Cancer Á La Christianity: How am I thinking about all this? by Jennifer Bell

For those of you who are following my cancer fun, you’ll probably note that my public story is curiously devoid of talk about God. That just seems wrong. I thought I’d offer, right here, right now, exclusively, my own take on my “battle” with breast cancer (diagnosed in late June) from a Christian perspective. I should do it early, before you all get entirely weary of hearing about it. (My husband, ironically, is a lung cancer researcher: so he’s already saying how it’s cancer cancer cancer—he wakes up to cancer, he works all day in cancer, he goes home to cancer. Pretty awful. Pray for the guy. I find myself asking often: how long can any one man do this?).

And why am I not talking about God?

Well, there’s history here, and I don’t want to repeat it. I made a conscious decision to write for a secular audience, to publish in secular presses, and to opt for just writing plainly about Truth rather than proselytizing or evangelizing. I do have some doubts about this stance, but I’m going with it. I think the big motivator behind my decision is that I’ve mostly disliked “Christian art,” which is varied, admittedly, but I’ve not wanted to be associated with it. I’ve also been put off by the way artistic standards are often compromised by Christians. I don’t think this is God’s call, but Christians seem to be at a loss on how to play out artistic talent. The art often seems contrived, not very provocative or rich. It’s soft or weak or fearful-of-stepping-on-toes. So, I just bowed out.

So, yeah, I’m working on a real memoir that I hope to really publish, and this piece will not be included in it. I do stress about that, about the absence of a statement of faith. And maybe this is all related to how I think about my cancer in terms of Christianity.

Well, first and foremost, I will say that I’m not going to sit around and whine about how unfair this all is. This is where, finally, my Gen X cynicism may morph into something good (ha, ha, mom!). Of course, this happened to me! What did anyone expect? Am I not a perfect candidate for cancer?

I guess the very first takeaway (that ridiculous language!) is this: predestination. I can see the hand of God here. I wish He were writing my history in some other way, but He’s not.

There were some amazing facts about my life prior to the diagnosis, and immediately following it:

·      In recent years, my marriage had sharply taken a turn for the better. There are things that still suck, but we’re in a better spot. We couldn’t handle this a few years ago, and—though I wish it weren’t like this—we can now. I’m sorry that we don’t get more time “frolicking.” We were just talking to our girls about couples who might watch/babysit them, and we wanted for them to be couples who seemed to talk to each other and laugh together. This isn’t the end-all, but it’s something. It really, really is. And we’re there: we talk and laugh together! (And, yeah, I’m wary when that’s not happening in a marriage.) I do think God graciously got us to this place in our marriage, and the process was not fun, and I am scared, because we only had a moment to breathe, and there are still problems, but God waited for cancer to happen till we were okay, and my kids can be in a home in which mom and dad love each other.

·      We’re in a good church. I think God graciously surrounded us with the right people. There’s a ton to say here too, but I do want to emphasize how important this has been to me, and how dramatic it’s been too. I grew up elsewhere, and it took a lot to make this change, and it’s only been positive. Again, I know this is the work of God.

·      We moved to a new house immediately before the diagnosis. We were also relatively settled prior to the diagnosis, and my mom is right next door. In all honesty, we made the move to help her out and, sadly, she’s doing the helping. But, well, there you go. Had I gotten the diagnosis even one or two weeks earlier, it would’ve been insanely stressful. In other God-given blessings, our old house sold immediately (thanks to a member of our church) and I had actually finished doing all of the minutia of moving—things like putting my knickknacks away, other tasks that would certainly have remained undone.

·      I spent the previous year writing a book, and I finished it. I’m sure this means way more to me than to anyone else—but it’s huge. I still do have things I really want to write, but God gave me that whole freakin’ year to just sit on my butt with a cup of coffee in a relatively stress-free marriage to write the novel I’ve been wanting to write! Have you ever heard of such a thing?

·      This, too, sounds maybe goofy to you. We had been planning to go to Disneyworld for almost a year with Tim’s family when I was diagnosed. Not one of them asked—though I know they all wanted to, as I would want to—Are we still going? In an amazing feat by doctors, I had surgery first in early July—removing the cancer. Then, we went to Disney at the end of July, with me still pretty weak. When we returned, I began chemo. Like, right away. The first week of August. At Disney, Tim pretty much schlepped me around 100% of the time. But I’ll tell you this: I see this as God’s doing.

The doctors all said I could wait on the surgery, and go to Disney first, having surgery later. They said, statistically, my cancer wouldn’t change—so I should just go on vacation! Forget the possibility of a metastasizing terminal illness! Go see Mickey first! In truth, this sounded like utter madness to me. I couldn’t wait; there was no way I could wait!

