June 7, 2010 - Is Google Making Us Ignore God?

Came across a thought-provoking article today by Ernesto Tinajero on Sojourners Magazine’s “God’s Politics” blog. It's called "Is Google Making Us Ignore God?"

Here’s an excerpt:

“God calls on us to meditate on God and God’s word. However, does the fast intake of information from TV, film, and especially the Internet make us less likely to experience God? According to new research, electronic gadgets actually change how we think and focus. Nicholas Carr famously asked ‘Is Google Making Us Stupid?’ Will it also make us ignore God?...

The theological perspective is that this busyness of the business of modern life draws us into the world of Martha and away from sitting at the feet of Jesus. We are being called to distraction, and the quiet, still voice of God goes unnoticed – unnoticed in the flood of ever new links to follow, unnoticed in the hectic pace of modern life, unnoticed in the flood of events, information, and distractions. Through it all, God continues to call us to sweet voice of prayer. Yes, the call I am heeding –returning to simplicity and healthier life – may seem too simple to make a difference. Yet, does it make it any less true?”

I wonder what the implications of this 24/7 deluge of distractions are for our immune system, and for the cancers like lymphoma that sometimes beset it?

Judaeo-Christian religion has a time-honored solution: it’s known as sabbath. Periodically creating for ourselves islands of spiritual peace – places and times for encountering the divine – ought to be central to any long-term program of recovery.

June 6, 2010 - Our Most Elusive Possession

Great column a couple days ago, from New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof. Instead of gallivanting around Africa or someplace crusading against injustice, as he often is, his June 4th column is very personal.

That’s because he’s had a cancer scare: diagnosis of a kidney tumor 90% likely to be malignant, then surgery – and then, against the odds, a biopsy revealing he’s in the lucky 10%. The tumor was benign.

Still – and understandably – Nicholas had a scare, that led him (as cancer has led so many of us) to examine his life a little more closely. Here’s the result:

“This is trite but also so, so true: A brush with mortality turns out to be the best way to appreciate how blue the sky is, how sensuous grass feels underfoot, how melodious kids' voices are. Even teenagers' voices. A friend and colleague, David E. Sanger, who conquered cancer a decade ago, says, "No matter how bad a day you're having, you say to yourself: `I've had worse....’

I don't mean to wax lyrical about the joys of tumors. But maybe the most elusive possession is contentment with what we have. There's no better way to attain that than a glimpse of our mortality.”

Preach it, brother!

A few verses from the First Letter to Timothy come to mind:

"Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment; for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these."

- 1 Timothy 6:6-8

April 3, 2010 - When All You Have Left Is Yourself

Today I’m reading an unusual article in Cure magazine online, "Keeping the Faith," by Kathy Latour. What’s unusual about it is that it deals with the topic of cancer and spirituality with attention to spiritual community.

I find that refreshing, because there’s lots of talk about a sort of generic spirituality when it comes to cancer survivorship. “If it makes you feel good, do it” is the all-purpose mantra. The problem with this sort of approach is that it ends up being a do-it-yourself activity, like trimming your nose-hairs or working out with a Thighmaster.

I think this individualism comes out of good old American separation-of-church-and-state thinking – something I’m in favor of when it comes to politics, but which is woefully inadequate in all but the most superficial discussions of religious faith. Take that line of thinking to its extreme, and you’ll end up like poor old President Eisenhower – who supposedly let himself be quoted saying: “Our government has no sense unless it is founded in a deeply felt religious faith, and I don’t care what it is.”

Some presidential scholars insist that’s an apocryphal remark, and it may well be – but, it catches the spirit of the age. (Eisenhower was a Presbyterian, by the way – though, if he really said that, I suppose he missed Sunday School the day they were teaching Calvin’s high conception of the church.)

In cancer support groups, “guided meditations” abound – those stress-relieving exercises that begin: “Close your eyes, pay attention to your breathing, and imagine yourself walking across a grassy field...”

Now, I can understand the appeal of that approach, to those who arrange chairs in a circle for their cancer-and-spirituality workshops. You can be Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew or South Sea Islands cargo cultist, and still get something out of a guided meditation exercise. Whether the glowing figure walking towards you across that grassy field is Jesus or the Bodhisattva Maitreya makes little difference, because it’s happening in your own, private mental world. No muss, no fuss, no cross-denominational misunderstandings. Everybody leaves happy.

Outside of houses of worship, spiritual support groups are often led by people without any strong (or strongly evident) religious affiliation – the “I’m spiritual but not religious” sort of person. You’d think hospitals and agencies would seek out seasoned religious professionals – nuns who work as spiritual directors, say, or Muslim teachers of Sufi prayer – as long as they’re committed to interfaith dialogue. But, no. Charitable-organization program directors aren’t known for sticking their necks out, so they smile beneficently on psychiatric social workers with no theological background who say, “I can do that,” or on generic “interfaith ministers” holding degrees from unaccredited seminaries (or, God forbid, even internet “ordinations”).

That’s why the article I’ve been reading is so refreshing. The author, Kathy Latour, interviews Harold G. Koenig, M.D., of the Center for Spirituality, Theology and Health at Duke University – a prostate-cancer survivor himself – as he describes a discussion group he co-facilitated called “Engaging the Spirit.” It was a place “where cancer patients and survivors explored spiritual and faith questions as they traveled the cancer journey.” Knowing his group was composed of people from a variety of faith traditions, Harold began each discussion with a simple question: “How’s your spirit?”

OK, that’s a workable generic opening question, but Harold’s point is that the discussion need not remain in that level: “I learned from those who took part that no matter how someone defines his or her faith, in a group of cancer survivors there exists a common quest to understand existential questions about life and death.” When that quest is pursued through religious community, there comes an awareness that “God has a purpose for them and is in control and they don’t have to be. This is where mental health comes from.” Such a strongly-held conviction, the article continues, “frees them and reminds them that their illness can result in ‘something good.’”

From his own experience as a survivor, Harold upholds the value of “a belief system that frames your diagnosis in the context of your life and what you believe happens after life. If you have no framework to place that in, all you have left is yourself and it isn't enough. You can't carry the full load – you weren't meant to.”

A great many recent research studies of spirituality and health, Harold maintains, conclude that people who follow a particular faith tradition “need and use fewer health care services because they are healthier, more likely to have intact families to care for them, and have greater social support.”

