Friends For The Journey

6.26.2008
2 Tim 2:12. If we suffer, we shall also reign with him (KJV)

...I drove 12 hours on Monday, and another 12 hours on Tuesday to be able to be with her today as she goes through her chemo treatment. And the highlight of my day so far was a simple smile.

Facing terminal illness, one gradually becomes aware of how many people are suffering all around us, every day. Every trip to the oncologist’s office brings us into contact with dozens of people, men and women of all ages and stations in life, who are fighting for their lives. Many of them look weak, emaciated. Others look beat down, discouraged. Some come alone, others come with professional care givers, and the lucky ones come with a husband, wife or child.

I am always tempted to look around at the other people, sharing our battle of life and death and wonder what their story is. We once met a strikingly attractive young couple in their mid-thirties—the wife was undergoing treatment for breast cancer. Another time, we met a delightfully outgoing couple from Jamaica who fly to Miami on a regular basis for her chemo treatments. They talked with us, encouraged us to have faith in God and volunteered to pray for us.

This morning, there was a couple in their 60s sitting to our right and an older woman probably in her late 70s or possibly early 80s sitting alone to our left. The woman on our right was accompanied by her husband, who looked to be a down-to-earth, blue-collar type guy… possibly a plumber or house builder. The wife looked a little anxious, perhaps fearful of facing cancer. Her husband sat there stoically with his arms crossed, and yet looking like he is hiding the fact that he has been run over by a truck.

I know the feeling. We didn’t plan for this. In all our dreams of our older years, the words “cancer,” or “terminal illness,” or “chemo” never figured into our thoughts. I know the helpless feeling of a husband, who wants to fix things, wants to make it right, but can’t. But this man does not realize that he is a hero, that at least he showed up. He is there at her side, silently sharing her suffering. There is probably no one to help him with his suffering.

I’m concerned about the other woman, on our left. She does not look well. Her head is partially covered, but the hair has fallen out in patches and is wispy thin. Her breathing is labored. Her skin is pasty, she does not look well, and she is alone. Suddenly, I’m glad that I pushed myself to drive from Ohio to Miami in two days so that I can sit next to Debbie.

The older woman to our left, who I will call Maria, starts to cough and move uncomfortably as if she is in distress. The nurse comes over to check on Maria and asks her what is wrong. At first she cannot clear her throat and speak. She can only shake her head. The nurse prompts her with a couple of more questions and asks if she is feeling dizzy again. Maria nods her head in the affirmative and then finally clears her throat, and does the most amazing thing – she smiles.

Perhaps I am romanticizing this smile this morning, because I so desperately need encouragement. I need to borrow from Maria some of her courage. Her smile transforms and lights up her face so that she no longer looks quite so ill. Her smile is kind and sweet. Her smile shows more concern to be polite to the nurse than concern for her own condition. She makes a choice to smile.

She must have felt my eyes on her, because she then turns to me and smiles again. She has no idea how much her smile helps me … helps me choose not to sink into a pit of self-pity and depression, not to give into to anger, and inspires in me the courage to keep moving forward. Oh God, forgive me for doubting your goodness, and for allowing my thoughts to dwell on myself and the negative circumstances of my life.

If we suffer with him, we shall surely reign with him. Sometimes reigning with him may be as simple as smiling in the face of death and sickness.