The Jonah talk

Since I'm behind, might as well go way back. June 6 I told Dada we were going to go on a date and that he should leave that blocked into his schedule so he wouldn't be tempted to stay late at work. He said, "yay, a date!"

I told him very little else and we drove to a local church. We received a program for the evening and there were a few faces he recognized as I was getting hugs.

It was a cancer survivors' dinner, our very first one, and we had a great time getting to know the other couples at our table, having our picture taken, and a delightful dinner. 

Some of my friends spilled the beans and revealed my secret: I was one of the guest speakers for the evening. Some of you may have seen a picture of me on Facebook with my mouth open, haha! Dada was pretty impressed that I'd kept it secret even from him. He likes surprises. I do not.

I'd thought and prayed a lot about what I wanted to say. I didn't want the message to be focused on me. I truly wanted every person there to hear whatever God wanted them to hear and not have it be about me. What follows is roughly what I told everyone that night:

Mike called me in March to tell me about this dinner and to ask if I would consider speaking in front of 150-200 people. My very first thought was, "yikes!" My next thought was, "wait a minute. You've gone through chemo, surgery, radiation, new meds, and you're afraid of a little public speaking?" My third thought was, "yes!" I asked him what people generally talked about as I've never been to one of these before. He answered, "survivorship." I asked how long I had to think about it and he said he'd need to know by the end of March. I thought it over for a week and called him back when I least expected him to be in the office so I could tell his voice mail that, yes, I'll give it a try.

Then I told nobody.

Eventually, as I mused about survivors, the story of Jonah came to mind. Most of you are familiar with the tale. Jonah receives an assignment from God but he has no intention of going to Nineveh. He boards a ship and heads as fast and as far as he can in the opposite direction. God seems to say, "okay, we're going to learn this one the hard way, are we?" He sends a storm. The sailors do everything in their power to save the situation but fail. Jonah ends up thrown overboard and, instead of drowning, is then swallowed by a big fish. For three days and nights he is inside the fish before being spat out, and then he wisely decides to fulfill his mission. He delivers his message, the city repents, and instead of being pleased, Jonah is angry and bitter and complains about the Lord being merciful.

I thought about how many parallels there are between Jonah's story and my cancer journey. When first diagnosed, it's a natural reaction to want to deny it or to not want to deal with it at all and pretend everything is fine. Generally, though, major health issues don't resolve themselves on their own, so men, yes, I'm talking especially to you, get yourselves checked out if you are having issues. Eventually you have to get the experts involved. In Jonah's case, they were the sailors. They knew their rigging, the weather, those waters. In our case, it's our medical team. They're up to date on the procedures, the meds, the techniques, everything they need to help heal us. However, like the sailors, they are only human beings and some things are out of their hands. Perhaps it is unfair to expect perfection, though they do very good work. 

Jonah ended up in the sea and then in the dark in the fish. Here's the storms of uncertainty, the unknown, the millions of questions swirling around. "Will I be able to handle chemo? What will the new normal look like? How will everything look after I go through this? Will I even make it through this? What if I don't?" It's terrible to be in the dark of the storm, but God in his mercy doesn't leave Jonah there and he also doesn't leave us there. 

We come out of the storm and continue our path. In our case, it's our rounds of treatment. We go to the doctors, we listen to our team, we take our meds, we have the surgery, we do the thing. 

Jonah delivered his message and pouted and sulked and was bitter about the results. I think a lot of people would be happy to give us as patients a pass from doing too much. "No, you need to rest." "You're still healing." "Take it easy, don't overdo it." I think we forget that helping others also makes us feel better. I hope that your journey doesn't bring bitterness and self pity about "why did this happen to me?" I may be preaching to the choir as you're here tonight to celebrate your survivorship, but I would encourage all of you to find someone or something to contribute to, that you're passionate about, and help others. 

Thanks for coming tonight!

...
I won't pretend I wasn't nervous, but I really was excited to see what God did. Even now, a month after the event, it still thrills me that He used me. I'm so glad I said yes to the opportunity. The audience was so warm and welcoming and it makes me tear up even now to remember the sweet little old ladies nodding encouragingly to me while I was onstage. The hugs afterwards from my radiation team and my doctor were especially savored. 

My Mommee mentioned that I'll have no idea who my talk might have helped, and to think that someone in that room who perhaps was there as someone's support system might down the road be diagnosed themselves and they might remember my message of hope when that never even dawned on me really hit home. I hope so much that people realize how much they matter and how much they are loved!