Others told me to cancel Disney when the diagnosis came in—how ridiculous to consider going now! Disney wasn’t going anywhere! Forget the fact that, for us, this was a massively big deal with tons of planning and coordinating and money! Well, I thought, maybe I wouldn’t go, but they all would. Complete cancellation would be horrible for so many people, especially my kids.

Then, there was another possibility—a very strong one: surgery without reconstruction (yes, I’m getting fake breasts, happening slowly now). The reconstruction process required more recovery time, and Disney would just hurt. I had about decided to postpone the reconstruction—no breasts!—just so my kids could go to Disney. This is where I was headed. Get the cancer out. Forget about the fake breasts. We’d still go to Disney.

Well, I have to tell you this: my doctors hustled, and Tim and I hustled. I really do need to give a lot of credit to the surgeons involved in this. We were on a tight schedule. I wanted the cancer out. And everyone agreed that it was best to start the reconstruction process (two surgeons work simultaneously) immediately for more success and less surgery, though my trip made things tough. They adjusted schedules, and got me in the door in  couple days, as opposed to weeks. I had surgery and reconstruction; then I went to Disney! It did hurt a lot, but it worked. I have a hard time imagining the horror of living with cancerous tumors while going to Disneyworld. I also know that the reconstruction process, albeit very weird, is something I’m glad we started.

·      Well, here’s God too: Tim has a good job, and we have good health insurance. You probably know how important that is. Even more than that, his job is especially sensitive to cancer—though this is tragic too.

·      I went back to teaching college after a not-super-great foray into junior and high school teaching. This, too, is huge for me in terms of job satisfaction, writer stuff, and schedule! (Also, with both jobs, I had the summer off.)

·      My kids got to see Tim’s family, as well as their Aunt Tracey and Aunt Debbie from my side of the family. And this means a ton to everyone. Besides my kids’ opportunity, it was important for all of us—to affirm connections, speak, laugh, cry.

·      When the cancer came, I found myself surrounded—no exaggeration—by loving people who swept in and boosted me up. I’m not going to lie to you. We’re talking about moms mostly, but not exclusively. I was—and am—still very hesitant to accept this help, but I am so deeply moved. We’ve been fed. My girls got play dates. This amazes me, and it only attests to the God in which they trust.

There are other things, too personal to mention. But when the diagnosis happened, these are some of the circumstances.

I also get morbidly weird on people, so I should preface this next part. I’m still not sure how to correctly think about it all. I do wonder if my own work, the life I was meant to live, is nearing its end. We are given this life. And maybe I’ve lived mine. Perhaps my life was meant—yes, I think this—to be lived in order to give others the lives they’re meant to live. Actually, I think this a lot. I think about Tim, and how he can do this. I didn’t make it so, but God did. And Tim can totally manage. I stuck around for that. I wrote a few books. My girls are here, in a good spot, strangely sweet (I say strange because I’m notably not sweet).

Maybe it’s my time?

My girls are the one part of this morbid picture I don’t have a handle on. I have a hard time figuring out how my early death will work for the good in their lives. I don’t want to leave them. I think of kids growing up without parents, and how it’s possible, but I don’t want that. I’d like to strike a deal with God, and I can’t. Just let me live till their adults. Then, take me.

And I worry about Tim.

Which leads me to other important questions: What if I’m not going to die? Why is this happening now?

Well, I have some thoughts on this—and I need to acknowledge that I could be entirely wrong. I don’t  know God’s ways. I really don’t know why it’s happening now. But I do have some thoughts.

First, I’m going with this: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

I have to stand here. I’m riddled with doubts. I can’t lie. But I have to stand on the sovereignty, goodness, and wisdom of God. This is part of a good plan.

Ouch?

I do know, really, truly, I’ve seen other seemingly horrible—actually, really horrible—things work out in amazing ways. I also know that I, personally, have not foreseen the good coming from these bad situations; I’ve been unable to see things clearly. I’ve been notoriously shortsighted and cynical. So who am I to say that there is no good to come from this?

Sanctification, then.

If I were to hazard a guess, an appropriate response, to this pretty horrible situation—that is, undoubtedly, jeopardizing my life (and aren’t all lives jeopardized, whether we acknowledge it or not?) and changing the shape of my marriage and scaring my kids and robbing me of my physique and forcing me to come to terms with my own stance on things—I might say that this is pushing the artist-identity thing within me, and my own identity in Christ is what is at stake in this miserable battle.

I just spent the weeks following surgery reading Rosaria Champagne Butterfield’s Openness Unhindered, which I decided not to review (there were things I really liked about it, and things that really bugged me). However, the major principle that hit me in reading this was her take on personal identity. She linked one’s self-preservation, one’s clinging to personal identity, with pride.

