Cancer & Community

I have cancer. I'm still trying to figure out the best way to tell people that. There probably isn't a good way. But there it is. As cancers go, I got a good one: Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma. It's very treatable. I should be fine in a few months without ever sniffing a chemo needle. Last week, I visited MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston where I met Dr. Perrier who talked about my upcoming surgery like it was the oncological equivalent of removing a splinter.

"We'll remove the thyroid and several lymph nodes," she said. "You'll be released the next day. You'll be right as rain in no time."

"Right as rain" is officially termed "cancer survivorship" by MD Anderson and it's at least six months away at this point. But it certainly sounds like a wonderful place. I'm hoping to get there as quickly as possible.

If you want to gauge the sincerity of your friendships, get a dread disease. There's something about hardship that brings out the better angels of our nature. Like a big kid plopped in the middle of a trampoline that brings other kids rolling in toward him, the heavy stuff of life draws friends closer. Christine and I have never felt more loved and supported by our church family than we do now.

Recently, Jen Hatmaker blogged about taking a meal to one of her hurting friends. In her own pithy way, she expressed a profound truth about caring relationships: "When you can't fix a thing, you can show up. And bring good food."

It really is just that simple. My friends know they can't fix this, so they've decided to show up. They are calling and texting. They are praying their knees off. We've gotten offers for meals from church friends, college friends, old bosses and PTO moms. We're getting offers to watch the kids, mow the lawn, and nab free Rapid Rewards flights. I'm pretty sure we almost crashed Facebook when I first posted a photo of my hospital wrist band. None of this is about me or Christine; it's about the good people we've been blessed to know. They haven't jumped off the trampoline; they're rolling in close.

I've always felt that a big part of the reason God called me to this job was my community. We were part of a small group before small groups were an "official" IBC ministry, and our small group has banded together through some pretty tough stuff. Now I wonder if God is allowing me to experience illness so I can better identify with other hurting members of our congregation. After all, I know IBCers who are enduring hardships much worse than mine: terminal illness, death, divorce, grief, betrayal, addiction, abuse. For those members of our body, nothing — no sermon, no song, no class, no program — will ease the burden like a friend.

Christine and I have started a list of "blessings of cancer" — things we would not have gotten to experience if not for this trial. The most important entry on that list is the care of our friends and family. Not only do I have an easy cancer burden, I have great friends to help me carry the load. I'm grateful for both.