Faith Lessons Through Cancer
A Picture of Grief
I woke up each morning and for just a moment, I had forgotten. Then, the realization came that I was still sporting the fresh stitches from my surgery, the lack of mobility to rise out of bed and walk, and the nausea and fatigue that would come on and off all day. This is where the dread sunk in. It was another day of life with osteosarcoma. I would recite positive words in my mind like you can do this, just one step at a time, you only need to focus on the next five minutes. Day after day this occurred. All that positivity seemed to echo back hollow, at first, and then, later, with rather rude retorts to myself like I don’t actually think I CAN do this, I’m tired of trying to be so hyper vigilant to take literal steps, the next five minutes are so hard, I’m tired of everything being so hard! At some point all the positive thinking in the world may be helpful, but it isn’t enough.
At the same time, I was experiencing intense loneliness. I was alone at home, unable to drive anywhere, even when I did have a good day. While, I understand that it was a gift to have that time to rest and heal, my reality was also consistent isolation while my kids attended school, my husband went to work and when I was frequently in the hospital. I sat for hours with extreme exhaustion, occasionally attending to little household tasks. In addition, my kids, in love, at times, were hesitant to engage with me because they’d try not to hinder my sleep or rest. They just wanted “mama to get better.” Gone were the days of sweet, carefree, childlike physical affection without hesitancy. I regularly assured them I wanted them in my arms always, even if I did need rest. The companionship of my dog was a comfort, and when my immune system allowed it, the occasional company of friends was too. Despite those, the loneliness remained.
Day after day followed this routine of realization, dread, get up, eat a few crackers to curb the nausea, take a few pills to curb the side effects of chemo, see the kids off to school, try to eat some broth with rice, take more meds, sleep a few hours, change a load of laundry, try to eat another broth and rice, take an afternoon nap getting up before the kids came home so I could welcome them, help them with home work if they needed it, throw a prepared (by generous friends from church and school) meal in the oven, while everyone else ate I’d try another bowl of broth and rice, stay up to kiss the kids goodnight, take more meds and go to bed when the kids did before starting this all over again. During all of this, I was laying with my leg up on the couch, reclining chair on the porch or on my bed. I tried to be as close to my family as possible. This is what a good day looked like. There were many bad days. Those included days where I could only stay in my bed or days when I was re-hospitalized because my body was shutting down from the chemo.
This disconnection, the monotony and the physical suffering wore on me. I felt raw and vulnerable like incision on my leg. Soon, this routine was interrupted with a new element. After my husband and children went off to work and school, I would sit on my 3-season porch, looking out at the beauty in our backyard, and simply cry. I didn’t really have the words to describe why except that I was experiencing deep melancholy. Sometimes, it was for 5 minutes, at other times an hour. I tried writing to process through my feelings, but soon the chemo would make my mind fuzzy. It became difficult to write cohesive paragraphs. I attempted reading the Bible in the ways I used to, deep diving for intense study, but my mind was not capable. I got confused and forgot ideas easily. I struggled praying, but I got lost in quiet, circular arguments about God’s sovereignty and my spiritual need/wants/responsibilities in my mind. What was the right thing to pray in my circumstances? I would weep until I fell asleep. I’d often wake up feeling guilty for crying.
Why Lament is Better
One morning during that intense sadness, I recalled a study by She Reads Truth on the minor prophets. I had completed it with a handful of friends the previous fall. I had gained a better understanding of lament in this study even though it was not the focus of it. God’s people had cried out because of injustice, sin or evil (their own and others), corruption, illness and so much more. My morning routine of grieving allowed me to show my feelings over the distress of my suffering, but this was a limited healing. Grieving allows us to admit the truth of our circumstances and how they are effecting us. This honesty is essential for healing, but for the Christian it will never be enough. It will begin to feel empty after a time because we were made for more. We were made for intimate communication with God.
Let’s delve into the examples of the process of lament illustrated in the Psalms to gain a clearer picture of it. The Psalmists come before God and acknowledge their pain. Psalm 6 says, “I am weary with moaning, every night I flood my bed with tears” and in Psalm 77, the author is “so troubled” he “cannot speak”. These Psalms demonstrate emotional distress. Psalm 35 shares unjust relational hardship where “without cause, they hid their net for me” and how “malicious witnesses rise up” against the psalmist. These Psalmists name a couple of the many types of anguish in their personal torment before God in prayer. Here is the first way in which lament separates itself from grief: lament allows us to cry out to Someone who is always present and listening. This is an implied truth because why would you cry out like the Psalmist, if you didn’t believe someone was listening? Scripture supports this truth in many verses (Psalm 139:7&18; Psalm 46:1; Psalm 116:1).