The Rev. Isabel Docampo, associate professor of supervised ministry at Perkins School of Theology, “says her fear and depression after facing surgery for life-threatening cancer of the salivary gland came not from a crisis of faith, but from the pain and sadness that she felt from the idea she might leave her 21-year-old son, Ben, and her husband of 18 months, Scott Somers, also an ordained minister.”

“The way I have always looked at life is that it is what it is,” Isabel reflects. “Life is a struggle and God has been there for all the blessings and all the bad stuff, and God is going to be here for the cancer.”

Amen to that.

I wouldn’t want to face cancer knowing that “all I have left is myself” – nor some individualized spirituality I’d made up out of whole cloth, either. One of the great strengths of submitting oneself to the discipline of a particular religious tradition is knowing it’s not all about me, nor will it ever be so.

Now, on to my Easter sermon...

December 1, 2009 - The Glad Game

Many people have heard the name “Pollyanna.” Her full name is Pollyanna Whittier, and she’s the title character in a classic series of children’s novels. The first one was published in 1913 by Eleanor H. Porter.

In the grim little New England town where the orphan Pollyanna goes to live with her aunt, she teaches others to play a little game her late father taught her. She calls it “The Glad Game.” It has one simple rule: find something to be happy about in every situation, no matter how dark or desperate.

The game’s origins go back to one particular Christmas. Digging deep in the charity barrel, hoping to find a doll for her present, Pollyanna finds only a pair of crutches. A poor kid without a toy at Christmas? What could be more pathetic than that? Pollyanna’s father teaches her, then, how The Glad Game works: be happy you found the crutches, he tells her, because “we don’t need ‘em!”



The Wikipedia article on Pollyanna gives a few examples of how adept the little waif becomes at playing The Glad Game:

“When Aunt Polly puts her in a stuffy attic room without carpets or pictures, she exults at the beautiful view from the high window; when she tries to ‘punish’ her niece for being late to dinner by sentencing her to a meal of bread and milk in the kitchen with the servant, Nancy, Pollyanna thanks her rapturously because she likes bread and milk, and she likes Nancy.”

Pollyanna becomes an evangelist for The Glad Game, bringing a treacly sweetness to her little town, until further misfortune in her own life forces her to practice what she preaches:

“Eventually, however, even Pollyanna’s robust optimism is put to the test when she is struck down by a motorcar while crossing a street and loses the use of her legs. At first she doesn’t realize the seriousness of her situation, but her spirits plummet when she accidentally overhears an eminent specialist say that she’ll never walk again. After that, she lies in bed, unable to find anything to be glad about. Then the townspeople begin calling at Aunt Polly’s house, eager to let Pollyanna know how much her encouragement has improved their lives; and Pollyanna decides she can still be glad that she has legs. The novel ends with Aunt Polly marrying her former lover Dr. Chilton and Pollyanna being sent to a hospital where she learns to walk again and is able to appreciate the use of her legs far more as a result of being temporarily disabled.”

We cancer survivors hear a lot about the importance of maintaining a positive attitude. In many ways, that advice is but a warmed-over version of Pollyanna’s Glad Game. The problem is, no real person can be as relentless in playing the game as the fictional Pollyanna. Feelings of sadness and dejection sometimes present themselves, and that’s OK. They come with the territory.

If we take the “think positive” advice too seriously, we can end up denying the existence of those negative thoughts – which are only natural, after all. Sure, maintaining a positive attitude is important, but that doesn’t mean we can never give ourselves permission to feel anger, or sadness, or frustration or any of the other negative emotions that come from this kind of protracted struggle.

There’s a lot of emphasis, in some cancer-treatment circles, on mental exercises like meditation and visualization as practical ways of calming the spirit. These practices are of proven usefulness and have their place, but it’s possible to take them too far. Some of the more enthusiastic promoters of these techniques claim they stimulate the immune system, actually unleashing the body’s healing energies – as though they were a treatment modality in themselves. It’s easy to see where such exaggerated claims can lead: to the belief that, unless we devote enough time each day to pulling ourselves up by our own endorphins, we’re giving up altogether.

Dr. Jimmie C. Holland, a psychologist at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, touches on this in her book, The Human Side of Cancer. She tells of a patient of hers named Jane, who had been successfully treated for breast cancer, but who felt troubled by the fact that she sometimes worried about a relapse. Could her worries in fact be a self-fulfilling prophecy, Jane wondered? This caused her to worry even more. The doctor comments:

“Jane was echoing a refrain I often hear from people with cancer: the notion that feeling sad, scared, upset, or angry is unacceptable and that emotions can somehow make your tumor grow. And the sense that if the person is not in control on the emotional plane all the time, the battle against the disease will be lost. Of course, patients like Jane didn’t come up with this notion on their own. It's everywhere in our culture: in popular books and tabloids on every newsstand, on talk shows, in TV movies.

For most patients, cancer is the most difficult and frightening experience they have ever encountered. All this hype claiming that if you don’t have a positive attitude and that if you get depressed you are making your tumor grow faster invalidates people’s natural and understandable reactions to a threat to their lives. That’s what I mean by the tyranny of positive thinking.”

Sometimes we just don’t feel like playing The Glad Game. Sometimes, we shouldn’t have to.

August 22, 2009 - Laughter Yoga

This little video is endearing – and not just because it features the always-amusing John Cleese as narrator. I’ve heard of India’s “laughter yoga,” but have never actually seen it before, in action.

I figure this stuff has got to be therapeutic – but, if nothing else, it looks like great fun:



I’m especially intrigued by the observation that it doesn’t seem to matter whether the laughter is forced or natural: the therapeutic benefit is the same.

Of course, as the doctor points out in the video, even if participants are forcing their laughter at first, after a few moments of looking at all those goofy faces, only a rock could keep from laughing in response.

Maybe laughter really is the best medicine.

August 19, 2009 - Resilience

A New York Times article speaks of a new sort of training the U.S. Army is implementing for more than a million of its soldiers: training meant to encourage emotional resilience.

The goal is to reduce the incidences of post-traumatic stress disorder in soldiers returning home from combat. The Army’s going ahead with the training program, even though some have expressed doubt that the service’s macho, just-suck-it-up culture is compatible with such a touchy-feely approach.

Behind the training is Dr. Martin Seligman of the University of Pennsylvania, a proponent of “positive psychology” – an approach that focuses more on wellness and prevention than on treating pathology.

