I was visiting my Granny in Nebraska (Hi Granny!)for a couple of weeks that summer. She must have picked up some youth Christian fiction for me. One night I was reading the story of a teenage girl who made some really bad choices and after she accepted Christ everything became wonderful. At the end of the book there was an invitation. The author pretty much walked you through what to pray. So I did it. I didn't tell anyone. I didn't have anyone pray with me. Most of all, I didn't feel changed. Not really. The girl in the book felt an immediate presence. I thought maybe I did it wrong, so I did it again. That time may have felt a little more convincing so I just went with it and told myself I became a Christian.
My fledgling faith consisted of the "Are You There God. It's Me, Margaret" type prayers. (Hello, Judy Blume fans) I think I knew He was in Heaven somewhere but did He really care about me? The church I grew up in was very formal. We stood when they told us in the bulletin to stand. We recited what they told us to recite, when they told us to. We sang songs from a funny old book with numbers in it. None of it meant anything to me. It really wasn't even a comfort to me growing up. I was always off the words during the reciting time. I never understood what any of the fancy words were in the slllooooowwwww songs. And, honestly, I was bored. Really really bored. I never got the feeling that God really cared for ME except when I made mistakes. Surely, He must be noticing all my mistakes and taking note of them. I knew I believed in Him, but what did it all mean?
Those answers wouldn't come for many years.
During the days after my dad was diagnosed and had surgery, I didn't think about God much. We were operating in survival mode. It was all very fuzzy and bleak. The preacher would come and pray with us but they just seemed like grown up words. It didn't mean anything to me. It didn't bring any comfort to the hell that I was experiencing. No one could help with that.
Living in a house with CANCER, is like living in the darkest most desolute place. Cancer is a thief that comes to KILL STEAL AND DESTROY (sound like someone??) any hope or happiness that you once knew. These were the darkest days. Our family was now centered around chemotherapy, radiation, steriods, extreme sickness, hair loss, and embarrassment (shamefully mine).
The same church people that brought us meals and held our hands were the same ones that would stare and whisper about us on Sunday morning. Is this what being a Christian is all about? I dreaded going to church after the CANCER hit. It just reminded me that my daddy was sick. Really sick. Seeing the pity on people's faces as they glanced our way, made me hurt. I wanted to protect my sweet dad from those looks. I wanted to protect my weary mom from those words. But most of all, I wanted to stand up on the pew and give those church people a piece of my fourteen year old mind.
HE'S NOT DYING!! HE'S NOT!! BECAUSE NONE OF THIS IS REAL!! STOP LOOKING AT US. STOP WHISPERING ABOUT US. JUST STOP!!! STOP RIGHT NOW!!!!!!
Those were the darkest, loneliest days. I didn't know how any of us would survive this horror.
I can officially say...
I HATE CANCER.
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Part 1
8 comments:
I have no clue how it must've felt for you. And for your family. I'm so glad you are sharing this story. I know what a wonderful woman you are and I can't wait to hear all of the things (good, bad, ugly) that have shaped you into the girl I "know".
Love you!
My dear sweet friend, I love you.
I love you. Thats all I can say right now.
Oh, Janelle, what a terrible terrible thing to go through. I'm sorry.
Thank you for sharing your story. I hate cancer, too. However, to be honest--I sure haven't lived through it like you.
I LOVE YOU!!!
ahh...you are pulling at my heart strings my friend. i can't imagine.
i can sympathize with some of the feelings about the church you grew up in as it sounds very similar to the type of church i attended as a child.
thanks again for sharing the story. love you!
How one works through the pity thing, or more importantly, the "self-pity" thing is incredibly crucial with respect to surviving the onslaught. Why? Because dangerous "Self-Pity" often masquerades Someone else's pity.
I don't think I ever really understood how "the assailed" can project their own disguised "self-pity" upon those around them until I read 90 Minutes in Heaven...a book about a 90 "unimaginable, incredible" Minutes in Heaven? Yes, but thousands upon thousands more here on earth going through the recuperation's agonizing torture...in this case, growing, or rather stretching out a now shortened femur in a relatively short, painful order.
After all, IF I PITY my own circumstances, then does it not stand to reason that everyone else is pitying me or my circumstance too?
Perhaps, but not to the same degree or in the same way even.
How else does a friend get to the practical, or even needed, compassion unless they journey through what the "assailed" might be feeling or experiencing? Empathy.
I lost a good friend because, I believe, they mistook their own "cancerous" fears, anger and "self-pity" for my simple pastoral friendship.
That's okay. Now I am aware, better prepared.
Pity and Self-pity are very interesting concepts, and ones not often thought about. We all do it. The question is: how do we battle through our own and how do we wisely and deftly help others battle through theirs?
Good stuff, little sister. Good stuff...
You are precious- and so are your words, pain and truth- at the same time. Can I jump up and down with your 14 year old self and say I HATE ALS??? Thanks for writing these words. Maybe in a few years I'll be able to put into words what's going on in my heart right now. Connecting with you - more than you know. Love you!
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