"When I was at my lowest, my spirit was at its strongest because God was holding me upright."
On October 13, my chemo port was removed. This is a BIG deal, people, because an oncologist will only allow that irksome thing to come out of you if you are clear-clear-clear. For me, this meant being clean from cancer for three months. For any folks reading this blog post who may not know what a medical port is, it's of the devil, I SWEAR. It is a small, implantable device connected to a major vein and is typically placed in your chest. Cancer patients who frequent chemo and immunotherapy treatments receive ports to spare their veins—or, their chemo prescription is so narly that it can only be administered through a port. I checked off both of those criteria.
I hated that god-forsaken piece of medical trash. It made me feel inhuman. As if my bald head, washed-out complexion and hollow eyes didn't make me look like Ms. Frankenstein, the plastic placed in my chest to administer life-saving poison did.
Good riddance, I say.
Remember my first blog post? "When the Shock Wears Off?" Yeah, about that: When I penned that post, I thought the shock had worn off. I thought I was brought back to reality. I thought I had my head screwed on straight. But I was sorely mistaken, and I'm not embarrassed to admit that. Want to know when the shock really wore off? The night of my last treatment. That's when it hit me. I just sat on my bed and cried and asked myself, "What just happened to me?" And can I be honest? I'm still not sure I've shaken the shock off of me yet. I don't think it will ever completely go away.
Here's what I think I was actually feeling when I wrote that first blog post: God's peace.
When I say I would not have been healed if it was not for God, I mean that in every sense of the word. God and God alone gave me the bravery to go to the doctor about the lumps I found in my neck, go to the infusion treatment twice a month to receive chemo and immunotherapy and take every step possible to be healed. His peace placed blinders on my eyes, and I was zoned in on doing the right next thing to get better. Y'all think I could have faced all that anxiety, sadness, unknown and NEEDLES on my own? No way. The peace I felt as I navigated cancer was unexplainable, and that's Bible.
Several cancer thrivers (because they are more than survivors!!) told me that one of the hardest parts of having cancer is life after cancer. My mental response was, "You're kidding me, right? Life after whooping this life-eating disease is worse? No way." But I smiled and nodded and put the advice in my back pocket.
Now that I'm on the other side and officially a member of the Cancer Club Alumni (you don't get discount codes for paying your dues, by the way), I still can't say that I agree with the advice above completely, but those folks weren't wrong. It's hard re-entering the world, reconnecting with your friends and loved ones and re-figuring what your life now looks like. You're not the same person mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and certainly not physically. You want to run a million miles an hour, but your gears still don't shift that fast. You want to love on people you haven't seen in a while but still need loved on yourself. You want to pour into your work but still need to take mental breaks because of that dang ole brain fog. And what may be the hardest of all, you still want to walk in lockstep with God but as your strength increases, your reliance on Him decreases.
So why now, after experiencing God's tranquil spirit, do I not continue to fully rely on Him? Good question. I don't know. Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I'm running so fast that I don't stop to consider what I need. Maybe I'm forgetful. Maybe I think I can do it all on my own now that I'm well. How very human of me. Sound familiar?
I get what Brother Paul was saying in 2 Corinthians 12:6-10 now:
"Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say, or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
When I was at my lowest, my spirit was at its strongest because God was holding me upright. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
I have been off for a few months now. After begging God for normalcy for so long, I was eager to experience it. I was ready to just be Sadie again. But nothing felt normal once I sent cancer packing. The ache still lingered. I came to my wit's end and begged God to flip a switch, re-route the course, re-arrange the cosmos, ANYTHING to make life better. What He provided was something I didn't realize my soul missed: His peace. The thing that carried me through cancer. The thing I need to carry me through life. The thing I had stupidly forgotten. It felt like a missing limb had been sewn back on my body. I finally felt whole again.
People, places and things can never, EVER replace your peace. They will all fail you in some way or another. I know not everyone reading this blog is Christian, but I would encourage you, dear reader, to find peace in something everlasting and not of this world. Because this world sucks. Find the peace you need. You can't navigate life without it.
(God's peace is free-99 and ready for the taking, by the way. Highly recommend.)
(Oh, one more thing. My Pastor shared some great commentary on the subject of God's peace in this sermon. Give it a listen.)