A thought came to me, thinking about my fellow cancer fighters.
You fight, you battle, you give it all you can, you win.
But not everyone wins.
I am stopped in my tracks about a young girl and two guys my age, from this town, all died the end of last year. Six months ago they were here, fighting as I was fighting. Now they are gone. Of cancer.
Why them, not me?
They went to doctors, prayed. I am sure they prayed fiercely, and people prayed for them. Good prayers. They did the same things I did.
Here I am, why was I allowed to live?
This is a mystery I will not understand while I am on earth.
My heart aches for their families and friends. They are, all three of them, in heaven now. I am certain of this.
And here I am.
Thinking of them, I get all quiet.
When I was in the middle of chemo, I asked a dear friend, fellow cancer survivor, how did she feel now, ten years after her surgery and chemo. She told me she feels so grateful and humble everyday when she thinks of three women who had breast cancer when she did, and aren't with us today. I thought to myself, I don't feel humble. Or grateful. Nauseous from chemo at that moment, I felt like a boxer in the ring, like a soldier carrying 80 pounds of equipment in 110 degree heat. I was in the middle of the fight. Adrenaline was pumping.
Now, six months later, a 180 degree turn in my heart.
I feel humble that I am allowed more days.
And grateful, thankful, achingly appreciative that I am allowed more days.
The quiet in my soul is a good quiet.
A peaceful quiet.
A still and motionless top of the lake quiet.
I am a serene yet curious little sparrow, not an elegant and powerful raptor but a common backyard sparrow. No one notices me when they pass by, no one takes my photo or texts to their friends that they saw a gray-brown sparrow sitting on a branch this morning.
I am sitting at the foot of the cross, looking up into the face of Jesus.
He looks down at me with love and tenderness.
To Him, I am the reason.
You fight, you battle, you give it all you can, you win.
But not everyone wins.
I am stopped in my tracks about a young girl and two guys my age, from this town, all died the end of last year. Six months ago they were here, fighting as I was fighting. Now they are gone. Of cancer.
Why them, not me?
They went to doctors, prayed. I am sure they prayed fiercely, and people prayed for them. Good prayers. They did the same things I did.
Here I am, why was I allowed to live?
This is a mystery I will not understand while I am on earth.
My heart aches for their families and friends. They are, all three of them, in heaven now. I am certain of this.
And here I am.
Thinking of them, I get all quiet.
When I was in the middle of chemo, I asked a dear friend, fellow cancer survivor, how did she feel now, ten years after her surgery and chemo. She told me she feels so grateful and humble everyday when she thinks of three women who had breast cancer when she did, and aren't with us today. I thought to myself, I don't feel humble. Or grateful. Nauseous from chemo at that moment, I felt like a boxer in the ring, like a soldier carrying 80 pounds of equipment in 110 degree heat. I was in the middle of the fight. Adrenaline was pumping.
Now, six months later, a 180 degree turn in my heart.
I feel humble that I am allowed more days.
And grateful, thankful, achingly appreciative that I am allowed more days.
The quiet in my soul is a good quiet.
A peaceful quiet.
A still and motionless top of the lake quiet.
I am a serene yet curious little sparrow, not an elegant and powerful raptor but a common backyard sparrow. No one notices me when they pass by, no one takes my photo or texts to their friends that they saw a gray-brown sparrow sitting on a branch this morning.
I am sitting at the foot of the cross, looking up into the face of Jesus.
He looks down at me with love and tenderness.
To Him, I am the reason.
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