This may sound trite and irreverent: ‘Great Reads’ for a devastating loss. When a ‘Great Reads’ list pops up on my Kindle it lists books selected to amuse and entertain. But ‘great’ is defined as “remarkable in magnitude, degree, or effectiveness.” (Merrium-Webster) And that what is great can comfort, enlighten and even transform. I have groped about for all those in my year of grief.
So here is my list of books and articles, great reads I have turned to again and again for comfort and reassurance. I would be grateful if you could share what has helped you.
Top choice:
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 inscribed on a memorial adjacent Dona’s grave.
1 Corinthians 15 – simply the best encouragement
Paul reminds us, “if only in this life we have hope in Christ we of all people are to be most pitied.”
(I also read 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 every time I visit my wife’s grave. The entire passage is inscribed on a family tombstone a few feet from Dona’s gravesite.) “Therefore, comfort each other with these words.”
Close second:
Things Unseen, Mark Buchanan
A book about the “hope of heaven that inspires and sustains passion and purpose in this life and on earth. It’s about learning how to bring heaven near – fixing our hearts and minds on things unseen.” (2 Cor 4:18)
This Canadian pastor has not written a dense theology book. Quite readable with tons of touching stories and even help from scenes in one of my favorite movies, The Karate Kid. I have a friend who lost a child at 18 months. He read Things Unseen in two days.
Third choice:
Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering, Tim Keller
Theology, but explained in a way that only Keller could. (He died of pancreatic cancer in 2023.) I read a chapter a day to my wife when she was going through chemo.
Fourth Place: Three short reads
What Will Heaven Be Like? Thirty-five frequently asked questions about eternity.
See CS Lewis’s chapter on Heaven in his book, The Problem of Pain. Also, Lewis’ journal account, A Grief Observed, about the death of his wife is quite helpful. Initially, he refused to publish it, given that the first third was so raw and despairing. (He called it a ‘yell’.) But, like many of the Psalmists, he works through his anger, grief, and fear towards gratitude for Christ.
An old man loses his cherished wife and has only hand-wringing daughters for comfort. (I note that my daughters are anything but.) Then a mysterious white dog shows up.
Six months after Dona died, I got a new primary care doctor. During the initial intake exam and interview – that time when the doc gathers your medical history with head down keying in info – I told him, when prompted about ‘relational status’, that my wife had died. He stopped typing and looked at me for a full 10 seconds, saying nothing but with a face that showed such compassion and empathy that even now I have a lump in my throat just remembering that ‘connection’.
Two
“You are right, you have told that before, but that is such a sweet story about Dona that I was quite happy to hear it again.”
– Greg McClain
We, the bereaved, want to talk about our spouse. But we worry that we are repeating ourselves and boring our listeners. After talking about Dona, I asked Greg whether he had heard that story before. What a sensitive, affirming response from my daughter’s father-in-law.
Three
“When two people fall in love at least one will have their heart broken. It may be from separation or death, but it is what we sign up for. Love is life.”
– David Eley
Pardon the self-promotion. I said this to Dona when she knew death was near and worried about me. It both saddened and comforted her. She often repeated this right up to the end.
Four
“You were robbed.”
– Gail Schlosser
It was helpful for this pastor and close friend of Dona’s to tell me, “Although I appreciate that you can believe that other people have lost more, and that you are grateful for the life you had with Dona, you were still robbed. Robbed of many more years together, serving together, and experiencing life together.”
Am I grateful for the life I had with Dona? Of course. Gail helped me see that I was over-emphasizing gratitude at the cost of not fully facing my pain. It was time to scale back the “stiff upper lip” and perhaps even complain to God. (For helpful advice on lament, see Carolyn Madanat’s reflections in a previous post.)
Five
Making offers that require a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.
In the days before and after Dona’s death, friends would tell me, “Let me know if you need anything.” These were sincere offers. They would have given me the shirt off their back if I asked. I appreciated their concern. However, like most guys, maybe even gals, I didn’t know what I needed and likely would not ask if I knew. What I needed was yes or no offers:
“I am bringing chicken parm over at 4 pm. Yes, or no?”
“We have dinner reservations for Tuesday at 6 pm. Please join us. Yes, or no?”
The week after Dona passed my brother-in-law told me he had booked an October hiking trip for us in the canyons of Utah.
