A Punch in the Gut

I was standing at the foul line playing basketball before school started.  I think I was in 6th grade.  My “friend” walked up to me and unexpectedly hit me in the stomach.  I couldn’t breathe.   My eyes started watering.  I was reeling.

That’s kind of what it left like yesterday when I learned that my cancer is not in remission and that I need more chemotherapy and another month-long stay in the hospital.  The news was tempered a bit by the morphine coursing through my veins in preparation for the bone marrow biopsy (we never got to the biopsy; the results of my blood test were enough to suggest that the leukemia is still here).  But, the drugs wore off pretty quickly and the news started bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. 

Christi was already dealing with the full force of the news when we met in the hospital room a few minutes later.  It didn’t help that we soon had to go out to the family meeting room and process this in a more public setting since Abrie is too young to be in my room.  Thankfully, some great friends came and took Abrie home to be cared for by her Nana.  Christi and I were able to go back to my room and fall apart a little.

How could this happen?  Things were going so well.  The truth is that this is not all that uncommon in leukemia patients.  Many have more than one round of “induction” chemotherapy (what I’m getting now that takes 30 days) when the first round doesn’t send their cancer into remission.  There is good news in all of this, too.  The amount of cancer in my body now is much lower than when I first came in here a month ago.  I’m getting a higher dosage of chemo, which could mean more side effects, but more importantly gives us a really good chance of sending this into remission and then moving on with the stem cell transplant.  I also got out of the bone marrow biopsy and lumbar puncture yesterday; it’s hard to complain about that.

I have cried out to God asking all the inevitable questions.  I don’t know why, but I do know there is a “why.”  I know it’s OK to ask God these big questions.  When Jesus was praying in Gethsemane the night of his arrest, he fell to the ground and asked, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me?” (Matthew 26:39b).  Can you imagine what emotions he was feeling?  He knew what lay ahead for him.  He was fully God, but also fully man and was capable of feeling the same despair and fear that you and I do. 

Here’s what he said next, “Yet not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39c).  He was willing to endure suffering more severe than you and I could ever experience so that the Father’s will could be done.  Now, I won’t even for a moment attempt to compare my suffering to that of our Savior, but I do believe that this is that same perspective that we all should have: “Not as I will, but as You do.”

Remember the friend from the 6th grade?  Fast forward about 5 years to high school football practice.  I admittedly was not very good and therefore was on the practice squad.  My friend was a starter and probably the strongest guy on the team.  It was nearing the end of practice.  A trick play.  My friend, normally a lineman, had the ball and was in the secondary barreling straight toward me.  There was no one between him and the end zone except for me.  He was getting closer.  I lowered my head and put my shoulders into his knees.  As I hit the ground I could see him falling.  He tried to run over me but I stopped him.  The team erupted in cheers. 

I didn’t quit then.  I’m not quitting now.  Don’t you quit praying for and supporting us.  Cancer will not run over me.  My God won’t let it.