All will be well, and all will be well…
Every cancer survivor knows a remote shadow may be hiding within a secret place in her body, waiting to be exposed. A distant possibility, an easy thought to brush aside. A few days ago I read a CAT scan report and understood why my pelvis hurts—a tumor, or tumors, fractured my sacrum. There are other lesions scattered about, too much data for this little brain to absorb. I hated to show the report to Jim but rode the stair chair down to him in the basement, laptop in hand.
He turned off the evening news, sat beside me and we read each word in dried-mouth disbelief. “This can’t be happening!” he groaned. It felt like being hit in the head with a bowling ball. I’m infinitely glad we received this news in the privacy of each other’s arms, where we didn’t have to disguise our initial grief from anyone else.
We know little about how to navigate a second journey thru cancer, but we know this—prayers carried us when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer and we covet them, again.
All will be well.
It’s 5 am and I’m sitting in my fluffy white robe at the kitchen table. A burning vanilla Yankee candle, a cuppa tea and a swooping bat (yes, you read that right) are my companions.
Hours earlier, just before I opened that report, my hairdresser Brenda invited us to her church for a healing service. I had to do something. To take control. To battle this. Within in an hour of our world crumbling, praying people surrounded Jim and me, bathing us in the Spirit’s peace.
Afterward, I needed the comfort of familiar, loving arms. We sat on the sofa of my mentor and friend, Sue, who shared wisdom as a retired nurse navigator. “There is hope,” she said, adding as we walked out their door, “You will live. Jesus is with you, above you, below you, beside you . . .”
Her affirmation echoed the prayer of St. Patrick, Ireland’s patron saint: God is everywhere. There is nowhere He is not.
All will be well.
photo by Julie, visiting from Philly
The hard part, what hurts my heart, is sharing a bad report with my family.
I love them so.
God knows this. I must trust them to Him, and they must trust me to Him.
Strangely, my joy in living intensifies, like stars grow brighter in the dark. On Monday, Pastor Denny stopped by and anointed me with oil for healing. I’ve been smeared with the oil of the Spirit—“to smear with oil” is what anointing means, in Greek. I don’t understand it, but I want it.
All will be well.
In the 14th century, Julian of Norwich, the first woman to author a book in English, described Jesus revealing mystical dreams of divine love. I’m reading her story now. Julian fell deathly ill at 30. Her priest came to minister the last rites and told her to fix her eyes on Christ, suffering on the cross. As she did, she was healed. She is best remembered for words close to my heart, “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”
Words born out of suffering speak truth into mine.
Eugene Peterson said that our lives consist of either list-making or story-making. I’ve never been much for making lists, at checking off chores and accomplishments. I get distracted by stories that poke through life’s cellophane, claiming my attention. A shattering of bone brings an unwelcome chapter to my own story I had hoped never to write. I know the book ends in the enveloping love of God, but not the path that leads me there.
All will be well.
With all my prayers, one thing I didn’t pray about was that darn bat, a confused and frightened creature flying in the dark, much like me.
Google says bats symbolize death and rebirth because they live in the belly of the earth. I released an unholy holler when it circled me in the stairwell; I think some of my anguish over of what is happening within my body was expelled in that scream. With a calming sip of tea, I came to see this poor thing as a winged messenger that I will someday die and be reborn into the fullness of God’s presence.
But not yet.
When I led activities at St. Andrew’s Village, it was an honor for my staff and me to help residents live well. As their end drew near, it was an equal honor to help them die well.
I have more living to do, friends. Please pray I do it with grace.
All will be well.
Jan Woodard shares thoughts on faith, life and recovery.
Contact her at janwoodard.com
Indiana Gazette
16 COMMENTS
The tears streamed down my face as I read this Jan. It is not what I wanted to hear, My thoughts and prayers are with you. That fear of the cancer returning is always lurking in our thoughts and it has been popping up a lot recently. God is in control and I have every confidence that he will see you through. You have a great cloud of witnesses/support around you! –Let others help and rely on God. I know you do! Praying -praying-praying! Love you!
Joyce, you know the fight and you know the Lord who goes before us. Thanks for your love & support. Stay well.
Oh, what a high privilege it is to be transparent before others and let the world see what walking with God really looks like. I am so proud of your walk with our Jesus, Jan!
Thank you, my friend!
It’s the only way I know, Barbara
Oh Jan, my heart is breaking! I pray for my daughter many times per day and will add you to those prayers. I have some suspicious nodules on my thyroid, biopsy on April 2. Our adventure will be together. WE WILL BE WELL!!!!
Belva my friend, my heart is with you!
My heart is with you, Belva!
Dear Jan,
In the three weeks that Kerry was cancer free her counselor asked me how I felt and I said “ I feel like I’ve been holding my breath and now I want to breathe but I’m Adair’s to take a deep breath! That was almost two years ago and I still breathe very shallowly but Kerry keeps right on living her life one minute at a time not anticipating but living!
You are in my deep prayers my friend.
Love you
Luella
Oh Luella, keep breathing for all of us!
Oh dear Jan, I’m not quite sure how to respond, but appreciate our Sue’s affirmation. I know God is with and all around you, and I pray you feel that presence…his care, his love, his promises. I am reading The Red Sea Rules and if you don’t have it, let me know and I will get it for you.
I’m feeling so disappointed that you have to fight this battle again. You will win. God is right there with you.
You know you are in my prayers, offered lovingly and with faith.
Cup of tea soon? Many hugs.
I’d like to see that book, Linda. And tea, yes, that’s always good!
Jan, be healed in Jesus’ name.💞🙏🏼✝️
Amen, Terri. What a powerful name it is!
Janet,
We sang, ‘It is Well’ at my church yesterday and I was thinking of and praying for you. Praying for your whole family, including Marilyn & Jim. Thank you for sharing your life.
Susan
That’s precious, Susan!
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