At the reception after Dona’s memorial service a friend approached me and said,
“David, I’m so sorry……..now, would you be able to be my partner in the Thursday men’s golf league?”
Too fast? Not for me. Suddenly I had a vision of my future. Well, at least what my Thursdays and the upcoming October would look like.
Dona passed away a year ago this month. Many times, I have opened the laptop to write a blog entry, hoping to honor her memory, not to mention the effort she put into this blog, and to share something that might help the bereaved. But all my reflections seemed like way too much navel gazing, self-centered self-expression too personal to be used by others. So, I’m taking another approach. I intend to capture what other people have said, or written, that helped me these past 12 months of grief. For the next several posts, I list my top five quotes about various aspects of the grief journey that were in some ways healing. Please share your own in the comment section.
One
Is there any phrase more useless than, ‘If only?’
– Anonymous
Two
It is what it is.
The dozen members of my bereavement group all agreed that this was a helpful statement. What does it mean for the widowed? Face the circumstances and your loss head on.
Three
Unlike some faith traditions, or the Greek Stoics, Christianity finds nothing particularly noble about suffering – it should not be welcomed. Yet, unlike secularism, Christianity teaches that suffering can be meaningful…… Keller (1)
Difficult times loosen my tie to this world and bring me closer to the Lord. Only suffering can pry me from this world and its pleasures. Moo (2)
However, and………………..
Four
It struck me that the Christian hope has a lot to do with this life but ultimately because it is part and parcel of a tangible, transformative, redemptive eternal life. Distinct personal beings like a “real distinct you” and a “real distinct me” are transformed and in communion with a tangible God in His trinity with absolutely no loss of our distinctive selves. I want this kind of hope- A hope that goes beyond this life. Because whatever spiritual practice we do or whatever medical intervention helps us we will all eventually die. We do not possess ultimate power to stop certain forces at work that threaten to undo us. But we can rely with hope on the One who holds all things in his Hand and whose purposes though inscrutable at times are at the same time meant for our good. So, why not really hope big. Hope with a capital H that carries us into an eternal glorious future while we wait out patiently the infinite glory of God to be revealed in us and in this world and the world to come.
I am reminded that we live in a fallen world where sickness and tragedy hit so many with far more intense and terrifying force than anything I will ever experience. And many, many will experience that hardship with far less support and love than I am receiving. And if it has anything to do with who is deserving of good fortune well count me out for I have already had more than my share. So, here is what I believe from the scriptures which life seems to accurately validate: “The rain falls on the just and the unjust” (Matthew 5:45) and so does the drought. The promise we have is that Jesus is with us through it all. I don’t want to come across super spiritual or strong because I am not naive. This will be a journey with pain and discouragement that will possibly provoke reactions that I will be less than proud of. But for today I am going to go with gratefulness for the prayers and love from others and “God’s peace that transcends all understanding” (Phil. 4:7).
For 8 long years of aggressive cancer treatment Dona clung to this great truth and this great Hope; a hope in a particular truth that has sustained so many in this tough, beautiful world.
(1) Keller, Timothy (2016) Making Sense of God, p.74
(2) Moo, Douglas (2000) The NIV Application Commentary: Romans (see commentary on Romans 5:3-5)
On December 22, 2022, the day before the Great Buffalo Blizzard, we agreed with the oncologist to stop Dona’s cancer treatment and enroll her with Hospice. Focus will be on comfort at home. We feel okay about it. She will likely live longer on Hospice than on aggressive treatment.
Dona sleeps most of the day but is in no pain. Praise God. Although a bit confused at times and very weak, there is a calm and focus that must only come from the “peace of God that surpasses all understanding….guarding her heart and mind in Christ Jesus.”
Medical science and technology have given us 8 great years and, according to Dona, some of her best years. (Seriously, see ‘I Like the New Metastatic Me. ) We are grateful to have been the recipient of a dozen or more cutting edge or proven treatments, (which worked well until wily cancer cells morphed and found a workaround) developed by the best researchers and engineers the world has to offer, and delivered by compassionate surgeons, doctors, technicians, and nurses. But over time treatment has taken a toll. Modern medicine has its limits.
