Throughout my life I have been
labeled a type “A” personality with abundant energy
and a “can do” attitude. I need to modify that with
“I can do.” Today I am faced with the reality that
there is nothing that “I can do” except do what I
am told to do. Even though I am a doctor, I am out of my area
of expertise. I find myself in the interesting position of being
the patient, of seeing the health care system from the “other
side” and wondering what is going to happen. My type of
cancer is often curable, but not always so. I may live a long
time or die rather soon. I want to live and am living my life
with that idea, but also must prepare to die. Our friends, our
supporters, hope for us and continue in their support but may
be left wondering of the uncertainty of benefit from their efforts.
In my former life I would have been “mixing it up.”
I would have been probing with questions and directing all that
I could. Fortunately, lessons that I have learned serving in mission
in Congo include patience and that I am not in charge, not in
control.
Whatever your role in life, you are certain to encounter people
with cancer or some other terminal or possibly terminal disease,
just as you will encounter people who have recently lost someone
dear to them. They and we grieve. Although we share many similarities
in the way we grieve we are all individuals with different needs
except for one, love. Love begins with acknowledging the existence
of another. Those who grieve are not dead. They exist and they
likely have many of the same hopes and dreams as we do, if not
for themselves, for all whom they love. There is a tendency to
avoid people who are sad, who grieve, as it makes us sad and uncomfortable.
We all search for the right words yet they are so easy. “I
love you today just as always and, in that regard, nothing is
different.” Nothing you can say will make the situation
better. Stories of others who have survived are fine but hope
does not spring from these stories: it springs from the continued
loving relationships that were there before the disease or, at
least, before the diagnosis. I have and still receive many inquiries
into how I am doing and feeling. I welcome these because they
are truly loving, but I welcome equally the opportunities to continue
functioning in service to God’s church.
I am often asked how Nancy is doing. Although I can give a general
answer, I cannot feel her emotions or her fears for me or her
future. The experience of the loved one(s) is its own experience
and can be told only by them. To be honest, I am more comfortable
in my shoes than in hers.
On a final note, I am feeling well and thank all of you who have
communicated with your genuine concerns and love and who are encouraging
to continue our service in mission.
Usually from the Congo but “temporarily” from Columbus,
Ohio.
Mike and Nancy
The 2005 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
318 |