“Psychology,” he explains, “has given us this whole language of pathology, so that a soldier in tears after seeing someone killed thinks, ‘Something's wrong with me; I have post-traumatic stress.’ The idea here is to give people a new vocabulary, to speak in terms of resilience. Most people who experience trauma don’t end up with P.T.S.D.; many experience post-traumatic growth.”

I find that remark of Dr. Seligman’s interesting with respect to cancer survivorship. For many people, the effect of cancer treatment seems similar to that of a soldier in combat. The key is to slow the logical progression from thinking of one’s life as normal to seeing it as utterly devastated. In reality, there’s a whole spectrum of possibilities between those two extremes. Cancer need not be a life-shattering experience, no more than a tour of duty in a war zone needs to be. Both experiences are difficult, even life-changing. Yet, both are survivable, psychologically speaking.

Many of us cancer patients, at the time of diagnosis, operate from a stereotypical, worst-case understanding of the disease. Our minds leap to the assumption that it’s a death sentence. We imagine the next words out of the doctor’s mouth, after “You have cancer,” will be “I advise you to get your affairs in order.” It’s not that way, of course, and is becoming less and less so as time goes by, as new treatment protocols emerge from the laboratories.

Cancer survivorship is no picnic. But, it’s not death row either.

Elizabeth Edwards’ latest book is titled, Resilience: Reflections on the Burdens and Gifts of Facing Life's Adversities. I haven’t read it yet, although I did read her autobiography, Saving Graces: Finding Solace and Strength from Friends and Strangers. I find it interesting that Elizabeth has latched onto this word “resilience,” in light of all the trials she’s been through: losing a son, getting cancer, responding to her husband’s marital infidelity in the glare of national publicity.

I found an excerpt from the book online, in which Elizabeth tells of meeting a fellow cancer survivor named Mark Gorman. He carries around with him a slip of paper from a fortune cookie that says, “You cannot change the wind, but you can adjust the sails.”

So true.

Resilience. It’s a good word.

July 20, 2009 - Where Not to Get Sick

If you haven’t yet read Atul Gawande’s article in the June 1, 2009 New Yorker about the high cost of health care in McAllen, Texas, you should. It’s a must-read for anyone who’s following the health care funding debate.

Why McAllen? Why should that dusty burg at the southern tip of Texas have the highest per capita health care costs in America? Gawande’s article is a detective story, chronicling his efforts to answer that question.

The answer he comes up with is that McAllen’s doctors are responsible for many of these elevated costs. They order up a whole lot of costly, high-tech medical tests, more than most other doctors around the country:

“The most expensive piece of medical equipment, as the saying goes, is a doctor’s pen. And, as a rule, hospital executives don’t own the pen caps. Doctors do.”

Remarkably, the highly-tested patients of McAllen are no healthier than patients elsewhere. Compared to some cities with lower medical costs, they actually do worse.

It’s not that McAllen’s doctors are less competent than doctors elsewhere, or that they’re morally challenged. Gawande’s explanation is that the entire medical system in McAllen is engineered – to a degree not typical of many other communities – to encourage doctors to order marginally-necessary, or even unnecessary, tests, and to prescribe costly treatments that may be no more effective than cheaper alternatives.

There are lots of reasons for this. According to Gawande, it’s a complex constellation of factors, including:

- a high rate of for-profit, physician-owned medical facilities;
- an entrepreneurial culture that sees doctors as businessmen and -women, rather than healers;
- a well-founded fear of lawsuits that leads to defensive medicine;
- comparatively less coordination of care than in other places, leading to duplication of services.

“Providing health care is like building a house. The task requires experts, expensive equipment and materials, and a huge amount of coordination. Imagine that, instead of paying a contractor to pull a team together and keep them on track, you paid an electrician for every outlet he recommends, a plumber for every faucet, and a carpenter for every cabinet. Would you be surprised if you got a house with a thousand outlets, faucets, and cabinets, at three times the cost you expected, and the whole thing fell apart a couple of years later? Getting the country’s best electrician on the job (he trained at Harvard, somebody tells you) isn’t going to solve this problem. Nor will changing the person who writes him the check.”

It’s the system’s fault, says Gawande. This is a classic example of a systemic problem.

Gawande compares McAllen to another town that’s in the lowest 15 percent of health care costs, nationwide: Rochester, Minnesota, home of the world-famous Mayo Clinic. The most significant difference is that a high percentage of doctors in Rochester are employees of the clinic, rather than entrepreneurial owners of their own little medical businesses. Success in that setting is measured in healthy patients, not the number of patients served. The medical system in Rochester is engineered to maximize health outcomes rather than profits.

They say this article has become required reading in the White House, by staffers tasked with proposing to Congress a workable fix for the health-care funding crisis.

No wonder.

The American solution to medical cost-containment, until now, has been to rely on the insurance companies to ride herd on all this Wild West confusion. The only problem is, the insurance companies are no more concerned with positive health outcomes than physicians are. The insurance companies work for their stockholders, not for the patients.

We need to develop a health-care system that does work for the patients. Other countries (Britain, Canada, France) seem to know how do this better than we. This is a rare opportunity for our national leaders to think outside the box and develop a funding system that truly serves the greatest number of people.

Just don’t blow it, politicians. Take the lobbyists’ hands out of your pockets and pay attention to your constituents. We’re hurtin’ out here – especially in places like McAllen, Texas.

July 6, 2009 - A Week in Rivendell

Claire and I are spending the week at the Presbyterian House in Chautauqua, New York. Part of the venerable Chautauqua Institution, the Presbyterian House is an old-fashioned guesthouse that accommodates about 65 people. It’s adjacent to the 5,000-seat open-air Auditorium that’s the site of the principal concert, lecture and worship events that take place here.

I’m serving as Chaplain at the Presbyterian House. My duties are pretty light: I preached a sermon on Sunday, offer grace at meals and will conduct a program of my choice on Thursday evening (I’ll lead a discussion on John Calvin, since his 500th birthday is the next day). For this, Claire and I get free room and board for a week, as well as a “gate pass” that gets us into most of the concerts and events that take place here. A generous offer on the part of the Presbyterian House board, for which we’re very grateful.

Chautauqua’s quite an experience: a throwback, in many ways, to the early years of the 20th Century. It’s a picturesque lakeside village filled with Victorian-gingerbread houses. Cars are pretty much banned 7 days a week; the whole place is surrounded by a fence, and – except for Sundays – you have to have a gate pass (admission ticket) to get in. Some people own homes here, and others either rent places or stay in the many hotels and guest houses. Lots of people we’ve met have been coming here for decades.

