One year in the wilderness

I named this blog "Making a way in the wilderness" after my pastor sent me this verse and message last June:

Do not remember the former things,

or consider the things of old.

I am about to do a new thing;

now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert…

-Isaiah 43: 18-20

"As you step into the wilderness, the unknowns and new paths ahead, remember. And when you forget, again, remember. Remember that God is doing a new thing; making a way in this wilderness; making a way with you. You don’t walk this journey alone. Remember, you are never alone. The God of abundant life is here, in the dryness of the desert, in the promise of newness – here, with us."

Now, one year after my diagnosis, I can attest that I haven't walked this journey alone, that I have found (or forged) paths in the wilderness and rivers in the desert, albeit sometimes just a trickle of water:

calls, notes, emails, texts, cards, and visits from friends, family, neighbors, colleagues, and strangers

encouraging words

meals--so many delicious meals

flowers

gifts, some anonymous

shared walks

faithful prayers

a portable concentrator that allows me to exercise

an excellent oncologist and pulmonologist

meaningful work

targeted therapy for my genetic mutation (EGFR) that has only been available since 2018

the home health nurse who encouraged me for many weeks

trainers who are helping me regain strength

the ability to travel again.

I'm deeply grateful for all who are accompanying me on this journey that I didn't choose, especially Leland and Lily.

~~~~

Since my diagnosis, I've become a big fan of Kate Bowler (professor at Duke Divinity School, colon cancer patient/survivor, author, podcaster). She frequently posts blessings on her website and social media. This blessing from last week resonated with my previous post (before/after cancer). It was just what I needed to hear:

a blessing for the life you didn't choose

Blessed are you when the shock subsides, when vaguely, you see a line appear that divides before and after.

You didn’t draw it, and can barely even make it out. But as surely as minutes add up to hours and days, here you are, forced into a story you never would have written.

Blessed are you in the tender place of wonder and dread, Wondering how to be whole when dreams have disappeared and part of you with them, where mastery, control, determination, bootstrapping, and grit, are consigned to the realm of before (where most of the world lives), in the fever dream that promises infinite choices, unlimited progress, best life now.

Blessed are we in the after, loudly shouting: is there anybody here? We hear the echo, the shuffle of feet, the murmur of others asking the same question, together in the knowledge that we are far beyond what we know.

Show us a glimmer of possibility in this new constraint, that small truths will be given back to us. We are held. We are safe. We are loved. We are loved. We are loved.

And best of all: We are not alone.