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Snapshots of our mind

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article reprinted from the UMConnection: Letter From the Editor
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April 7, 2004

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VOL. 15, NO. 6

VIEWPOINTS

 MAKE THE CONNECTION

Melissa
Lauber

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snapshots of our mind

There is a small book now on the shelves of local libraries. Its titled Unforgettable Images that Changed our Lives, by Peter Davenport.

The pages are blank.

Well, not exactly blank. At the bottom of each, in small type, are titles of memorable events captured in famous photographs, such as Girl running from napalm, Richard Nixon flashing peace sign, and Marilyn Monroe with skirt afurled. Its the job of the viewer to supply the photo from his or her memory.

I was a bit slow in grasping this concept. Part of me wanted to see the photographs, or even (for a fleeting moment) take the book to the librarian and inform her she had a defective volume on the shelf. But as I flipped through the pages, my mind began to create the famous images, and then moved onto scenes from my own familys history, memorable for me because they are frozen in old slides and photographs.

Everyone has a slide show like this. Children today might have a PowerPoint presentation, but I still have slides.

John Doe also has a slide show like this in his head. It details his recent bout with prostate cancer. There are moments of that ordeal that stand like frozen images that occasionally haunt him.

They are not the pictures he expected. He considered himself a man of immense faith, a leader in his church, and imagined he would be stoic and calm, like a beatitude, if anything as horrible as cancer grabbed his life.

He wasnt. When John Doe started to spew forth venom he decided it would probably be best not to use his name in the newspaper. Its a story he doesnt like to share.

There was a lot of pain. Bone-chilling, soul-tearing pain. But equally frightening was that Doe found himself to be a stranger. His wife and three children and the beautiful home they created meant everything to him. They gave him reason to live.

Yet in the midst of his battle with cancer, they became mere props in his life. The world spun like a whirlpool, with Doe in the center. But he didnt drown in cancer. He survived, is surviving.

Only now, he sometimes worries that hes an imposter. He embraces life, appreciates it. But what he views as his selfishness is something he doesnt want to admit, or confess, or acknowledge, especially not in church.

They want to pray for you in church, Doe said. They dont always want to listen to you.

Arlene Kiely, who has ovarian cancer, has had a different experience. A member of Dumbarton UMC in Georgetown, she has been inundated with so many offers of aid and comfort that shes had to beat some off with a stick.

Belonging to such a life-affirming community that doesnt shy away from peoples suffering has been a godsend to Kiely, who views cancer as an opportunity to open ones heart and deepen ones consciousness.

Kiely acknowledges cancers horrors. The early chemotherapy treatments, she admits, were pure hell. But we can open our hearts or close them. Those are our choices, she said.

She remembers following one difficult treatment, being held in her husbands arm, vomiting into the toilet. Her thoughts turned to the many people in the world suffering as she was, who didnt have arms to hold them, or doctors to treat them or faith to sustain them.

Throughout it all, she reveled in Gods presence and, in the darker moments, found solace in the Psalms of lament. Im not one to pretend everything is fine, she said. I let it all hang out to God.

Both Doe and Kiely describe their struggles with cancer as containing moments of grace when they see with clarity what is important in their lives. Cancer, they believe, was a wake-up call.

The photos they create on the blank pages of their lives are different now. Cancers shadow is certainly present. But so, too, is a realization that hope exists amid suffering. People who know them cant help but also have the snapshots of their days changed. Such encounters, if we allow them, become unforgettable images that change our lives.

Cancer does that. So does faith, and so does listening and being willing to hear.

Melissa Lauber is associate editor of the UMConnection. Arlene Kiely recently held a one-day retreat for people with cancer. She is interested in facilitating others. For more information, contact her at .

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