Yearly Archives: 2010

The Journal: Gratitude and Grace

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While Nate was struggling with his cancer, he often thanked me for helping him. He’d notice every little favor and then voice gratitude: “Thanks for reheating my coffee. Thanks for bringing me my good pen. Thanks for getting the mail.” Frequently he’d go a step farther and add, “You’re a good wife.”

I recall one moment as his physical strength was waning rapidly. I’d assisted with uncapping his toothpaste, getting him dressed and settling him into his lazy-boy. These mini-tasks were not difficult and took only a few minutes. After he was comfortable, I said, “Can I get you anything?”

He grabbed my hand, looked up at me with aching eyes and said, “What does a person do if they don’t have someone like you?”

It was an important moment as he acknowledged his helplessness, a guy who’d always run his life on fast-forward but now couldn’t even pull on his own socks. To be the helper is to demonstrate strength; to be the helped is to accept weakness.

Much of being able to handle serious sickness is coming to a place of need, then willingly accepting it. Nate could have morphed into a grumpy old man but instead became increasingly grateful.

How does an independent person, particularly a man who has been the head of a household and the one to lead, humble himself to be served? In Nate’s case, I believe the only explanation is that he and the Lord had been working together behind the scenes.

After we learned Nate had something wrong with his liver and pancreas, but before we knew it was cancer, I wrote out a prayer for him:

“As a result of the many difficulties Nate’s had and continues to have, I pray he will come to know you, Lord, in ways he never has before. Cause him to see new and spectacular things in your Word. In his feelings of weakness may he not despair but seek comfort from you to carry him through this misery. May he feel deep contentment and peace after placing himself in your care. Please do your heart-and-mind work within all of us to pull us through this health crisis.”

I realize, in looking back, how dramatically God answered those requests. Nate now “knows the Lord in ways he never has before,” because he’s in his very presence! He has “seen new and spectacular things” about God’s Word… because Jesus himself is the Word (John 1:1-2), and Nate is literally in his company! I prayed God would “carry him through this misery,” which he certainly did, bringing him straight into paradise! I asked that Nate feel deep contentment and peace in God’s care, a perfect description of his current heavenly existence. And Nate has been literally “pulled through his health crisis” into physical perfection.

He made a dramatic personal transformation during the six weeks he had cancer. He changed from a nervous, fearful Type A into a mellow, accepting man of tranquility. Because of steadily increasing pain and daily losses, this change goes against all logic, pointing instead to God’s work in Nate’s life.

Just as Nate was thankful for my help back then, today I am thankful for his excellent example and for God’s direct involvement in causing it.

“ ‘Because your heart was tender and you humbled yourself before God when you heard His words…. and because you humbled yourself before Me…. I truly have heard you,’ declares the Lord.” (2 Chronicles 34:27)

The Journal: Will it be widowhood?

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I remember the first moment the word “widow” entered my mind. It was about a year ago, just a few days before Nate and I were told he had terminal pancreatic cancer. I was sitting in a warm tub in the early morning hours after Nate had had a bad night with intense back pain. He was finally asleep, and I grabbed the chance to decompress (and think) behind closed doors.

The tub wasn’t even full before I was weeping, panicky at the unknowns in our immediately future. What if Nate really had cancer? What if he died? What if I became a widow?

Feeling isolated as a woman who’d just moved 110 miles away from her sister, her girlfriends, her prayer groups and her church, I clutched. But God, the tender Father, interrupted that downward thought-spiral by flooding my mind with a list of caring friends. These were women who would come to me if I asked, women who were faithful to God but also to me. They were people I could call at any hour, confident they would give me good counsel and be willing shoulders to cry on. In thinking of them, I knew I would make it… even if I became a widow.

When I climbed out of the tub, I felt much better than when I’d climbed in, even though our circumstances hadn’t changed. But God had spoken to my need, demonstrating again how close he was. And that’s one of the awesome things about him. He’s intimately aware of where we stand at every given moment, knowing precisely what we need. My focus, and also that of Nate and I together as a couple, had been riveted on his health issues for many months. God knew my meltdown was coming, and he knew exactly when. He was ready.

I’ve learned God is practical and that he faithfully rushes toward our needs with sufficiency. He perfectly measures out ideas and vigor to cover every situation. As a doctor matches drugs to a patient’s illness, God matches aid to his children’s crises.

A sensible daily prayer for all of us is, “Lord, prepare me for whatever’s coming, and when it gets here, show me what to do.”

And he will.

He did it during my bath-time meltdown and has repeatedly rescued me throughout the last bumpy year. I still crave and pray for his preparation, because new crises will surely come. But I’ve witnessed how superbly he answers that prayer, and I don’t ever want to be caught weeping over bad news without having first invited God to get me ready for it.

As for my God-inspired list of women supporters, as I thought about each name he’d given me, I realized how amazing his help really was. Every single one on his list was a widow.

“Such is the confidence that we have through Christ toward God. Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God.”

(2 Corinthians 3:4-5)

The Journal: Bad News from a Cell Phone

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With hindsight being 20/20, we now see how Nate’s invisible cancer was present and active throughout the summer before his September diagnosis. But it wasn’t until the test results from his pre-op physical came in, that alarm bells finally began to clang. His liver numbers “were off,” prompting the doctor to order a scan of the liver and pancreas, located next to each other.

Journal words tell the tale: “While we were in the office of a new orthopedic doctor getting a third opinion on Nate’s spine, one of our other doctors called Nate’s cell. ‘The results of your scan indicate a mass on the liver,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘But don’t jump to any conclusions. Tissue is tissue, and we won’t know anything conclusive until we do a biopsy.’ The doctor told Nate he’d made an appointment for him and then said, ‘Be sure you keep it.’

At the end of the conversation the phoning doctor asked Nate, ‘Do you have any questions?’ I would have asked, ‘How likely is it the mass is cancer?’ but Nate said, ‘Will the biopsy hurt?’ He’d already begun his time in denial, and the pain question was all he could think to ask.”

A few minutes later as we stood in the hall awaiting the elevator, Nate was trembling from head to toe, his shoulders, his cheeks, his hands, but no wonder. He’d just been hard-hit with the words “mass” and “biopsy”, two words no one wants to hear.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked, enfolding him in a hug.

“It’s OK. We’ll get through it,” he said.

Our words promised we wouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but our eyes said we already had. When we got to the car, we listened to an earlier phone message left by the same doctor who’d called in the examining room:

“I need to talk to you right away. Here’s my direct number. And if I don’t answer, here’s my pager. And if for some reason that one won’t work, here’s the number for the girl at the desk, who will come and find me.” We knew we were in a serious mess.

As we drove from Chicago to Michigan I said, “If they need to do surgery on your liver, I want to give you a chunk of mine. People can do that, you know. And I really mean it.”

Nate’s response was off-subject. “I think I’ve used up my allotted pain meds for this 24 hours and know I’m going to have a bad night.”

Both of us had become aware that a storm was about to hit and knew we’d need a place to run and hide. We’d also need God to show us how to spot his blessings in the rubble, because at that moment, we couldn’t see a single one.

“My people will live in… undisturbed places of rest. Though hail flattens the forest and the city is leveled completely, how blessed you will be.” (Isaiah 32:18-20)