When the best efforts of our medical clinicians are overwhelmed and consumed by disease what is left? For the Christian, it is the hope of the resurrection. What does that look like? Perhaps it is like the discovery of a masterpiece that was hidden when painted over with an inferior work of art. As the later work flakes away due to time and the elements the earlier original is revealed, something beautiful and totally different. Or, perhaps it is as simple as Jesus’ parable of the house built on a rock that leaves the home intact when the winds and rains come. (Matthew 7)
Dona with grandson #4 on Christmas Day 2022 after the Great Buffalo Blizzard
It is that underlying beauty, strength, and solid foundation that is now so evident in my wife. Yesterday, I told Dona, “When my time comes, I hope I can also face my mortality directly, look it square in the face without flinching. But I think I will be frightened.”
She gazed at me for a minute, I was beginning to think she had drifted off, and then she said, “When your time comes God will give you grace and strength. But for now, you need to quit with the chipmunk cheeks.”
She was alluding to two posts she wrote early in her cancer journey. The chipmunk cheek image is from John Piper, who writes:
Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day (Exodus 16:4).
God’s grace is like manna. God gives us “a day’s portion every day.” This is why Jesus taught us to pray for our “daily” bread, not “next week’s” bread.
We need to quit being chipmunks. We don’t need to try and stuff our cheeks with today’s manna, anxiously storing up fuel for the nasty winter we imagine around the corner. God doesn’t give us grace for our imaginations, he doesn’t give us grace for our chipmunk approach to life. (Emphasis mine.)
The hardcore truth is that this habitual way of viewing the big scary world can quickly become faith-numbing insanity. “Dona,” I say to myself, “where is God in all this worry about the future? What are you fretting about? Who do you believe is really in charge?”
Me, apparently…….God waits for us to wave our white flags and allow his grace to attend to our present needs and not for those imagined future troubles. And that grace is sufficient to carry us through the day.”
So, as Dona says, I’m going to quit (try to quit) being a chipmunk and train myself through repetition, reminding myself of eternal truths, look for joy each day, and trust tomorrow, both for my life and especially for by wife’s, to the hand of God, who transcends our mortal limitations.
For most cancer patients I would imagine shopping for a burial plot would be a serious and sober pursuit! Nothing feels more final than looking at the place you will be buried one day; especially if that day is more imminent than hoped.
I suggested to my husband of 43 years that we look for our next real estate purchase at the Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo, a beautiful 269-acre expanse where people walk, jog, and bike. (Live dogs not allowed for obvious reasons, but one may be buried with their pet for an additional fee.) Tour guides recount the biographies of famous residents including a US president, many members of Congress, Seneca Nation chiefs, and the inventor of modern indoor air conditioning. The walking paths, valleys and hills, meandering creek, visually arresting monuments and obelisks, and trees of all different species are enhanced by magnificent columbarium’s, mausoleums, and a stone chapel.
And thankfully it is not just for the wealthy and privileged. My daughter has seen a procession of Congolese refugees dressed in white slowly walking towards a child’s resting place.
However, I want to be very sensitive towards those who have every reason to be sobered, anguished, and grieving as they themselves have had or will have the heart-wrenching task of arranging a burial place for their child. It is quite heartbreaking to see burial stones of young lives cut short. The poignant short, engraved inscriptions tell the story of loss so unimaginable! So, the thoughts in this post may not be for you.
My latest real estate purchase
But that was not our experience. David and I enjoyed ourselves as the cemetery manager showed us plots and told us stories. I wanted a site under a stately tree on a hill. I figured this would be a challenge given that over 165,000 ‘permanent residents’ had picked sites before me. But eventually, the manager found two sites together that were exactly what I wanted with a bonus view of my favorite sculpture in the cemetery.
By John Field, Forest Lawn Cemetery, Buffalo
Of course, once the site is selected and secured, one must decide on a grave marker. I noticed some residents had a stone bench as their memorial. That was what I wanted. I imagined something like, “Hi! We were Dona and David Eley. Have a seat and think of the Wonders of God.” Unfortunately, that idea did not fly. The “Hi, have a seat,” sounds like me but more than a bit much for David. And our enthusiasm waned when told a minimum of three plots must be purchased to have a bench.
There are many residents of Forest Lawn who over the last three centuries have erected more than mere benches: monuments and mausoleums costing well over a million in today’s dollars. Awesome in their architecture and artistic flair – quite stunning!