I am now forced to figure out what my own identity is. I have—and you may know this well: I don’t really need to spell it out—vehemently forged out an identity as an Artist, albeit second-rate, unorthodox, kinda conservative, but Artist nonetheless. And it’s meant a lot of crazy things in my life.

I feel like I might’ve written about this elsewhere, so cut me some slack if I have.

As my own writer identity (Writer is probably better than Artist) emerged within the Church (I grew up in it, and this is contextually important), I remember several key things happening. To mention only a few:

·      There were a lot of artistically talented types, really skilled, but not driven, not mad with their love of guitar or sculpture or prose. They could deal with their talent without following it, heeding some secret call they knew they heard. I envied them their mental health, to be honest. They were so healthy! They got jobs in other fields, called their talent hobbies, kept talking about needing more time to paint or whatever. But I also thought they weren’t the real deal. I judged them. I still do. When someone performs for me, or I see a show, or I read a book—every time: I’m looking for the authentic artistic moment. This is both awful and indicative of a sad truth. I don’t know what it means to submit myself, my identity to God, to be truly His and His alone. There’s that. The awful part. I hoard my own personal identity. At the same time, what’s wrong with our artistic community? Why such a lack of authenticity within the Church? Why are our artists so second-rate? Why are we compelled to relegate the Arts to a hobby, an extracurricular activity, something not as important as real work?

·      One of the most powerful memories I have from growing up is of a Christian woman who was a classical pianist (real deal: judgment call!) giving it up for God, so to speak. She was a raging talent. An artist! There was something magnificent about seeing her play, and I knew this at twelve. This is all from my perspective, so I can only claim limited knowledge—but this very real, blow-you-away, unquenchable, raw talent, was abandoned by her by the time I reached adulthood. Why? As idolatrous? The woman continued living on, but she did not thrive. She really didn’t. I’m sure there were extenuating circumstances. But I know I’m not alone in seeing this as a tragedy about art and artists. I also remember thinking that I wouldn’t let that happen to me.

·      I have numerous bright and articulate friends who think my “privileging” of the artistic identity is bunk. That it’s just another gift or personality type or talent. I love these people, and they’re among some of my closest friends. I think when I get all worked up on the topic, they kindly sigh and say, Let her talk. Nice, but I’m clinging to my special vision of the artist. The Artiste, if you will. But, hey, maybe this is the very thing that needs to go.

And so my own identity bloomed, burned. An identity in Christ? Yes, that too. As in the following: in addition to my other identity, my identity as Writer.

Even as I write this, I believe there is something unique and not to be forsaken about our individual make-ups, our identities. I want to be super careful here. I know I don’t want to fully submit my own sense of self; I am convicted of this—but I still believe there’s something important about our own identities. I’m very much troubled by this tension between fully submitting to God and carving out who we are as individuals.

In addition, I think it’s important to come to terms with things like self-confidence. It’s true that we live in a culture that talks a lot about self-esteem. We give kids As for effort, participation trophies galore. We work hard in building self-esteem. And I know that many Christians balk at this notion; in some ways, I do too. As a teacher, I don’t like how we let knowledge slip for the sake of self-esteem. At the same time, I’m not so willing to suggest that it isn’t important to build people up. Repentance for sin is good. Is having a sense of who you are sin? Is it thinking too highly of oneself? What is the place of self-confidence? (Artists must have some self-confidence, am I right?)

Okay, was that a big tangent?

My guess is that—and I’m totally thinking aloud, pretty candidly, all about self-exposure, why not?—my own sanctification process involves resolving this tension between personal identity and submitting to God.

(Maybe oddly, I wrestle less with my loss of physique, though I hate that—and I feel super insecure about it with my husband and I’m paranoid about hair loss. Somehow or other, I’m—at heart—okay. My husband probably won’t buy this. But, believe me, too: I’m rushing after those fake breasts—so maybe I’m being dishonest here.)

And so here I am. Cancering it. Forced, at last, to find out who I am in relation to Christ. I see myself as a sinner in need of a Redeemer. But is my “sense of self” counted as sin? Is this where my treasure is?

Here are some verses I’m pondering:

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

“²³ Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. ²⁴ For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. ²⁵ What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? ²⁶ Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels” (Luke 9:23-26).

¹⁵ The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.^[a] And by him we cry, “Abba, Father” (Romans 8:15).

“As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, ² in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. ³ All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh^[a] and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. ⁴ But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, ⁵ made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. ⁶ And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, ⁷ in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. ⁸ For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— ⁹ not by works, so that no one can boast. ¹⁰ For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2: 1-10).

^“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; ²³ to be made new in the attitude of your minds; ²⁴ and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4: 22-24).

There are a ton more. So my second takeaway is this: Who am I, really?