Within this process of lament there is also the repetition of the phrase “How long O Lord” many times (Psalm 6, 13, 35, 79, 80, 89, 90, 94). The authors are questioning God and often end up asking for help. They are bringing their doubts, complaints, and earthly understanding before God. What an incredible gift that we, too, can come to a big God that can handle all our big emotions, all our less than perfect thinking and all our distrust of Him. The second manner in which lament separates itself from grief is that lament allows us to cry out to Someone who has a greater understanding of our pain and circumstances than we do and can do something about it.
It’s important to note that the Psalmists don’t remain in that space of questioning. This doesn’t mean lament isn’t cyclical, that we don’t come back to the questions we have for God. Surely, it is like so many other aspects of the Christian life (repentance and sanctification to name a couple). It’s this next step in the process of lament that most greatly separates itself from simply grieving. The Psalmists declare the truth of God’s goodness, sovereignty, and many of His other attributes. They remember out loud the Someone who has proven His trustworthiness. They conclude their lament reminding themselves that God is who He says He is. Psalm 77 says, “I will remember the deeds of the Lord, yes, I will remember your wonders of old. I will ponder all your work and meditate on your mighty deeds. Your way, O God, is holy. What god is great like our God?” before listing the many wonders that God performed for Israel. Psalm 46 has a similar list. The Psalmist in chapter 13 declares that despite his circumstances, he “trusted in” God’s “steadfast love”. The writer of Psalm 73 pens that God holds his “right hand” and guides him with His “counsel”.
A New Spiritual Practice
This is what I began to practice on my porch after the kids and my husband left for the day. I looked out at the beauty made by my powerful God in my back yard and I wailed before Him. I described to Him my pain vividly. I anguished over my doubts and lack of understanding before Him. I professed my desire to keep loving Him deeply but was honest about how very hard that was right now. He proved Himself faithful by constantly bringing scripture to my mind concerning His faithful, majestic personhood. Day by day, what I knew in my head began to strengthen in my heart. God was still good in my ugly, painful circumstances. God was still with me listening and loving me. Sometimes, those verses were comfort, sometimes those verses were a correction of wrong thinking that didn’t align with scripture, sometimes those verses were a caution of behavior or a heart attitude that was headed in an unhealthy direction and sometimes those verses were a resounding, “Yes! Christina, that is who I am. Don’t forget!”
After a time, lament saved me from bitterness, unbelief, and despair because it made me run to The Only True God. This is everything! This is ultimate necessity for all people: admit that we need someone greater than ourselves. In all situations, He is the greatest resource that we could prioritize. We all needed to run to the One who is enough. This is what we do when we participate in lament. We cry out about our grief in a demonstrative way to God Himself. We declare to Him our pain, our needs. We unload all our big emotions and confusion. The biggest difference between grief and lament is that we are acknowledging God’s presence, power and faithfulness. Our God is here. Our God hears. Our God is dependable. This means that we are truly not alone in our loneliness as we suffer. When we cry out, we are always communicating with someone, the biggest Someone who cares.
Practicing Lament in Your Life
Are you grieving today?
Cry out to God explicitly describing all elements of your hardship.
Cry out to God explaining all your emotions, doubts, and confusion...
…and then ask God for help.
Remember and declare who God is and has been both personally to you and broadly to all believers.
Sometimes this will look like humbly begging God to help you to remember first because in the stubbornness of our hearts, we won’t want to.
Closely related to this is practicing thanksgiving. It was at about this same time in processing my daily lament that God convicted me of my need to regularly practice thanksgiving. This is where The “Good and Perfect” List (posted on my Instagram on Monday’s) had its roots.
I have found it helpful to recite creeds (like the Nicene) or St. Patrick’s breastplate or listen to worship music that is descriptive of who God is and what He has done when I struggle to remember.
*Resources used for reference: www.blueletterbible.org (Including, Strong’s, Vine’s Expository Dictionary, Thayer’s Greek Lexicon).