The Sacred Cities (November 7, 2023)
November 7, 2023
Dear Friends,
Long one. Do you have a minute? Or maybe six minutes?
If not, then TLDR: There is cancer, and we are beginning to wrap our heads around what that means. It seems that my tumor is unusual and the pathology is painting a contradictory picture. (Kathryn says she isn't at all surprised that I would be self-contradictory...) It's scary and I'm angry about how this will affect the peo\ple I love and our spirits are high. All at the same time. It\'s complicated and confusing and probably will be for some time.
Sigh,.
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Here is the long form:
Kathryn and I just returned from the appointment with the neuro-surgeon. I am, gratefully, staple-free, and even the incision line is barely noticeable unless you are a good bit taller than I, and I happen to be having a particularly bad hair day. Like today.
Do I think of such things? I do.
—-
And there is cancer.
We have been referred to a neuro-oncologist and will meet with him on Wednesday. The neuro-oncologist has, in turn, asked for a consultation from a radiation oncologist, and we will meet with him on Wednesday, as well.
Yes, that is far more than we knew yesterday, but the picture remains incomplete. Fuzzy. We are hopeful that the neuro-oncologist will be able to provide more information and answers to our big questions. For starters:
What are the treatment options? How likely are they to be successful? And how do we define success?
When can we hike Grayson Highlands together, or when can we ride our bikes to Ashland for Saturday morning coffee?
What does work for me look like and what might this mean to my clients? Can they depend on me when they need me to be there?
Will I get to see my granddaughters marry?
How do Kathryn and I learn to walk together, even when we, inevitably, see things through different-colored lenses ?
Who is Richmond's best coffee roaster, and is pour-over really worth the extra effort? (I don't know, and it is.)
Where is the best place, (in addition to Ivy Creek Overlook), to watch the sunrise? The sunset?
What did Jim Harbaugh know?
How can we possibly honor the love and generosity that have been poured so freely into us these past few weeks?
I am not sure we are ever really expecting full clarity on the way ahead. This walk is likely taken one blaze at a time, and I honestly wonder if not-knowing might be a grace unto itself. Nor do I expect any doctor to wander into the bigger, more important (i.e., non-medical) questions. But a little more clarity would be welcome. I think. Perhaps it will all be just a bit clearer tomorrow. (It's almost as if every day from here on will be the 7th and the 8th. Maybe they always have been, and maybe that is enough clarity for now.)
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Among the uncertainty, there are things we do know.
We know that cancer can be relentless. bloodless, and merciless. It takes the ground it wants, and when it wants it. We know that medicine can, and often does hold the line, and often even defeats cancer entirely. But other times, cancer can get the best even of the best of our medicine.
But even then - and this is the part I know by heart - no matter how determined the disease, no matter how strong and aggressive, no matter how heartless, there are territories that are well beyond cancer's reach. It can, and often will, lay siege to these sacred cities, hoping to scare them into submission or starve them of their resolve. But it simply is not capable of storming the gates, as its only weapon against these strongholds is fear. That's all it has.
What are these sacred cities? Our faith. Our Hope. Our Love.
Ironically and beautifully, cancer's attacks on these sacred lands often backfire. It is when cancer reminds us that our control has always been an illusion that our faith grows deeper. It is when cancer tries to weigh us down with despair that our hope finds her feathers, and it is often when cancer whispers into our ears that love is just a verb that the breadth and depth of real love comes so clearly into focus and finds its way into every corner of our lives. Or, cancer can create the very cracks through which the light of love enters.
I love the paradoxes here. Love them so much.
Finally, I know these things to be true in my heart. Not in some theoretical sense. Not because I read about them in a book somewhere. But because I have seen them with my own eyes. Because I have borne witness to a young woman who refused to surrender her hope to cancer, who wrapped her most sacred places in love, and in so doing, lived more fully than almost anyone I have ever known. (My guess is that you, too, have seen this.)
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Of course we are going to pursue treatment as aggressively as we possibly can, We will carefully consider the advice and counsel of our oncologist and medical team, and weigh, with them, the evidence-based research. There is no quit here. None.
.
.
But more importantly, and the thing that gives us peace is knowing that faith, hope and love are beyond the reach of the enemy unless we open the gates of the cities ourselves and invite fear into the streets. I do not dare to claim that we will always possess the strength, on our own, to keep these places locked tight, or that this will be easy. Too many have been here before us, and they know better than we the challenges that lie ahead. We will not dishonor their struggle with platitudes.
Yet we are confident that grace abounds, whether or not we even seek it. And as long as there is grace, the enemy has no chance against the sacred cities.
Finally, please don’t mistake peace for resignation, or calm for quit. They are
clearly and dramatically different, even if they might look similar from the outside. We are at peace and we are calm, but we are determined.
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Yes, please keep us in your thoughts and please keep us in your prayers. Healing is the goal, and healing is the hope. And it's so comforting to know, as a friend reminded us this morning, that our God, Jehovah Rapha, heals.
But when you pray, please don't neglect the sacred places that we have trusted to God who, we are certain, delights to be always with us - in the easy and, dare I say it, especially in the hard.
In Love,
Chris and Kathryn
p.s. MOOD (Mary Oliver Of the Day)
To Begin With, the Sweet Grass
3,
The witchery of living
is my whole conversation
with you, my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
The world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It's more than bones.
It's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It's more than the beating of a single heart.
It's praising.
It's giving until giving feels like receiving.
You have a life - just imagine that!
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe
still another.