Sitting in the Auditorium on Sunday, listening to Samuel Wells, chaplain of Duke University (the preacher for the week) give an excellent sermon, I was struck by how insular Chautauqua is. Introducing Sam was Joan Brown Campbell, former director of the National Council of Churches, who’s now head of the Department of Religion here.

Chautauqua is a bastion of old-time, liberal mainline Protestantism. While most historians agree the Protestant Ascendancy in America reached its high-water mark decades ago, in the Eisenhower era, you’d never know it here in this place. Looking out at the nearly-full auditorium, listening to the spirited singing of classic hymns accompanied by a massive pipe organ, I was struck by how much the place feels like a protected island in the storm.

Out there, mainline Protestant churches are struggling against fearsome cultural tides that threaten to sweep us away. Many local churches are enmeshed in “worship wars” that pit fans of guitar-accompanied praise songs against those who love organ-accompanied hymns. We’re beset by interminable, destructive debates over sexual ethics. My own baby boomer generation seems to be the first generation of Christians ever that doesn’t understand what committed, regular financial stewardship is all about, so many churches are cutting budgets and downsizing (and were doing so even before the present recession began). Out there, these are tough days to try to pastor a mainline Protestant church.

In here, though – inside the Chautauqua bubble – it’s as though none of this were happening. Life goes on here, as it has for generations. The faces of the preachers, lecturers and musicians change, of course, but the overall program is much as it’s always been.

Bill, a friend of mine, describes it as "Disneyland for intellectuals."

A literary metaphor occurred to me, as I was sitting there that first day, that to me describes the role Chautauqua plays in the mainline church. This place is Rivendell.

In J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Rivendell is the sheltered community of elves, whose powerful magic keeps creeping evil at bay. Much of Middle Earth is quaking in fear at the advancing armies of Saruman, and his more-powerful ally, the Dark Lord of Mordor, but in Rivendell, all is peaceful. When Frodo Baggins and his band of travelers reach Rivendell after facing all manner of perils, they know they are safe for as long as they tarry within the elves’ circle of protection.

Eventually, even the elves themselves will depart their “last homely house,” and somberly sail off in their elegantly-crafted sailboats to eternal life in the Grey Havens – which seems to function, in the Tolkien novels, as something like heaven. But, for the present, Rivendell is a haven in the storm, a place of rest, refreshment, and re-equipping for the battle.

I can use this sort of R&R in a personal sense, of course. I haven’t been thinking about cancer much, while I’m here – although a few Presbyterian House residents, knowing of my history with lymphoma, have come up to me to share their own struggles with the disease. I’ve been thinking a good deal more about how wonderful life in the mainline Protestant church would be if all our congregations were filled with members and ministers like the good folks here. There’s a real spirit of caring and openness and generosity that permeates the place. Would that we could recreate it in our own communities back home!

Looking out over the auditorium congregation, I was also struck by how much gray and white hair there is. This place is teeming with AARP members. Many of the younger folks we’ve met – twenty- and thirty-somethings with kids in tow – are here with their parents and grandparents. It’s a popular spot for family reunions. Would the younger ones choose to come on their own?

All of which raises the question.... Whither mainline Protestantism? Will this congenial crowd return to their home churches, refreshed and renewed, equipped to bear witness to the gospel in edgy, new ways? Or, will they hang around spiritual oases like this a while longer, before packing it in and sailing off to the Grey Havens one day?

I’ve got a feeling the renewal of the mainline church won’t be sparked in places like Chautauqua. As wonderful as this place feels, it’s more about the past than the future.

But even so, it feels good to rest here a little while. Even the Fellowship of the Ring had to take a breather in Rivendell.

June 11, 2009 - At CREDO

I realize it’s been quite a while since my last post. Life has been more than busy – bordering on overwhelming, at times. Each year, I always underestimate how hectic the month of June is, in parish ministry. June is the month when most church programs make ready to go into hibernation for the summer (yes, even here in a beachfront resort community). There are lots of end-of-the-year special events to occupy a pastor’s time.

Not only that, I’ve been away from home since Monday, at a continuing-education event called CREDO (an acronym for Clergy Reflection Education Discernment Opportunity, which also happens to spell out the Latin word for “I believe” – or, as some have more poetically pondered, “I give my heart to”). The invitation-only program is put on (and heavily subsidized, financially) by the Board of Pensions of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), although they borrowed its design from the Episcopalians, who pioneered this concept of ministry support. We’re meeting at Beaver Hollow, a well-appointed executive conference center in a rustic, woodsy setting near Buffalo, New York.

It’s an unusually long continuing education conference: eight days. It’s kind of a mid-career tune-up for ministers who have been at this work for a long time and who’ve perhaps have not had an opportunity for a while to get away from the daily grind and reflect on the experiences that led us into this line of work in the first place.

It’s a wonderful group of people: gifted men and women from all over the country who are, for the most part, quite good at what they do. The ages range from 40-55. Few of us have ever met before, but the bonding was instantaneous and we’ve been having a great time.

It’s a wholistic sort of approach, focusing on finances, health, spirituality and vocation. Mostly we’ve been listening to presentations so far, with some small group work. Later in the event, there will be some time set aside for writing our personal “CREDO Plan,” a sort of personal to-do list for strengthening our spiritual life and ministry.

I’d like to share something from a CREDO handout on the subject of health. It has a lot to say to cancer survivors, and to everyone else as well:

A VIEW OF HEALTH

1. Health means a sufficient absence of injury or disease processes so that my basic functioning operates without impairment (This is the traditional view of health).

2. Health means having an awareness of and reliance upon the life force within each one of us, which makes for growth and in the event of illness, for recuperation (we call it a positive attitude).

3. Health means having a sense that each of us belongs to others, and a desire to contribute to the common good (we call it an other-centered attitude).

4. Health means having an understanding that each of us is more than a product of history; that as individuals, we cannot only cope with the flow of events, but we also participate in shaping them (we are co-creators).

5. Health means interacting with others in such a way that our self-constancy, stability and individuality are not dissolved; even under threat (our egos are intact).

6. Health means having a sense of integrity. That is, we function as a unit and are not self-destructing (we have direction, focus, purpose).

7. Health means having a sense of the value of life and of living as a steward, not an owner (we are optimistic and free because nothing belongs to us individually. We have nothing to lose. We can live sacrificially).