A teacher, still living, purchased several plots in the middle of Forest Lawn and then engraved an unpublished short story he had written, in its entirety, on two massive stones. I read the sweet story but walked away wondering about human beings search for remembrance and possibly immortality.
And then there was the family who wanted to inscribe something profane that the deceased was frequently known to say. The manager nixed that. Children visit Forest Lawn.
An unmarked burial site
And then there is juxtaposition. On the morning we purchased our plots, the cemetery manager was late for our meeting because he had met a middle-aged woman who had wandered through Forest Lawn for a couple of hours looking for her grandmother’s grave. She waited 10 years to look for it. There is obviously a story here, but the manager’s concern was that she had been looking for hours on a hot morning and was becoming dehydrated. A search of the cemetery’s database located the unmarked site where the grandmother had been interned 10 years ago.
Back to me. Why do I want to be buried in a beautiful park in the middle of Buffalo; a cemetery locally famous for its rolling hills, fascinating monuments, and rich history? Honestly, it is because it increases the chances that family and friends might more frequently come here to exercise, stroll or picnic on a summer day, and in coming to Forest Lawn pause and REMEMBER me. I am not completely comfortable with this realization. Afterall, I will never know who has visited the site of my bones. And, I will not care. I will be in a place much more glorious.
Cemeteries are certainly reminders that we live in a broken world in which none of us will survive. We will all die, and each culture and individual have customs or preferences as to how to honor the deceased. Some will defy customs and choose radically different expressions for their worldview. My hope is that all worldviews will give way to God’s eternal view.
Burial sites, whether unmarked or colossally grand, will matter none to the eternal creator and sustainer who embraces those that trust him to deliver them from death! There is a place where we will be immortal. Earlier in this post I noted that my plot has a view of my favorite sculpture in Forest Lawn. This sculpture pictures that time of the great resurrection, where we are lifted into the arms of God. (1 Corinthians 15 develops the full impact of this.)
And then there is the famous monument in Utah for Matthew Stanford Robison, who, born paralyzed, died in his sleep at 11 years old. A poignant vision of the resurrection, it captures perfectly that time when we Christians believe that “all sad things will become untrue.”
Our 9-year old grandson accompanied us on one of our visits to Forest Lawn. He noted that many headstones were ideally positioned for jumping and climbing from one to another. We reluctantly told him that would be inappropriate. He told us he wanted his tombstone inscription to say, “Children are welcome to climb up and play here.”
Jesus will think that is just fine. (Matthew 18:1-5)
It has been a long day. I just finished chemo. I am in the Roswell Cancer Institute imaging clinic, waiting to be called for a brain scan MRI. David left to get groceries and prepare a late supper. I am disappointed, discouraged, teary-eyed, and, to make matters worse, a bit embarrassed.
7:00 pm
As I wait, I take the advice I gave to clients for years and have blogged about more than once: start journaling about the angst.
Confession:
I have been complemented by family, friends, and medical team on how well I’ve handled an abundance of difficulties throughout this process. And yes, I have felt validated respected and brave for my “handling it all so well.”
And yes, I have attributed my persevering, positive attitude to my dependence on God’s faithfulness towards me no matter what happens.
But over the last two days something started to emotionally unravel. It started with overreacting to my husband’s innocuous comments yesterday but thankfully having it all resolved quickly, more thanks to him than me.
I want to blame this emotional roller coaster on the steroids I am taking to heal the liver from an unfortunate turn in the immunotherapy treatment.
But…. Something other than steroid-craziness is going on.
My ‘end-of-the-rope’ was bound to come but I thought it would come at the ‘end-of-the-road’ when all treatment options have been tried and failed, therefore reclassified as terminal. Another counselor told me once that when you reach the end-of-your-rope – the point where you cannot climb back up but cannot lower yourself further – it is time to let go and trust in God. I love that image. I have rehearsed that end-of-rope/end-of-the-road moment too many times to count. In that future scenario, when told there is nothing else that modern medicine can do for me, I picture myself demonstrating great faith and even love and gratitude for my wonderful medical team. I become some kind amazing hero of faith in my eyes and in others. Ah, the follies of ego!!!
