Pride Goeth
Remember my article 'As Surely as the Italian Roast'? It was about taking God's promises seriously, basing our attitude on his Word rather than our experiences.
I could say that cancer taught me that lesson, but cancer doesn't teach anything. It's just the classroom (one where the enemy, not God, placed us) in which we can either choose to listen to God or the enemy. In my case, though, I think it was a university rather than one single classroom. Call it Melanoma U.
Sometimes the enemy imitates God and tries to take over the classroom. I think that's what happened with me. I fell into the enemy's trap of lies. Precept upon precept, I started building a stronghold in my mind. Strongholds keep you from seeing the truth. But when you see it, it's like that moment when you finally understand long division after spending weeks staring at the blackboard in a daze.
I'd like to take you with me to my class reunion, and share with you the lessons I learned at Melanoma U.
The Underclassman
When I got the call telling me that the mass under my arm was metastatic melanoma, I was sitting in the waiting room of my gynecologist's office, which was serendipitous, since he was the one who had warned me about a mole on my back over three years prior to this time. It had taken me a year and a half to finally make an appointment to have that mole removed and biopsied. Why? Pride.
I used to be a workaholic. Besides my short stint at teaching, I've never had a very important job, but I always took my work seriously. I worked long hours, and I hardly ever took breaks. I wanted to be seen as someone who was dedicated and went above and beyond in a sacrificial way.
So I kept putting off that visit to the doctor. I just didn't have time!
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that the sin of pride caused my cancer. But it certainly contributed to the late detection of it. So I guess you could say that pride caused me to register late for classes, and I had some catching up to do.
But I decided to dawdle in the hallway.
I left my husband a message, telling him the news I had just received. And then I went in for my appointment and drove back to work. Of course! They needed me there. On my way back, I received a call from my husband telling me he was on the way home. I chuckled and told him I wasn't going home. What was I going to do there? Curl up in a ball and cry? I'd rather work. He informed me that when I got home, he would be the one curled up in a ball crying.
Everyone processes things differently, so it wasn't necessarily a wrong decision to go back to work after earth-shattering news. But I can't help but wonder if my return to work was a form of denial. It was my way of trying to keep from facing an uncomfortable reality. I guess you could say it was my freshman year in Melanoma U. I was too busy living life to take my studies seriously.
But freshman year went by quickly, and I was thrown into a sophomore year where I was forced to pick a major. I've always loved the definition of sophomore: 'foolish wise one.' It's that time when you know just enough to think you know it all. And being the 'good student' I'd always been, I wanted extra credit. When I realized the severity of my situation' that the chances of surviving metastatic melanoma are NOT good' I entered a spiritual state that many would find commendable. It seemed like the perfect Christian response' to be strong while accepting my fate, and profess God's goodness all the way to my grave.
Doesn't that seem like an A+ way to tackle this project? I had always wondered what God's purpose for my life was. And now I had found it. I was to die a martyr for the cause of melanoma awareness. No one was going to understand the message ' no other lives would be saved' unless I died.
Can you see how that evil substitute professor messed with my head? What kind of lesson is that? But it made perfect sense to me, and I was taking on my mission in life with a passion. There was an urgency to get things done' set up an online melanoma awareness shop, volunteer to tell my story to whoever would listen, write to the local newspaper, visit schools, make sure everyone knew that their obsession with tanning could cause premature death. I was the poster child. This was God's plan for me. I would take on my mission with gusto.
The more I talked with other melanoma patients and caregivers, the more I read their stories online and faced the statistics (a stage IV patient's average survival time without recurrence is seven months. Most stage IV patients die within a year), the more convinced I was that THIS cancer wasn't like other cancers. Well-intentioned friends offered nutrition advice and divine healing suggestions' but they just didn't get it. THIS cancer was unstoppable. It was just a matter of time.
Of course the enemy's plan backfired. Sure, I was filling my head with 'death' rather than life in abundance, but it brought me closer to God. I sought Him out. I delved into his Word. I wanted to know Him NOW, not later, so that I could fulfill this 'mission from God' in the best way possible.
All the while, God was trying to let me in on a secret that had nothing to do with this A+ project.
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