New Questions

What would I trade? That is the question that bounces around my head as I write this. Today, as Jess and I have spent the day alternating between trying to comfort a child in pretty severe pain and visiting with those who gave of their time to sit with us (thank you to all of you) this question in several forms has passed through our minds. Since Andrew was diagnosed with cancer two and a half months ago we have been the recipients of a good deal of grace. We have been blessed by notes and cards sent faithfully by people, many of whom we've never met. We have received gifts both for the kids and for us that we couldn't have possibly anticipated. We have been served in ways that we wouldn't have thought people would actually volunteer to do. At times we both have struggled with this for various reasons, not the least of which being the feelings of guilt associated with receiving from others and wondering at our "worthiness" at such gifts. As we've thought about this today one thing continually comes to mind, we'd give it all back and more to make December 22, 2009 go away. That was the day, of course, that we heard of the diagnosis. Since then we have been on a whirlwind tour of the land of chaotic fallenness... and the landscape has not been worth the visit. At the end of the day... or the week in this case... our story will probably end happily, but that doesn't change the fact of the road that we travelled. 

Not that I would ever compare our story to his, but I wonder if Job ever felt guilty about what happened after God showed up in the midst of his suffering. You probably know the story but Job lost everything, his family, his wealth, his health, but after God spoke with him and Job found himself in a place of repentance and submission God blessed him. When I say bless I don't mean he gave him a general feeling of well being. Job had more children and more wealth. I wonder if his friends, probably still a little upset at how they were rebuked by God for their treatment of Job when they thought they were upholding God's justice, ever brought up to Job how he seemed to make out rather well from the whole deal. If so I think I could venture a guess at Job's answer, "Take the blessing, I want my kids back."

I think this is something that those who haven't gone through something like this could easily struggle to grasp. Truly, it is something that we are just now grasping even though we are going through it. It is similar, I think, to the feelings of those who lose a child and then get pregnant soon after. Well meaning friends and family may be confused as to why they are still upset even after they have another child. The reason you see is that they can never have the child they lost back again. The new blessing doesn't "make up" for the loss. The new child doesn't take the place of the one lost, he/she never could; loss is simply that... loss. 

For us, as we hear good news and see good results, we cannot help but know that loss is still loss. It isn't that we don't rejoice, I cannot wait to let out a mighty shout when I leave this place with my son, but even that rejoicing doesn't somehow erase everything that has come before it. The shout of that day will never somehow make the shouts of despair and terror that sprang from my throat as we drove to the hospital on the 22nd somehow vanish. In the same way the blessings that have been poured out on us, physically, materially, and emotionally (by many of you) have been wonderful but if I had to choose I would gladly give them all back; to take away the reality of this cancer in our lives. They can never make up for what we have experienced... what Andrew has experienced. I hope that doesn't sound like ingratitude because it isn't, I don't know how to begin to thank those that seem to tirelessly give of themselves to us. I suppose it is just a recognition of what these blessings are... and what they aren't. 

A wise friend reminded me today that God doesn't just wipe away suffering but that He actually redeems it. I don't doubt this. When Jesus was raised from the dead he came to His disciples with the wounds on His hands, feet, and side as palpable evidences of his identity. Interestingly though these wounds now are badges for Him and a surety for us that His suffering was more than just a vile injustice but actually secured redemption for us. At the same time the wounds remained; the identity of Jesus is indelibly bound to a cross. Perhaps one day we may recognize such a transformation when we look at Andrew's scars of even our own, though ours are harder to see. The reality is that this is not that day. One day my perspective may be better but it isn't today. Today it just hurts and we'd give all the gifts, all the service, all the care, even all the good news, to have never hurt like this in the first place. 

I hope this makes sense. I write this with a dual fear. On the one hand I am afraid that some might feel offended that we are ungrateful. On the other hand I am afraid that some might think that we no longer need support. Both fears are rooted in the one that seems to nag at me like a swarm of gnats on a summer day, the fear of abandonment. That is a dramatic way of saying that I'm afraid that people will think that since Andrew's tumor has been removed that we no longer need support and should feel better... and therefore withdraw. The other side is the fear that some will look at how this has turned out and think that it wasn't that big of a deal and that the support we have received is more than enough... and therefore withdraw. 

I guess, when it comes down to it, this entire post (which is getting rather long at this point) is one big plea. It is a plea to not forget about us. We are only now beginning to grasp how vast this experience really is and we're afraid... I'm afraid... that by the time it really hits us the urgency will have gone away and life for everyone else will have moved on. This has only shown us even more how much we need others to help us stand. Thank you for all that you've done; I don't know where we would be without it. Please don't be surprised though when a year from now we still cry at odd times or find Christmas less cheery than normal; we are simply still bearing the weight of wounds that may have faded but can never be forgotten.