But I am having an end-of-rope moment now. This morning, I had an unexpected call from my oncologist to come in for an unscheduled visit. I was hoping he wanted to discuss weaning me from steroids. The opposite happened as my liver enzymes had gone up. He has increased, slightly, my steroid dose; meaning less sleep and immunotherapy still off the table.
I had an unexpected reaction to the consultation. I got visibly frustrated and hurt. Tears!
The irony and hypocrisy of the reaction is that yesterday I had complained to friends of hearing of cancer patients reacting similarly, being unreasonable and unfair to their medical providers.
Not that I went ballistic. Hospital security was not called. But I had tears of frustration, and I over-questioned my healthcare providers. I argued about use of words. “You say ‘increase’ in liver enzymes but I say, ‘slight uptick’ when I look at the graphs.” After spending more time with me than I deserved I patted my oncologist on his hand as he was leaving, an apology, of sorts. But it did not end there: as I was led to the chemo chair, I was told that my oncologist had just ordered in addition to the chemo an hour of saline for low sodium before the infusion. Come on! My feet were already in a crazy swollen state of discomfort I questioned the purpose of this. I asked the infusion nurse several times to call the oncologist finally reconsidered and gave me what I wanted. (If the low sodium was acute, he would have won that skirmish for sure).
8:00 pm
Back in the imaging waiting room, the technician finally called my name for the MRI. As we are walking to the imaging room, he said the scan would not take an hour, as I assumed, but only 15 minutes. That simple correction somehow, in some way, flipped the mood switch. Delighted, I became my friendly chatty self as I sensed that joy was beginning to take hold again.
The Lord heard my lament and gave me hope. David is thankful to see the smile back on my face!
9:00 am, Tuesday, August 9
But I cannot leave it at that. It is tempting to think of God smiling at us with approval when we are behaving graciously and mercifully to those around us especially when we are suffering and amid disappointments. Conversely, we imagine him clucking his tongue when we are miserable, irritable, and faithless. The thing about that is that it does not typically lead to a heart change. Why? Shaming is not affirming or inspiring. It gets us stuck in a spiritual arrested development. Spiritual maturity on the other hand fills us with the knowledge of God’s love that surpasses our understanding (Ephesians 3:19).
He made us to trust in his unfailing and never changing love. It is who he is, and the operative word is grace (unmerited favor).
Neither you or I can make God love us more or less by what we do when we have already thrown our hat in the arena of God’s faithfulness. And in a mysterious, wonderful way we are changed and willingly motivated to continue the good fight of our faith. (1 Timothy 6:12) We can let go of the end of the rope.
And, as Paul writes, “No eye has seen, and no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things which God has prepared for those who love him.” 1 Corinthians 2:9
This is something to fight for, something to live for!
I pray often – not long prayers necessarily, sometimes short ones. Sometimes the pain or anxiety I am experiencing is all I can see so my prayers are not eloquent. “Jesus, help me!”
I pray for those who ask for prayer and those who don’t. Praying for others feels good – feels like a privilege. And many people appreciate the effort and spirit with which it is done.
Sincere prayer as an act of obedience
My husband, David, was in the city walking when a panhandler approached. The man described the jam he was in and asked for money. Over the years, I have challenged David’s cynicism regarding panhandlers and encouraged him to not to ignore people on the street asking for money. After all, panhandling is not anyone’s dream job. Although now homeless, or dealing with a mental disability, or both, they were once children dreaming of careers as a pilot, teacher, nurse, basketball player……like us. As the man pocketed the money David gave him and turned to enter a nearby Burger King, David called out, halfheartedly without real conviction, “I’ll be praying for you.” The man stopped, did an about-face, walked back to David, and said, “Will you pray for me now?” My somewhat stunned husband responded positively, placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and prayed for him. David walked away from this encounter with a lot more conviction and much less cynicism.
But certainly not every time we pray do we walk away feeling uplifted or victorious. Sometimes we pray in obedience to a biblical fundamental, but we are left still shedding tears for others or for ourselves. We are just not sure we are always going to get the answer we want. But despite the disappointments, we pray. It’s just what we Christians do.