8. Health means having a view of life that acknowledges dependency as a part of reality and rejoices in it; which recognizes gifts, including the gift of God’s love, mercy and ever-present Spirit and gratefully accepts them; which accepts creaturehood, as befits children of God.

9. Health means having an appreciation of living from the aspect of eternity that allows us to find security in the hope and expectation of life everlasting, not everlasting life (We can hang loose through all adversities of life because our perspective is eternal).

10. Health means embracing mystery and ambiguity as welcome friends.

Source: Adapted from Richard P. Ellerbrake’s remarks, Helen J. Westberg Lecture, Sixteenth Annual Westberg Symposium, September 11, 2002.

What I like about this statement is the way it integrates the medical and the spiritual. We need more of that sort of thing.

April 25, 2009 - Take a Little Wine

“No longer drink only water, but take a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments.” So says 1 Timothy 5:23 – a little practical advice, in the midst of some miscellaneous exhortations at the end of this New Testament letter.

Who woulda thunk it? Who could imagine this homey, first-century medical advice would surface at a 21st Century cancer research conference?

It has, though – at least, according to a recently-released research study. From a news article describing it:

“Pre-diagnostic wine consumption may reduce the risk of death and relapse among non-Hodgkin's lymphoma patients, according to an epidemiology study presented at the American Association for Cancer Research 100th Annual Meeting 2009.... [The researchers] analyzed data about 546 women with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. They found that those who drank wine had a 76 percent five-year survival compared with 68 percent for non-wine drinkers. Further research found five-year, disease-free survival was 70 percent among those who drank wine compared with 65 percent among non-wine drinkers.” (“Drinking Wine May Increase Survival Among Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma Patients,” ScienceDaily, April 24, 2009.)

Admittedly, those numbers aren’t all that startling. The wine-bibbers get a mild statistical bump, that’s all. Draining Bacchus’ cup is clearly no panacea, but it does seem that “a little wine,” as the author of 1 Timothy advises, can be good for what ails ya.

Not every tippler will be happy with the study’s results, though: “Beer and/or liquor consumption did not show a benefit,” the report soberly concludes.

It’s just the vino, folks.

According to the article, wine has certain anti-oxidants that tend to retard tumor growth. This is consistent with some earlier studies that show wine (especially red wine) has a mild positive effect on heart health. An occasional glass of Chianti or Lambrusco is part of the highly-touted “Mediterranean diet.” Now, it appears the fruit of the vine does a little something for lymphoma prevention as well.

The oncologists aren’t exactly advocating pub crawls. Far from it: “This conclusion is controversial, because excessive drinking has a negative social and health impact, and it is difficult to define what is moderate and what is excessive,” says one of the lead researchers, by way of a disclaimer.

(Nota bene: 1 Timothy does specify “a little wine.” All things in moderation.)

I’ve always thought an occasional glass of red wine to be one of life’s little pleasures. It’s nice when something that tastes so good turns out to be good for you, as well.

Wine has even found its way into religious poetry on occasion. I close with these lines from the medieval Persian poet, Rumi:

“The grapes of my body can only become wine
After the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
‘I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty’
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: ‘I am not working in ignorance
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name.’”

– Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi (1207 - 1273)

Salut!

February 19, 2009 - Wisdom to Survive

Today I’m reading an article from Newsweek, written by Chesley B. “Sully” Sullenberger III, Captain of U.S. Airways Flight 1549, who piloted his plane to a successful emergency landing in the Hudson River. Captain Sullenberger is a national hero, of course. His story of coolheaded competence and courage has spoken in some remarkable ways to a nation grown weary, and wary, of its leaders.

His tale of survivorship says a few things to those of us surviving a different sort of crisis.

First, although I used the word “hero” to describe him, it’s a word he shies away from:

“As my wife, Lorrie, pointed out on 60 Minutes, a hero is someone who decides to run into a burning building. This was different – this was a situation that was thrust upon us. I didn’t choose to do what I did.”

Cancer, too, is thrust upon us. We don’t choose it. Although some are quick to describe us with words like “courage” – maybe even “hero” – it’s not a mantle most of us wear comfortably. We didn’t run into this particular burning building. We woke up smelling smoke, and now we’re trying our best to find a way out of the place. Just because we’re not running around yelling and screaming doesn’t make us especially courageous, or heroic.

Second, Captain Sullenberger has something to say about what it takes to get through a crisis:

“During every minute of the flight, I was confident I could solve the next problem. My first officer, Jeff Skiles, and I did what airline pilots do: we followed our training, and our philosophy of life. We valued every life on that airplane and knew it was our responsibility to try to save each one, in spite of the sudden and complete failure of our aircraft. We never gave up. Having a plan enabled us to keep our hope alive. Perhaps in a similar fashion, people who are in their own personal crises – a pink slip, a foreclosure – can be reminded that no matter how dire the circumstance, or how little time you have to deal with it, further action is always possible. There's always a way out of even the tightest spot. You can survive.”

Indeed. We can survive. When bad news comes, when frightful challenges arise, we may feel for a time like we’re headed for disaster. There are things we’ve learned, though – or can learn – about survivorship. Such wisdom we can fall back on, when the engines flame out and we feel ourselves suddenly descending. Just follow our training, and our philosophy of life. These things will see us through.

“Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.”
– Daniel 12:3

July 25, 2008 - Farewell to Randy Pausch

Sad news, but news we expected eventually. Professor Randy Pausch of Carnegie-Mellon University has died of pancreatic cancer:



See my October 24, 2007 blog entry for more on this remarkable man, and his "Last Lecture" delivered at Carnegie-Mellon. It's become one of the most popular downloads on YouTube. Oprah also had him on her show, to give a Reader's Digest condensed version of the lecture.

Here's a link to a news article about his death.

Many of us are grateful to Randy for modeling what successful survivorship is all about.

Carl

July 13, 2008 - Mind-Body Medicine Stories

Late this afternoon, Claire and I are sitting on the screened-in porch of our little house in the woods. It’s been raining softly most of the day. We have neither energy nor desire to do anything other than just sit here. After all the frenetic days of getting ready for the trip, a long day of driving and another day of settling in, we’ve finally hit rock bottom. We’ve arrived. We’re officially... on vacation.

The first book I picked up to read, out of the pile I brought with me, was one I’ve been hoping to get to for some time: The Cure Within: A History of Mind-Body Medicine, by Anne Harrington (Norton, 2008). I found it so lively and fascinating, I plowed right through it.

