“Ok, so the scan looks good. No evidence of cancer.”
“Great!”
“So your last scan will be in…let’s see…December.”
“Wait, last scan? Like forever?”
“Let’s hope!”
“I thought I was getting scans for 5 years.”
“Nope. We only need two years for your kind of lymphoma.”
“Oh. Ok. That’s good…I guess.”
Mixed Feelings about Medical “Progress”
Have you ever experienced a moment when you didn’t know how to feel? Or maybe it would be more accurate to say you felt too many emotions at the same time that you wouldn’t think could coexist.
Relief. Dread.
Clarity. Confusion.
Gratitude. Anxiety.
All mixed together in the soup of your soul. Pairings as jarring and disturbing as ketchup and ice cream.
That’s how I felt on that phone call. In many ways, that’s how I still feel.
On the one hand, I was deeply relieved. If you’ve ever received a bad scan for cancer, you know the anxiety involved before every checkup. No more holding my breath.
On the other hand, if you’ve ever received a good scan after a bad scan, you know how reassuring it is. You see, when they found the lymphoma the first time, it had been growing in me for months. Maybe a year. I could have cancer right now and not know it—that is, until I get a clean scan.
To take away that bi-annual assurance means I have to live with more uncertainty about whether or not my body contains the seed of death.
After December, this ongoing uncertainty will be my new reality (Lord willing).
The reality is, however, it’s actually always been my reality. I just didn’t know it. And knowing it—really feeling it—has some spiritual benefits.
Learning from a Teenager
In many ways, I’m just now stumbling into a spiritual habit in my mid-thirties that Jonathan Edwards, the famous preacher of the Great Awakening, committed to in his teens.
In his adolescent days, Edwards wrote dozens of resolutions that he reviewed daily. This one, that I heard at a conference when I was 18, comes frequently to my mind these 18 years later.
“#9. Resolved: To think much on all occasions of my own dying, and of the common circumstances which attend death.”
How morbid!
How wise.
As a teenager, Edwards could see that treasure for living lay buried six feet under.
To think about our own death regularly is not easy. If you’ve only ever thought of your own death intellectually, if you’ve never felt the weight of the grave press firmly on your soul, then it can be hard to even remember that you are going to die.
On the other hand, if you’ve contended with death and its minions—fear, loss, anticipatory grief, and despair—well, who wants to “think much on all occasions” about that?
What’s more, every facet of our society (with the exception of life insurance companies and estate planners) wants you to forget, or at least ignore the fact, that you are going to die. From “age-reducing” skin treatment plans that can trick people into thinking you have more time on earth than you likely do to slow growth portfolios with 30-40 year investment horizons—our society is built on the unspoken promise that you will live, if not forever, a long and healthy life.
I sincerely hope you (and I) do.
But we may not.
The Measure
I recently read a book called The Measure by Nikki Erlick.
The premise of this near-reality fantasy novel is that one day every adult in the world wakes up to a small wooden box that has their name written on it along with the inscription, “The measure of your life is found within.”
Inside the box is a string, the length of which corresponds to the exact number of days they have left on this earth.
Would you open yours?
I wouldn’t. Not because I’m afraid to die. I am afraid sometimes, but that’s not why I wouldn’t open the box.
I wouldn’t open the box because I’ve come to believe that it benefits my soul and the people around me if I do not know the hour of my death. If I had a long string, I could pretend like death’s not coming, at least for a while.
As the great poet Tim McGraw once said, "Someday I hope you get the chance
to live like you were dying."
How does that change how I live?
Well, unlike Timmy, I’m not going sky-diving any time soon. Not my jam. I’m not trying to die.
I’d rather respond to the reality of death the way Edwards did in two of his other resolutions.
6. Resolved: To live with all my might…while I do live.
7. Resolved: Never to do anything which I would be afraid to do if it were the last hour of my life.
That is the benefit of living in regular awareness of my death and the common circumstances of death.
Chances are I’m not going out like Obi-wan, Harry Potter, or Jesus. Maybe. But more likely than a blaze of glory will be an IV and a hospital bed. Or a car accident. Or one of the many common ways that we humans end up flatlining. I can’t really on the circumstances of my death to make meaning of life.
The meaning starts today. Every day. Life is made meaningful in the living of it.
Say it with me—
Resolved: To live with all my might…while I do live.
Lots to think about, pray about, long for clarity about and turn over to the Lord who knows so much more than we do. I'm adding your well being to my prayer list, Kyle.
this resonates so much.. i too have felt the weight of the grave and must say it changes everything! great thought provoking read!