Cancer and the Ministry of Suffering

My mom's cancer journey is one I've recorded from the beginning. 
What began as a private journal became a story to share for the encouragement of others. 

The struggle has polished my mom's faith to a gleaming shine, and I'm honored that she allows me to share it with you. I hope, by these excerpts, you find encouragement in your own struggles and praise God along with us for how He is good even in the struggle. 

This time, I'd like to do a throwback to last October (2015). I love this woman's faith and aspire to such myself... 

 
Mom and I met at Smitty’s for lunch during her lunch break.
 
The kids were at swimming lessons with Char in Winnipeg, and I had been writing all morning. It was just me and Mom.
 
She looked at the menu, and adjusted her neck brace.
 
“Mmm! I’ll have the cream of tomato soup!” I said.
 
“I’d like to order the cream of tomato soup too, but I can’t eat it properly with this thing on.” She tugged at the front of her neck brace. The chin rest protruded from beneath her chin a little. “I can be messy at home.” She went with waffles and syrup instead.
 
We immediately began talking about her pain. Things had changed since the last time we spoke, and I had questions. Was this from the radiation or the tumors? What are they doing besides pain meds?
 
She explained that the muscles in her shoulders, neck, and head were so tight and sore from being in pain for so long, they were actually inflamed. To look to the side, she had to move her whole body. Movement had been restricted before, but it had gotten worse.
 
“It’s like the muscles are seized up.”
 
I hadn’t expected that. I expected the radiation would make it all better.
 
She spoke matter-of-factly about how the kind of cancer she has is the kind that will never stop deteriorating her body. Other kinds of cancer go into remission, and then do not come back. Myeloma comes back. The doctor kept reminding her of that. Myeloma will do what it wants to do, he’d say.
 
“So we hope the chemo puts it into remission again,”
 
“Whatever that means” I added.
 
“Whatever that means.” Mom nodded “But it just means that the cancer isn’t actively eating away at my body.” She clawed her fingers in midair and made them gnaw toward the table. “It goes to sleep for a little bit. But it will wake again, and come right back. It’s just a matter of when.”
 
The words echoed in my mind. It’s just a matter of when.
 
What must it be like to plan for your own funeral? What must it be like to watch your body fall apart all around you? My heart grew heavy with the thought of it.
 
She mentioned the loss of strength in her right hand – a result of the tumors pressing against her spine. She couldn’t even open her pill bottles, so she had Dad open them, and she dumped them into Ziploc bags so she could access them when she needed them. She also could not turn her head or bend down because of the pain it caused in her head.
 
“It must be frustrating.”
 
“It is very frustrating.” She said it simply. I hated the normalcy of it. I hated the constant, unending pain.
 
I imagined the long road ahead, and all the future days of pain that she would live. I wondered what it would be like when the end came. Would the pain be unbearable? Would she lay in a drug-induced coma as the only way of escaping the pain?
 
And through all the unbearable pain she’d walked so far, she had trusted God’s plan. She didn’t understand why or how, but knew without a doubt that He was using it.
 
“This is my journey. I don’t have much luck with winning things. I never win the lottery, or a contest or even a silent auction prize. I also don’t get the kind of cancer that goes away. I get Myeloma. This is the path I’m on.”
 
She called it a journey again. It always made me sad to think of the hard long path she was on. I wanted to take it away and make it better. I wanted to be humble and content like she was, but felt small and immature in the shadow of her faith. I admired her contentment and peace.
 
Against my will, tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks as I smiled.
 
We both cried, and she immediately steered the conversation to God. I think she was reminding us both that He is in control and that He is good and can be trusted.
 
We smiled and wiped our faces. Why must joy and sorrow come together?
 
Mom told me about a day she’d been at Superstore. As she was leaving, a woman approached her.
 
“Are you Sharon Dyck?”
 
“Uh… yes.”
 
“I just wanted to let you know everyone at our church is praying for you.”
 
Mom said the woman looked almost horrified. Maybe it was the neck brace, maybe it was her situation, but whatever it was, the woman definitely seemed uncomfortable. Mom thanked the woman, and continued to her vehicle.
 
As she made her way through the parking lot, a young man followed her. He kept pace with her, and began talking to her about the pain she was in.
 
“I can help you,” he’d said.
 
“No, you can’t.” Mom had said.
 
“Well, I can pray for you.”
 
“Oh. Well praying never hurts.”
 
So he prayed over her right there in the parking lot. Then he’d asked how her pain was. The pain was the same.
 
“But it’s not always about immediate healing,” she’d told the young man “this is the journey God has laid out for me, and I need to walk it.”
 
Once again, Mom was ministering to someone who had sought to minister to her.
 
“God is working,” she told me. “Maybe not in the immediate healing, or in the ways we hope for, but He is working.”

She said it with such faith and conviction. I was so proud of her. I had no idea such strong faith was in her. How had I missed it all these years?
 
And she was right.
 
The young man who prayed for her immediate healing may be challenged by the lack of results, and driven to know God more – even beyond miracles and results. He may discover the deeper faith that comes from seeking Jesus’ presence instead of just his presents.
 
The woman in the store who stood horrified at the difficult path Mom walks might also have been drawn to Jesus through this. She may learn to trust Him beyond life’s comforts.
 
He’s working in me, demonstrating His mighty power in weakness. He’s drawing me to humility and contentment, and challenging me to embrace my weaknesses instead of trying to hide them.
 
And, through her suffering, many people are being drawn to prayer.
 
“And that’s good.” Mom said, “If we’re praying more, that’s good. We need to pray.”
 
We parted with smiles and a gentle sideways hug. Mom was too tender and sore to really hug. I just stood there and let her take the lead, and put my palm to her back.
 
As I drove away, I took in the sights of the pavement and colored vehicles, and memorized the blue of the sky. This was the world with my mom in it.
 
What would it be like without her?
 
I couldn’t think of it.

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