Harrington heads the History of Science Department at Harvard. In this wide-ranging survey, she traces the history of a very old idea that’s continued to bob to the surface, despite periodic attempts by some medical scientists to push it back down: the idea that our state of mind influences our bodily health.

The movement called “mind-body medicine” – if it can indeed be called a movement – is fairly amorphous. It contains within it everything from serious scientific studies to absolute quackery. Rather than trying to portray it as a coherent system, Harrington wisely chooses to tell stories. She identifies six signature “narratives” that come up again and again, across the generations:

1. The Power of Suggestion – Beginning with roots in religious exorcism rituals and continuing through the rise of mesmerism (later known as hypnotism) in the 18th and 19th centuries, this narrative culminates in the more recent understanding of placebos as something that may have real therapeutic value. Even skeptical, post-modern folk continue to respond to what has been called “the power of suggestion,” especially when mediated by a doctor or other authority-figure we trust.

2. The Body that Speaks – Beginning with the work of Freud, Harrington traces the efforts of various pioneers of psychology to listen to what their patients’ bodies are saying: not just the quantifiable messages of blood counts and body temperature, but also more subjective messages related to state of mind. From primitive Freudian notions of “hysteria” in women, through studies of “shell shock” (later, post-traumatic stress syndrome) in soldiers, through now-discarded truisms like stress as the cause of stomach ulcers, this narrative has evolved through many incarnations. The saga continues to be told by modern practitioners like cancer-treatment guru Bernie Siegel, who – rightly or wrongly – traces the roots of many cancers to emotional unease.

3. The Power of Positive Thinking – From “faith-healing” miracles at Lourdes, through Mary Baker Eddy’s Christian Science, through Norman Vincent Peale’s “power of positive thinking,” through Norman Cousins’ laughter therapy of the 1970s, to AIDS activists’ embrace of the self-healing concept in the 1990s, Harrington describes the persistent idea that we can think our way to better health.

4. Broken by Modern Life – Before the mid-20th century, the concept of “stress” was nothing more than an engineering term. But then, beginning with the pioneering work of psychologist Walter B. Cannon at Harvard (who identified the “fight or flight” response), and continuing through Hans Selye, who popularized the idea of stress as the signature problem of the modern era, stress is now on everybody’s mind. We’ve heard of the “Type A” personality that’s said to be at greater risk of heart attacks, and we’ve heard how stress-management techniques have helped AIDS patients maintain a healthy immune system. Can anyone doubt that psychological stress is real, and has an impact on physical health?

5. Healing Ties – “If two lie together, they keep warm,” observes the book of Ecclesiastes, “but how can one keep warm alone?” To that ancient wisdom, Harrington might add, “how can one stay healthy alone?” From stories of close-knit, ethnic communities whose members are inexplicably spared the worst of certain diseases, to tales of isolated, sickly children in orphanages who were rarely picked up and cuddled, to support groups that keep cancer survivors healthy, there’s ample evidence that social relationships play a big role in our health.

6. Eastward Journeys – The more disenchanted we in the industrialized West come to feel about our mechanistic, often soulless society, the more some of us are turning eastward, borrowing insights from ancient spiritual practices of India, China and Tibet. Harrington tells the tale of Harvard physician Herbert Benson’s interest in Transcendental Meditation – which he later secularized as “the relaxation response” – and of the east-west migration of practices such as acupuncture and qigong into complementary treatments for cancer.

Reflecting on Harrington’s rich depiction of mind-body medicine, I have to say there’s something troubling about it. If the mind can influence the body in the direction of either health or illness, then what does that say about those who become sick? Are we who have cancer somehow deficient in our thinking? Should we, the victims, be blamed?

Harrington is alert to this problem, mentioning it on several occasions throughout her book. One of the most memorable is connected with her quotation of a “darkly comic” 1940 poem of W.H. Auden, called “Miss Gee.” It’s about an elderly spinster who gets cancer, which her doctor attributes to her tightly-buttoned emotional life.

Here’s an excerpt:







“She bicycled down to the doctor,
And rang the surgery bell;
‘O doctor, I’ve a pain inside me,
And I don’t feel very well.’

Doctor Thomas looked her over,
And then he looked some more;
Walked over to his wash-basin,
Said, ‘Why didn’t you come before?’

Doctor Thomas sat over his dinner,
Though his wife was waiting to ring,
Rolling his bread into pellets:
Said, “Cancer’s a funny thing.

‘Nobody knows what the cause is,
Though some pretend they do;
It’s like some hidden assassin
Waiting to strike at you.

‘Childless women get it,
And men when they retire;
It’s as if there had to be some outlet
For their foiled creative fire.’” (p. 90)

(The “rolling his bread into pellets” is, I expect, a reference to the fact that some early placebo pills were made of bread.)

Ought cancer survivors to be blamed, somehow, for some “foiled creative fire” that has rendered us susceptible to disease? Harrington urges caution. She’s well aware that the insights of mind-body medicine can be a double-edged sword. For that reason, she concludes her book by urging that these healing narratives be used with discretion. Such stories must be used descriptively, not prescriptively. They help us “bridge the lacunae in our thinking.” Even though the use of such narratives may seem, to some, unscientific, medicine still ought “to embrace them as part of its map and part of its territory alike” (p. 255).

The Cure Within is a satisfying read. Check it out.

June 17, 2008 - A Great Survivor?

Here’s Amy Gross, a social worker from Boston’s Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, speaking on the subject of cancer survivorship. It’s a little on the long side: just over 10 minutes.

She touches on a couple significant topics that make an impression on me. First, Amy points out that there’s no road map to life as a survivor. This is in sharp contrast to the time of treatment, which for most of us was governed by detailed medical protocols. “Now what?” is the question many of us ask, once the last chemo or radiation treatment is ended – and even months and years later.

Second, she speaks of a sort of performance pressure some feel to be “great survivors” – after the example of certain celebrities, who have become poster children for survivorship.

What makes a great survivor? I think it’s being true to who we are, as people. No one of us will do it the same as anybody else.

Anyway, here’s the video:

May 15, 2008 - Concierge Medicine?

A couple of nights ago, Claire and I attended an informational meeting put on by our family-practice physician, Dr. David Cheli. Starting this July, he’s associating himself with a nationwide group called MD-VIP. This decision will bring big changes for his patients.

For us patients, there’s some good news and some bad news.