As my followers know I have been struggling through treatments for metastatic breast cancer for 3 1/2 years. Just yesterday I was told that my X-ray scans showed a reduction of liver metastasis. Hip, hip hooray! The immunotherapy may be the ticket for a longer life. As my daughter said, “You were due for some good news.” The combo of immunotherapy and chemo was doing its job. But the celebration was short lived. My blood labs showed high liver enzymes that indicated hepatitis. Immunotherapy had triggered an immune response against the healthy parts of my liver. Immunotherapy is off the table for now and indefinitely as cancer treatment takes a back seat to restoring a sick liver. David and I left the clinic heartsick. I considered all the prayers from my friends over the years on my behalf for a better outcome to the ongoing story of keeping me alive as long as possible. I often feel self-conscious about it. I do not think I am monopolizing my friends’ prayer time but worry that they grow weary or understandably numb to the same requests over and over, month after month, year after year, which go….
“Please pray this new therapy will improve my condition.”
“Please pray this side effect will abate.”
“Please pray I will get some sleep………………”
Our doubts do not change who God is.
A friend has been praying for her drug-addicted son for years. He is almost forty and homeless and recently found sleeping in a street by the Buffalo police. He was taken to jail after the police discovered he had an outstanding arrest warrant. My friend confessed at our church community group that she wondered why, decade after decade, her prayers for her son are not answered. She went through a litany of reasons: “Maybe I don’t have enough faith. Maybe I have not repented from some sin that blocks God’s answers.”
But in all her doubts and disappointments she persists in prayer. She and her husband cannot shake the feeling that Jesus is “near to the broken-hearted” (Psalm 34:18). They may doubt and worry, but they do it in the presence of God.
Lamentations 3:19-23
19 I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. 20 I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. 21 Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness
Prayer as the co-existence of grief and defiant hope
Last week, in Fairbanks, Alaska, Josiah, the oldest son (25 years old) of our dear friends, Tony and Lara, was killed; hit by a car while taking a walk on Saturday night. This couple are not new to devastating family trauma. Thirteen years ago, their 5-month-old, Jeremiah, died unexpectedly, and then 9 years later their daughter was treated for an aggressive, protracted leg sarcoma (currently in remission).
Tony and Lara’s children in 2009. Josiah is holding Jeremiah.
And now this! What more can a family take? As my husband and I listened to them we were once again struck with their faith in the faithfulness of God. Truthfully, before we called, I was ready to hear some ‘justifiable’ self-pity, anger, and bitter fatalism. Sure, they cried, and we cried with them, but as we listened, we could only marvel at the Holy Spirit’s care of them as they enumerated all the love that friends, family, and church were pouring out on them. They said, “We feel blessed by all this love!”
To summarize, this heartbroken couple expressed their faith as hope in the resurrection and the mysterious promises of God righting all wrongs some day at the end of time. We do not live in a cold, impersonal, pitiless universe of random chance and tragedy.
Seven months ago, Labib Madanat (read about him in Christianity Today) died suddenly while leading an exploratory mission group through Iraq. He left behind not only one of the most influential Middle East ministries but five children and his wife, Carolyn.
Carolyn and I talk frequently, she is in England, and I live in New York.
In her grief and questions, she will voice her concerns for her children and admit to overwhelming loneliness and sadness for the husband she dearly admired and loved. (Labib was hard not to love.)
Rev. Carolyn Madanat and her children
I thought she might take a protracted break from her work as a curate (associate pastor) for the Church of England but that’s not happening. She soldiers on, engaging in the rhythms of her church: studying, teaching, counseling, administering, baptizing, leading worship. And then of course there is the running of a household and the comforting of children that are looking to her for the stability they need in such a time. She doesn’t accomplish all this with the stiff-upper-lip British stereotype. She’s deeply authentic and realistic in what she faces.
But again, I have never heard that she cannot do it or that the Lord is not there for her or real to her.
She leans hard into the presence of God through prayer, church life, and the word of God.
She writes,
“I realized that trust in God’s goodness and feelings of sadness are not mutually exclusive; lament is a path to praise that travels through disappointment and pain and being ok with not knowing everything. It is accepting the co-existence of grief and hope; mourning what has been lost yet grateful for what remains. Part of prayer, I’ve realized, is surrendering to God the questions we don’t have answers for and having the assurance that they are in safe hands; it is having enough confidence in God’s goodness and steadfast love towards us that we don’t need to settle for ‘glib’ answers.”
