell the scheduling assistant that I don't know what will happen in August. Maybe I'll need to take a day of for new imaging, or new vaccines.  Maybe these vaccines won't work [again] and I'll have to begin a new round, that will require additional time off.  Maybe...so. many. different. scenarios. Life is hurtling me towards planning ahead. My annual evaluation asked for my goals for the year. I now have clients I am supposed to work with for at least the next three years. Friends have asked me to visit Europe next spring. I'm looking at different life decisions, that will affect me for 5 years at the very least. And now finally I'm looking at my life.  Not 3-6 months of life, but the next 20 years of life.  I have a life now, and I'm so grateful for that. But it's daunting to think that every single day of my life is going to be a struggle. 

And that's where God comes in. We established life wasn't fair, and we can't expect a life free of suffering or injustice.  Eli tells April, "Faith wouldn't be real faith if you only believed when things were good."  I've been thinking a lot more about faith.  Recently, I shared my story at my church cancer support group.  I'm the youngest person there, and the coordinator commended me on my faith for someone so young.  I wanted to tell him it was all a sham.  I didn't feel like I had any faith.  I'm just picking up my feet and putting them down because I have to. I'm not the crying type. But that tv episode had me crying, as I realized I've been trying to get by on the good times.  Faith needs the hard times. Faith needs the struggles, and heartache, and disappointment. Without them, faith is just enjoying good fortune. The day after I watched this episode, I heard two songs on the radio, back to back. 

Sometimes all we have to hold on to // Is what we know is true of who You are
So when the heartache hits like a hurricane // That could never change who You are // And we trust in who You are
Even if the healing doesn’t come // And life falls apart // And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good // Forever faithful One // Even if the healing doesn’t come
Lord we know Your ways are not our ways // So we set our faith in who You are
Even though You reign high above us // You tenderly love us
We know Your heart // And we rest in who You are
You’re still the Great and Mighty One // We trust You always // You’re working all things for our good
We’ll sing your praise // You are God and we will bless You // As the Good and Faithful One

**This.  It doesn't matter the circumstances.  My ever changing worries/wants/desires/needs won't change the fact of all God has already done for me.  He has kept his promises.  He is forever faithful. 

It's easy to sing // When there's nothing to bring me down //But what will I say

When I'm held to the flame // Like I am right now
I know You're able and I know You can // Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't // My hope is You alone
They say it only takes a little faith // To move a mountain // Well good thing
A little faith is all I have, right now // But God, when You choose // To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing // It is well with my soul
I know You're able and I know You can // Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't // My hope is You alone // I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You'd just say the word // But even if You don't // My hope is You alone

The author is so right. I know the sorrow and I know the hurt, would all go away if God would just say a word. I don't know why he does or doesn't.  April later tells the doctor who prescribed the medication that ultimately killed Eli "Some things happen, and we don't get to know why." She's so right. We don't always get the answers we so desperately search for, but that doesn't mean we sink to the depths of despair.  I was wondering where this lead. What do you do when your life seems less than perfect, and the daily struggles seemingly will never end? Eli had a final parting word for April. "The world is full of brokenness.  It's our job to put it back together again." I've seen the little sayings "everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about". It's very true. But I think we may take it as a cliche feel-good statement. Do we actually treat people like they have their daily battles? Do we show them grace when they are short-tempered or rude or annoying to us? Everyone is hurting to some extent.  We who have the light of life must be a beacon of hope to those in this broken world.