The good news is, Dr. Cheli’s going to be focusing very intentionally on preventive medicine. Each patient will receive an elaborate annual physical, including a host of diagnostic tests. That physical exam takes about one and a half hours, and is – the company claims – comparable to the “executive physicals” long offered by world-class medical facilities like the Mayo Clinic. Each patient gets a personalized website with health-related resources, and a mini-CD-ROM containing personal medical history to carry around and present to emergency-room doctors, if necessary. Dr. Cheli also promises to be available 24/7 by cell phone, and further promises that no patient will ever have to wait longer than one day for an appointment. He’ll continue to take all medical-insurance plans for routine office visits – no change there, he assures us.

Dr. Cheli will continue to have a solo practice, but he’s cutting his roll of patients from 2,700 to 600. That’s what makes the more personal attention possible.

OK, that’s the good news. Now for the bad news. Each patient must pay an up-front fee of $1,500 a year – which (except for, perhaps, a small portion) is not covered by insurance.

Do the math. 600 patients times $1,500. That’s 900 grand. Dr. Cheli doesn’t get all of it, of course. MD-VIP gets their cut, and those elaborate tests associated with the annual physical do cost something. Yet, what he does receive from these annual fees is evidently enough to cut his patient roll by more than three-quarters.

I can understand what’s in it for him. As he explained the other night at the public meeting, he’s been practicing medicine for 31 years. Along with many of his colleagues, he’s feeling increasingly frustrated with a health-care system that forces him to rush through patient appointments so he can spend hours on the phone arguing with insurance adjusters. He knows the type of medicine the system forces him to practice isn’t as good for his patients as the type of medical care he was trained to deliver.

MD-VIP claims their patients’ hospitalization rates are just 65% of the general population. They attribute this to two causes: better prevention, and same-day or next-day appointments (which allow MD-VIP doctors to identify and treat serious conditions in the office, keeping their patients out of the emergency room).

That may be part of it, but I’d be willing to bet that a significant portion of this favorable statistic can be explained by the fact that patients willing to pony up the $1,500 fee are younger and healthier to begin with.

Why do I say that? Several reasons. First of all, MD-VIP relies heavily on the internet. Patients have to be familiar enough with computers to derive the full advantage from this service. While some senior citizens have taken to the internet with a vengeance, a great many still don’t know the difference between hypertext and hyperactive. Second, chronically sick people are more likely to have burned through their financial resources and would have a harder time coming up with the $1,500 annual fee. Third, patients who see the value of preventive medicine, and are willing to pay for it, are more likely to have already adopted positive lifestyle habits. (How many chain smokers or alcoholics are willing to go for this?) Fourth, those who simply have an aversion to going to the doctor are not likely to pay top dollar for the privilege of spending more time doing the thing they hate.

So, Claire and I have a tough decision to make. We both really like Dr. Cheli. He’s been our family doctor for 17 years. He diagnosed my cancer before I was displaying any obvious symptoms. He’s a got a caring bedside manner, and he’s always been responsive to our needs. But, can we find the $3,000 a year to keep going to him?

My medical insurance, provided by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), has a preventive health benefit that reimburses 100% of the cost of an annual physical, independent of deductibles and co-payments. That benefit’s got a cap on it, though, that falls way short of $1,500 for each of us. Most of the MD-VIP fee we’d have to pay out of pocket.

If Dr. Cheli will be able to work with me to overcome my #1 preventive-medicine challenge – losing weight – it will be money well spent. But, will the MD-VIP philosophy really give him the time and resources to do that? Is it really as good as the rosy description on the website claims?

They call this “concierge medicine” (although MD-VIP's website disavows this label, saying they’re “beyond concierge healthcare”). As with any pricey “concierge floor” in a hotel, the question is, “will we get our money’s worth out of the enhanced service?”

Or, is this one of those situations where, as they say, “if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it”?

May 12, 2008 - Unbroken

At the age of 20, Jerry White lost his leg – and nearly his life – as he stepped on a landmine while on a camping trip in Israel. Later, he went on to work as a leader of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines and become co-founder of Survivor Corps. White has just published a book about how to survive a catastrophic life event. Here’s a selection:

“They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It’s not quite that simple. I believe you have to decide it will make you stronger. Experience has taught me that happy endings can never be taken for granted. They must be chosen. When I was in the hospital for six months in Israel, no one did my physical therapy for me. No one underwent the pain or the fear of six operations for me. I would have liked for someone to, maybe. I confess, the first time I was put in a wheelchair, I sat there and waited for someone to push it for me. I had just had another surgery, I was weak, in pain, exhausted. And when I looked up at my nurse, she looked down at me and laughed. “If you want to move, push.” And so, I did. And I continue to do.

Whether we like it or not, personal determination is required to build resilience – to become fit for whatever the future may hold. We have to tap inner resources and develop some emotional muscle. It’s both a discipline and our responsibility. No one can do it for us.

The good news is we are not alone. We are surrounded by survivors who have gone before us, and their examples will help mark the way forward.”(I Will Not Be Broken: 5 Steps to Overcoming a Life Crisis, from the Introduction.)

White’s experience was of a sudden, traumatic injury. One moment, he was hiking with two friends through the Israeli countryside. The next moment, the earth exploded around him, and his right foot disappeared. The next day, he lost more of his right leg to the surgeon’s knife.

Even so, I think White’s conclusions can be generalized to include the experience of being diagnosed with a slowly-progressing disease like cancer. In the book, he recalls a conversation he had with Princess Diana, with whom he worked as an anti-landmine activist. Touring Bosnia and speaking with survivors, they observed that everyone seemed to have “their date.” They could all state precisely on which date they had been injured or bereaved.

Many of us cancer survivors can do the same with our dates of diagnosis (mine was December 2, 2005). Before that date, we may have a suspicion something is wrong, but we still have the luxury of hoping it’s nothing serious. After that date, we can never return to such naiveté. We will, forever after, be cancer survivors.

White identifies five essential steps in coming to terms with a life crisis. I think they can be generalized to include the experience of receiving a cancer diagnosis:

1. FACE FACTS. One must first accept the harsh reality about suffering and loss, however brutal. “This terrible thing has happened. It can’t be changed. I can’t rewind the clock. My family still needs me. So now what?”

2. CHOOSE LIFE. That is, “I want to say yes to the future. I want my life to go on in a positive way.” Seizing life, not surrendering to death or stagnation, requires letting go of resentments and looking forward, not back. It can be a daily decision.