Often my husband has told me that amid spiritual dryness, frustration, bleakness of spirit, Peter’s response to Christ in John 6:68-68 says it all for him. It is the starkness of its truth that pushes him and many others into a deeper wisdom of God’s goodness.
In this incident, Christ’s teaching has alienated many of his followers and they begin to desert him. Jesus then turns to his closest disciples and asks, “Will you leave me too?”
Peter responds, “Where else would we go for You have the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
We pray and trust God no matter what because He is the good and compassionate God who loves us. Sure, we are besieged by doubts during difficulties and often find his ways inscrutable, but we still pray and cry out with tears and laments to God. Our laments are not simply floating into an impersonal, pitiless, cold universe. We are not alone, and our lamenting follows the examples of the great men and women of the Bible.
In Psalm 56, the psalmist, presumably King David, asks God to “keep his tears in a bottle” (v.8) in remembrance. David is expressing a deep trust in God—God will remember his sorrow and tears and will not forget about him. David is confident that God is on his side. He says, amidst his troubles,
In God, whose word I praise, in the Lord, whose word I praise— in God I trust and am not afraid. What can man do to me?
Jesus remembers all the things that happen in our lives, including the suffering endured for His sake. In fact, there are many instances in Scripture of God’s recognition of man’s suffering.
So, like the millions before and the millions after, I pray for certain outcomes, and I will pray fervently for those outcomes to be in God’s best interest for me and others. But if I don’t get my hopeful outcomes, I will assume that my tears and sorrow are held tenderly by God and will be shown one day to have been the just right and good outcome that I could have never imaged. But within Gods cosmic plan those bottles of collected tears like the collected tears of many will be somehow redeemed into a glorious and splendid eternal reality beyond and more we could have ever imagined.
In an earlier post, I described how the ‘pre-cancer me’ had too many concerns, strong opinions, and preferences. I was living life poised to be disappointed at every turn. Disrupted travel plans, bad hair days and minor slights were all felt too deeply! It took metastatic cancer to bring more clarity, balance, and self-control to disappointment. I had gotten lazy, neglecting the hard work of self-examination, and taking control of my emotional reactions to disappointments. I like the new me, the metastatic me.
View from my balcony in St Augustine, FL
My current disappointments are few or less intense because there are less things of this world that mean that much to me. I am vacationing and being with family in St Augustine, Florida. I write positioned to see the smooth coastline, hear the waves breaking, smell the sea breeze, and feel the sun warm my brittle bones. So heavenly and peaceful. But I am feeling increasingly detached from this experience as well as many others that have given me pleasure. This does not feel like a bad thing as I’m experiencing more peace of mind than I have been accustomed.
Anhedonia is a mental condition which describes a pervasive lack of interest in those things that use to give pleasure and enjoyment. It is a core symptom of depression.
As a retired mental health therapist, I have asked myself whether I am experiencing a symptom of clinical depression. Certainly, cancer sufferers have more depression than others. No one would be surprised to hear I was struggling with depression. But I am not. I have received a blessing amidst existential suffering.
“Set your mind on things above and not on things on earth, for you have died and your life is hidden in Christ.” (Colossians 3)
…and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame….consider this…so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:1b – 3)
Do not get me wrong, I feel pain, loss and sorrow. I am not cultivating a Buddhist mindset that sees all suffering originating from and sustained by human attachments. I WANT to be attached to those I love, and I want to enjoy the beauties all around me in this world. I am not numb to disappointments, rather I am having fewer of them because I’m learning through this disease what is ‘disappointment-worthy’.
There also seems to be a supernatural aspect to this ‘screening’ of life’s disappointments. I call this something, “training for eternal life”.
The apostle Paul in the letter to the church at Colossi exhorted the congregation “to set their affections on eternity with God.” Why? Because God wants to bless us. I am going to die, and you are going to die. So, as the author of Hebrews puts it, while we are enjoying this life it is a mercy to fix our eyes on Christ, the author, perfecter and finisher of our faith, and then we will not lose heart or grow weary as we soldier on, training to enjoy the eternal life ahead of us.
I can only think of one disappointment that would have devastating effects for me and for you. The absence of the presence of God due to unbelief or to poor teaching and training would make coping with incurable cancer unbearable.
