Walking through the halls of MD Anderson is a multicultural experience. There are patients and doctors from all over the world. On busy days there exists a steady cacophony of various languages interspersed with medical jargon. It is impossible not to overhear parts of conversations as families discuss their latest test results or the merits of their lunch selection. Despite the different languages, there is a common subject: cancer. Such a significant topic is seldom devoid of emotion. Doctors may be able to talk dispassionately about this brutal disease, but the afflicted seldom do.
That’s what I overheard as I walked between appointments yesterday. A couple came around the corner as I neared the elevator. She was visibly crying and it was evident these were tears of sorrow. “But things were going so well…” she said to the man trailing behind her. That’s all I heard, but that was enough. I said a short prayer and continued on my way. This scene is repeated at MD Anderson every day, many times over. Sometimes the tears are from joy, as ours have been lately. Other times they come from sorrow. We’ve been there, too.
I saw my transplant doctor yesterday for the first time in about two weeks. She is very encouraged with my progress. Her biggest concern right now is treating my GVHD, which is slowly getting better. I have only moderate symptoms, but it requires frequent attention in case it worsens. My chief ailments are a skin rash and blurry, dry eyes. I have a hard time reading and the constant attempts to focus lead to regular headaches.
The problem with my eyes led to my most recent book selection. I have several that I want read, but I simply chose the one with the largest font. It’s called Why Jesus? by Ravi Zacharias. The subtitle is “Rediscovering His Truth in an Age of Mass Marketed Spirituality.” I read it a year ago, but it’s so full truth and relevance that I wanted to read it again. The author continually points the reader back to the truth that lies in Jesus Christ, which is denied or disregarded in the media and popular thinking of our culture.
This question, “Why Jesus?” –why do we need Him?—could not be more profound than in the halls of MD Anderson. I can imagine few places with the coexistence of sorrow and joy in such high concentrations. Where does one turn to offer praise when the results are good? Sure, the doctors deserve credit, but to stop there seems wholly insufficient considering the uncertainly of most forms of treatment. When the news is crushing and it’s hard to take a breath, where does one go for hope? Empty platitudes of positive thinking and heartfelt reassurances carry only as much power as the electrons that transmit them on Facebook.
Jesus offers the answer for both the sorrow and the joy. He alone is the Truth. He alone gives purpose to suffering. The only way to make sense of it all is through the Cross.
And who can win this battle against the world? Only those who believe that Jesus is the Son of God. (1 John 5:5 NLT)
When we cry out, “But things were going so well?”—this is why Jesus.
When I rejoice with another patient who has learned of good biopsy results as she endures cancer a secondtime before she’s 30—this is why Jesus.
When I meet a couple who just learned of a tumor in addition to the leukemia, but choose to praise God anyway—this is why Jesus.
When I look into my daughters’ eyes with hope for the future, in spite of all we’ve been through—this is why Jesus.
In both sorrow and joy, the ultimate answer to where—or whom—we turn is Jesus.
It storms everyday at MD Anderson. The only way to avoid being beaten down by the crushing waves is to be anchored to the Truth. He is the object of our praise and the source of our hope. This is the answer to the question, “Why Jesus?”
Glory to Jesus for always being the answer. My walk with Christ became clear while battling cancer. He will shine.