Having
cancer (doesn’t matter what kind or what stage) is like being on a
rollercoaster. One day you’re up; the
next you’re down. . .sometimes way, way down.
Bottoming out can happen when physical symptoms like pain, fatigue,
nausea, etc. are challenging, but it can happen just as easily when thoughts
take the mind to sad places. The
combination of physical and mental symptoms makes for a wild ride that can
often end up in one particular sad place:
Overwhelming Disappointment.
You
don’t have to have cancer, or really any kind of physical limitation or
disease, to feel disappointed in or betrayed by your body. Current culture is so focused on physical
perfection, attractiveness, even sexiness, that it causes self-esteem and
confidence issues. One off-shoot of this
focus is what we might call “Weight-Loss Evangelism,” or the religion of the
body. Not too long ago, I came across
the very end of a television show dedicated to the extreme weight loss of its
two participants. I was impressed by
their level of dedication and effort.
They had certainly improved their physical health and, with new clothes,
hairstyles, and makeup, looked better than ever. They were met onstage by their coach, a trim
young man in Friday casual gear, who embraced them. All three were in tears. Uplifting music
swelled in the background as the three faced an ocean of rapt faces in the
audience. One of the participants received the microphone and declared to the
coach, “You have saved me! In every way
that a person can be saved, you have saved me!”
Really? Saved in every way? I guess, according to our body-obsessed
culture, this might seem to be true. But
it hints at a deeply disturbing lack of perspective. Still, I have to admit the “body-obsession”
has caused me problems, as well.
I
was getting dressed for the day last week, lamenting quietly about how much of
my flexibility I have lost. This stray
thought led me downhill fast. I began
comparing my physical state before the cancer to my physical state now. Here’s a synopsis: Before:
flexible, strong, slim, proportional, nice hair, few aches and pains,
attractive. Now: stiff, weakened, heavier, disproportional (in
my mind I used the word “contorted”), weird hair, chronic aches and pains, ugly. I contemplated how I had been able to run for
miles each day before the cancer but now can’t run at all. I thought about the compliments I had received
on my physical attractiveness before the cancer. Now children in stores point at me, one even
loudly comparing me to Cailleu, the bald cartoon character. My thoughts grew dark as I focused on the
“ruin” my body had become.
A
sudden idea entered my mind. What would
God say to me in this situation? Just as
suddenly, the answer came: “This cancer
is what your body is for. I did not give you your body with the
expectation that it would be or stay perfect; I gave it to you so that you
might have mortal experiences that would strengthen your spirit.” All of the darkness
dropped away in the face of this enlightenment – I had been viewing my body
with a mortal perspective, not an eternal perspective. It gave me a new understanding of the cancer
and of my Heavenly Father’s love for me.
As it turns out, it was a good thing I was so physically strong when the
cancer attacked. If I had not been, I
would not have survived. And living
through, living with, the cancer is something God felt was important for me to
do. Why? To torture me? To punish me for my imperfections and errors?
Certainly not! Rather, to provide me with
a deeply personal, intense experience designed to elevate and perfect my
spirit. Designed to help me better
understand and emulate Christ. The end goal: to help me find my way back to
him!
Last
weekend, I was able to view the General Conference of the Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter Day Saints, of which I am a member. This conference consists of a series of talks
on gospel topics interspersed with prayer and sacred music. The final comments of one of the sessions of conference
were given by the President of the church, Thomas S. Monson. His words brought comfort to me and the Holy
Ghost witnessed to me that what he said was true. He spoke about the many pathways Jesus had
walked during his mortal sojourn, comparing them to the Savior’s spiritual
journeys. He then made it relevant to
all of us by reminding us that Jesus said, “Come follow me.” This invitation is an injunction to NOT
expect a life free from suffering. Pres.
Monson continued, “Each of us will walk the path of disappointment . . .
temptation. . .pain. . .we as servants can expect no more than the
Master.”
The
Master’s path was infinitely more difficult than our own, but even before
Jesus’ mortal ministry began, we are told in the Bible that he was “a man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Clearly, He suffered loss, hardship,
sorrow, and pain in the course of His early life. Yet He was, even then, the “light of the
world,” the “Word made flesh,” God’s only begotten Son. Why would we ever assume that a life free of
troubles is what we are meant for?
Christ Himself asks us to join Him on an uphill journey. Along the way, we will have all manner of
troubles, but these will strengthen our spiritual selves. When the way is too rough to bear alone,
Christ is with us to help us overcome. What
we CAN expect is that this pathway, fraught as it is with difficulty, will save
us in every way – will take us home.
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