Where do we go with this?
Continue to be disappointed, even heartbroken over the losses, travesties, and tragedies of life both for us, our loved ones, and for the countless, nameless sufferers throughout this broken world. To do so is to have the heart of God motivating us to call to out to Him for relief and rescue. But leave the disappointments from assaults on ego, the frustration of inconvenience, the slights and criticisms from others on the junk heap of the worthless and inconsequential.
Disappointments are not so bad if we allow them to whittle away at the vain and useless, and cling tenaciously to the grand promises of God – a future where God promises to make every injustice and injury right in the end! The scriptures say God promises that every tear will be wiped away; all tears, not just the tears of heartache and loss, but the tears of anger, frustration, and petty disappointment.
In December we celebrated the season of joy. Joy, joy, joy written on Christmas cards and banners and sung in our Christmas carols.
But we all know Christmas holidays can be difficult and lonely for many. Christmas time does not give temporary respite from hardships, loss, and pain. ‘Joy to the World’ can be plastered over cards and banners but far from our hearts.
For me, the hardship of metastatic cancer brings the meaning of joy into sharp focus. Can cancer and joy ride on the same sled together? Stranger yet, is there joy to be enjoyed within cancer treatments even though you can be left grasping for relief as side effects leave you once again feeling diminished?
The answer is: there better be!
First, being playful and joyful, looking for the delightful and comical, in myself and others, is my MO. I’m not positioning this quality as being superior to all others, I’m simply stating that I have a natural playful orientation. I’m not pollyannish. I can worry, fret, and grieve along with the best of them but joy and playfulness are my darlings! My great fear before cancer was that life would hit me with a tragedy so colossally devastating that all joy and playfulness would evaporate instantly and permanently.
Second, and this is far more important, the Scriptures teach there is joy within suffering through Christ and strength to endure suffering through Christ.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.
James 1:2-3
In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
1 Peter 1:3-9
The joy of the lord is my strength.
Nehemiah 8:10
I had an experience of joy two weeks ago. Fever, infection and need of a blood transfusion landed me in the hospital. Within a few hours I was ready to go home but I was told I needed to stay. I was not happy about being admitted and I was not happy having to share a room. Comfort and rest were foremost on my mind. A shared hospital room, with double the nurses and attendants coming in and out would not garner rest and recuperation. But soon my roommate and I became chummy and by the evening I found myself in the role of encourager and patient advocate as her pain escalated through the night. Late in the evening I found myself at the nurse’s station, asking if more could be done for my roommate’s pain. I just wanted her to be comforted. I prayed for her on my bed throughout the night or I sat on her bed rubbing her back. It was distressful and heartbreaking to a be witness to someone’s intense pain. Finally, by the late morning the next day, her pain was under control, and she was feeling much better. I was discharged at noon, feeling relieved for roommate Sue.
By the time I left the hospital I was full of joy. Why?
“Great mourners are great rejoice-ers. In opening the door to pain, they also open it to joy. Those sensitive enough to be crushed by sadness are those who also can be lifted by happiness. Mourners are blessed as they have sensitive hearts: they prove themselves to be children of God and their tears may be turned into healing action but more importantly ‘they shall be comforted by God.’”
Mother Teresa and her associates would mourn and grieve as they walked the streets of Calcutta but the atmosphere in the shelter where the sick and destitute were brought was filled with joy, smiles and laughter. I am no Mother Theresa, but I understand it. In the hospital I mourned with and comforted my roommate. If felt lifegiving and heavenly minded.
Tim Keller, pastor and Christian apologist, upon receiving a diagnosis of incurable pancreatic cancer wrote in The Atlantic.[2]
“As God’s reality dawns more on my heart, slowly and painfully and through many tears, the simplest pleasures of this world have become sources of daily happiness. It is only as I have become, for lack of a better term, more heavenly-minded that I can see the material world for the astonishingly good divine gift that it is.
I can sincerely say, without any sentimentality or exaggeration, that I’ve never been happier in my life, that I’ve never had more days filled with comfort. But it is equally true that I’ve never had so many days of grief.”
Amen. I will always cherish the ‘joy’ of my sleepless night at the hospital.
[1] McCullough, D. ‘Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.’, November 1990. Christianity Today.
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