The August sun sizzled as my sister and I entered the cool grounds of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in downtown Lewes, Delaware. We were drawn by shade-loving burgundy coleus, leafy trees and–primarily–the labyrinth.

This congregation traces its history back to the early colonial days of 1681. Grave markers that are clustered near the church, the earliest dated 1707, dominate the grounds.

I once walked the labyrinth here with my grandson. Josiah, then five, reached the center and plopped down contently, legs crossed in a traditional position of contemplation without even knowing it.

A sign says it is “A Path of Peace for all.” A church brochure website adds, “There is no right or wrong way to walk the Labyrinth. With only one path in, take it and you will arrive at the center. You may want to take a deep breath and focus on an intention as you walk.”

I’ve been attracted to labyrinths since I walked one on a retreat a dozen years ago with friends. Why? And what does this have to do with living my faith or helping people through the havoc of cancer?

Well, I’m usually in a recliner for my reflective time. A labyrinth gets me on my feet, sends extra oxygen to my brain and heart, quiets pesky inner chatter and invites me to follow where other seekers have walked and prayed. This is an invisible chain of pilgrims going back to the first church labyrinth in AD 324 in Rome, designed to encourage unbelievers to ponder the holy mysteries of newly sanctioned Christianity.

Like life, a labyrinth isn’t about reaching a goal as much as it’s a story of small steps taken along the way.

I first walked St. Peter’s pathway before my initial bout with cancer. Now I see it with different eyes. St. Peter’s church website says a labyrinth is a metaphor for a spiritual journey. That’s me, on a spiritual journey, whether I want to be or not.

I’m grateful this is a labyrinth, not a maze. A maze is confusing. I can imagine my heart racing if I tried to find my way through one. A labyrinth does just the opposite. No one gets lost in a labyrinth. It’s a clearly defined path that leads somewhere, to a center, providing sacred moments of contemplation.

St. Peter’s is as humble as they come, stones guiding walkers along a worn, grassy path. One down the road in Rehoboth at Epworth United Methodist Church is made of glistening white seashells, appropriate for a beach town. I was inspired to write this blog while walking it, last Sunday after worship.

There’s one more circular path I’ve visited near Lewes, at Lavender Fields, as fragrant as it sounds. I was feeling a bit fragile, in the middle of chemotherapy treatments back then, as I am now.

Many others are, as well. Or have completed chemo and perhaps radiation and are wondering, “What now?”

Some friends and I are beginning a support group we’re calling COURAGE and Cancer. We want to walk with people traveling through this devastating disease. Cancer can seem like an endless maze; we’d like to make it more like a labyrinth, a path delineated by hope.

Guiding the group are Pastor Kathy Mihoerck of Grace Church; Sue Majoris, a retired RN who initiated the nurse navigator program at IRMC’s Women’s Center that has helped hundreds of women through breast cancer; Natalie Glaser, cancer survivor and author of “Don’t Call Me Brave, I Was Not Alone;” Ray Reinbold, a retired teacher recovering from traumatic cancer surgeries; and myself, living with metastatic breast cancer.

I was surprised how honestly I could share my deepest concerns with these good people. We’ve prayed, talked, planned and believe others are looking for this kind of support.

“People in support groups have better outcomes, make new friends, find new purpose,” Sue says, encouraging the hesitant to come.

Our first gathering will be Sunday, September 8, 3—4:30 pm in the Grace United Methodist Church Welcome Center.

This is an inclusive group, all are welcome. If you’re interested, please call 724.463.8535 and give your name and email address to the secretary. Just showing up is okay, too!

We know fighting cancer is exhausting. Please be assured this will be a confidential group where you can safely say what is on your heart, or say nothing at all.

Maybe you’re reading this and feel no one understands what you’re going through. If so, please come. We may not have all the answers, but we promise to listen and be there for you.

Cancer demands courage. We can find it, together.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette