How do you count the distance up a zig-zag path when the steep bends precede the longer climbs? On Friday, all being well, I have my third dose of chemotherapy - half way through the course. So it's half way, kind of. It is officially an 18-week course of treatment and this is week 6, so maybe only really a third? Or do I drop off the last three weeks after the final dose and say it's effectively fifteen weeks? Who knows. Psychologically it's better to be half-way through so I'll go with that!
Half way up a hill is a good place to pause and look around a bit - back at what's already been achieved and forward (a bit, not too much!) at what lies ahead. A space to draw breath, maybe to admire the view or check the map.
Lots of things to think about - mostly good things, humbling things, inspiring things but also the gentle whisper of the 'What If Fairy' . Baptist ministers probably shouldn't speak of fairies, but there you go, it works for me because she (definitely female for some reason) doesn't fit any of the dualistic theological characteristics of supernatural beings. The What If Fairy is neither malevolent nor benevolent, not a demon/evil spirit nor an angel/good spirit, just a voice that asks questions that I must then choose how to deal with. What if my tumour continues to shrink? What if it doesn't? What if I only get five years? What if I live a 'normal' life span? What if this, what if that? What if I handle this well? What if I screw it up? The What if Fairy does not seek to snare me, but she makes me stop and think and - being a recipient of free will, albeit shaped by personality and context - it is up to me to choose how I respond.
One of the most humbling things about all this is the number of people who are praying for me - people in churches I've never been to, people in places I've only read about, people of other faiths and, if crossed fingers are a kind of prayer, people of none. I actually feel quite sorry for God, who must think 'oh no, not her again'. And of course prayers come in all shapes and sizes, and reflect what is authentic for the person praying them - miracle cures, strength to cope whatever the outcome, wisdom for medics and so on. I have a dear saint in my own church who tells me I will go through this like a ship in full sail, and tells me I am a great witness to others about faith. To be a witness of faith that is honest enough to express fear and uncertainty, that trusts in a God who shares the darkness as well as the light (check the psalms!), that believes God works with and through human endeavour and medical skills, that sees 'healing' as different from, but not excluding the possibility of, cure... to do that would be a great outcome, and an answer to my own, largely unspoken, prayers.
Some people tell me I'm brave. I remain to be convinced: I'm just me, dealing with stuff the only way I know how. If it is brave to admit your fears, to name your questions, to open yourself to others, to risk being misunderstood then OK. But I'd rather hope that is just about being the kind of person I want to be. Tenacious (or stubborn and determined), independent (but learning to be interdependent), positive (with large doses of realism), practical (organised!)... these are aspects of who I am. It is also far easier to be 'brave' when you heaps of support, as I am privileged to - from my friends, my colleagues, my church, my denomination and way beyond. Real bravery must be doing it on your own.
So, Friday will bring the third bend on my uphill climb. No styles this time (at least none I'm aware of) and a sense of familiarity with what the steep bit will entail. As it happens, this coincides with the Scottish Baptist Assembly, which means I can't attend. That's a disappointment as I am one of those weird people who loves Baptist Assemblies. But I will pray for them as they seek to listen for God's voice, knowing that, mysteriously, we are connected within the love of God.
This is long and rambling, but to end, an old hymn that came to mind this morning
Father, hear the prayer we offer:
not for ease that prayer shall be,
but for strength that we may ever
live our lives courageously.
Not for ever in green pastures
do we ask our way to be;
but the steep and rugged pathway
may we tread rejoicingly.
Not for ever by still waters
would we idly rest and stay;
but would smite the living fountains
from the rocks along our way.
Be our strength in hours of weakness,
in our wanderings be our guide;
through endeavour, failure, danger,
Father, be thou at our side.
Love Maria Willis (nee Whitcomb) (1824-1908), Samuel Longfellow (1819-1892)
And a cute picture that just arrived in one of those circular emails we all get...