3. REACH OUT. One must find peers, friends, and family to break the isolation and loneliness that come in the aftermath of crisis. Seek empathy, not pity, from people who have been through something similar. Let the people in your life into your life. “It’s up to me to reach for someone’s hand.”

4. GET MOVING. Sitting back gets you nowhere. One must get out of bed and out of the house to generate momentum. We have to take responsibility for our actions. “How do I want to live the rest of my life? What steps can I take today?”

5. GIVE BACK. Thriving, not just surviving, requires the capacity to give again, through service and acts of kindness. “How can I be an asset to those around me, and not a drain? Will I ever feel grateful again?” Yes, and by sharing your experience and talents, you will inspire others to do the same.(I Will Not Be Broken: 5 Steps to Overcoming a Life Crisis, from Chapter 1.)

There’s something of an up-by-the-bootstraps character to this way of thinking, but I think it makes good sense. We all depend on our medical professionals, family and friends to do things for us, but ultimately we’ve got to claim responsibility for our own healing.

May 1, 2008 - Fill in the Blank: My Cancer...

On April 29, Leroy Sievers posted a request on his My Cancer blog on the National Public Radio website. It attracted hundreds of replies from readers. Leroy simply asked his readers to complete a sentence: “My cancer....”

The replies he got were many and varied. I’m copying a selection of them below. I’ve included only those that come from cancer survivors themselves – there were many other noteworthy responses that begin, “My husband’s cancer...” or “My wife’s cancer...”, but those are a subject for another day.

I’ve only included responses that are positive, that speak of learning or growth or gratitude. There were some negative responses, of the "cancer sucks" variety – expressions of anger, pain, sadness, loss – but not nearly so many as you may think.

I’d guess there were 3 or 4 positive responses for every negative one. I’ve omitted the negative ones not because they don’t have validity (indeed, I think ANY honest response to cancer is valid), but simply because I’m more interested in the ways cancer has changed its survivors for the better.

If you want to read some more of the responses, I’d suggest you visit Leroy’s blog.

My cancer reminds me that no one is permanent and I will not be the exception to this. Also, my cancer has taught me that life and health is process not a final destination.

My cancer has made me more compassionate and more appreciative of the time I have left....

My cancer made me stop taking myself so seriously....

My cancer has taught me who my true friends really are...

My cancer has taught me valuable lessons about living, loving, and dealing with things, all of which I would have been happy to have learned from a book instead.

My cancer was a great teacher. It taught me gratitude, hope and that not everything is within my control....

My cancer grounded me in reality; made me more empathetic and compassionate for the suffering of others...

My cancer taught me I was stronger than I ever knew....

My cancer reinforced for me what is truly important in life – God, family, friends – pretty much in that order. And conversely, that I could safely put aside, career, status, things....

My cancer has given me FREEDOM I never had. I don't worry. I don't fret. I am free. I faced the beast. Lived and live with it. My shoulders are broader than I ever thought, and I can handle anything. The Beast may be lurking, but he is wasting his time....

My cancer finally made me give up, at 58, the illusion that I was still just a kid in a grown-up body. But I've worked hard to regain the feeling and find myself looking at children with more joy.

My cancer helped change the direction of my life. Time became precious and relationships even more important....

My cancer made me so aware.

My cancer has taught me that every day on this side of the grass is a Good Day!

My cancer taught me the power of others’ prayers for me. It also taught me humility.

My cancer sucked me up in a slashing, burning, poisoning tornado, then set me down in a new place, headed in different direction. I'm a better person since cancer, and in whatever time I have left, I'll add more to the world.

My cancer... has shown me what the real difference is between "wheat" & "chaff" in my life. It's a lot easier to deal with life's little irritations now....

My cancer has been a “life sentence.” A poster I found not long after my diagnosis and treatment says it all: “Everything changed the day she figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in her life.”

My cancer showed me how much my husband really loves me and that his love truly is unconditional.

My cancer has enabled me to know both the fragility and the hopes of life, and with this knowledge to live most fully.

My cancer has brought out the talents, skills, devotion and strong faith for those that care for me. That is my reward, watching from my “cancer” vantage point as others improve their life’s journey.

My cancer will not define me or become the be and end all of my life. What it has done is make me stop and be aware that I am not the center of the Universe, and that I must be attuned to others, their ideas and needs.

My cancer has made me face up to the many things that were wrong with my life, and fix them.

My cancer brought me face to face with death. And that made me realize how important the gift of eternal life really is, and how glad I am I have it through my relationship with Jesus Christ. No outcome is bad now – if I live, that’s great, and I’m embracing life.
If I die, I go to heaven, a place of eternal rest and peace. And that’s a rather wonderful “backup.”

My cancer... saved my life.

My cancer taught me to pare down to the essentials in all things – to live large and travel light – trusting in the power of kindness and love to lead me where I need to go.

My cancer was the best worst thing that ever happened to me.

My cancer has made me worry less about what I can't control.

My cancer has... stretched my gratitude muscles but I have learned to be very, very grateful for the smallest of things.

My cancer taught me that I am living and dying at the same time. The living feels so full and so intense, filled with exquisite beauty and wonder. The dying feels like I am tearing away all the layers, seeing parts of me I didn't know were there, and it hurts, but just a little. And I am also learning forgiveness and gentleness and a lightness of being that will hopefully let me die with peace and grace.

My cancer has humbled me.

Cancer stripped me of my hair, breasts, uterus, ovaries, eyebrows, eyelashes, 60 pounds of excess weight, career, and marriage. But I looked in the mirror one morning and saw big green eyes, a beautiful smile and a spirit that filled the entire room and said “There you are. I wondered where you were all these years. Welcome home.”

My cancer has taught me patience....

My cancer is the thief of all the opportunities life has to offer, yet also the perspective by which I appreciate everything more.

My cancer taught me to “let it go”....

My cancer has taught me to treasure, not mourn, transience. Because the beauty of this spring will fade, or because it might be my last, does not make it less glorious.

My cancer is not me. My cancer has tried to change me. My cancer has tried to take me. But it only made me more and more what I am before my cancer. It made me discover parts of me that cancer cannot touch. Indestructible hope. An ability to laugh. A mind of my own.

As for me, I posted a response as well:

My cancer has made me a better pastor, husband and father.

If you're a cancer survivor (or someone who loves someone who's had cancer), why not try filling in the blank? Click on "Comments" and post your response here. Pass it on!