Today, I’m thinking fighting cancer is similar to a very, hard, muddy marathon. This “race” of cancer is going to take time. My time. Day after day. I think others have gotten this idea much faster than I. The reality that I can’t drive while on chemo, can’t even think about a trip sharing art and faith, can’t do so many “normal” things each day, has hit me a little more deeply today. I’m sad. I am fighting crabbiness again.
Alice is being so kind and helpful; however, I get frustrated, ie: I just want to make my own dinner like a “normal” person, get my own fork and plate. (Who wouldn’t want to be waited on hand and foot? Gosh, am I being ungrateful? More likely, I’m a sick person that just wants everything to be back to normal.) Of course, it is very hard for me to work for sustained periods of time right now; her help is very much needed.
I have been sharing Beth Moore’s “Breaking Free” Bible study with Alice. We listen and hear we are promised beauty for ashes. I hold tight to this Biblical promise, closing my eyes and agreeing in my spirit. We hear, “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.” 1 Peter 1:6-7 I try not to cry as I continue to trust God in this.
I am holding onto Jesus, very tight, trusting He will heal me and bring me forth like fine gold. I know He loves me. I imagine holding His hand in the dark. He is my healer, my Hope, my God. I go to sleep with my winter hat over my fuzzy, blonde, bald head, I wake up with said hat all scrunched, and begin again to get through my day, step after step. The day ends, I go back to sleep with winter hat over fuzzy, blonde, bald head, and wake up with scrunched winter hat again. So it goes over, and over, day after day. The temptation to stop chemo is big at certain points in my day, for anyone who might want to know.
However, I have to keep running this marathon. No going around or taking any short cuts. I can’t call a sub. God says I have to do it. He is getting His Will on this one, which should be a really good thought for someone like me. I’m the type of person who wants to do the will of God. No collaboration or imput from me on this chosen path by God. The Bible says God is sovereign over all; this lesson being reinforced with my will being hemmed in by chemo and cancer. His will; I do it. His will, again, I do it. (“You’ve trained for this, Marcia,” He whispers to me.)
It does help that Alice rubs my achey feet along the way on those evenings when the pain is fierce. Many are cheering me on, praying me on. This is a substantial comfort. Most of my care-givers have been loving listeners and prayer warriors. However, part of me just wants a normal marathon-free day! This is my normal for now, I remind myself. Got to keep going…….right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.
