Three years ago this month, I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.
Two years ago, this month, I ended my work as pastor of the First Baptist Church of Asheville.
Last week, my oncologist let me know that the leading indicator of cancer’s activity went down, after having gone as high as it had been since I underwent a stem-cell transplant at Duke in the summer of 2014. Because, across the fall, I had experienced worsening fatigue and intensifying bone pain, the fact that it went down was a most welcome surprise. I’m so grateful both for the great news and for the fact that I’m feeling much better than I did in October and November.
These three years have been like a sojourn in the wilderness. I’ve been facing-off with fears and limits, recognizing that some of the diminishments I’ve sustained are permanent, and accepting that, from now on, I will live (and will eventually die) with this illness. This wilderness work is ongoing.
There have been oases of rest and renewal, moments and places which have given me a Sabbath from the challenging inner work that being sick demands of me. Though much of that work is finally mine to do and despite the pain and fatigue which only I can feel, I haven’t been alone. I’ve had remarkable traveling companions: skilled medical caregivers both in Asheville and in Durham, a supportive family, caring friends, and an insightful therapist. They’ve helped me to make my way through sometimes treacherous and threatening territory.
The wilderness is a crucible of identity. What does it mean for how I see myself—and for how others see me—that I am chronically sick with a presently incurable disease? Who am I now that I no longer have the physical or psychic energy to live-out a pastoral calling in the ways I once did?
I’m very thankful for the work I do these days as a university professor, as a congregational consultant, as an interim pastor or supply preacher, as a seminar or retreat leader, and as a writer.
These roles give me meaningful work to do. None of them has the same identity-shaping or identity-expressing power that the vocation of “pastor” once had. It’s good that they don’t because I discern that one of my wilderness tasks is to be less concerned about role and more concerned about soul–to be less attentive to position and “office” and more attentive to personhood and the simple offering of my gifts. I get to learn that is enough, more than enough, to be a child of God in whom God takes great delight.
Reynolds Price called the memoir he wrote about his struggle with cancer, A Whole New Life. I resonate with the title. I’m beginning the fourth year of a new life, a life different than the one I imagined I would be living on the threshold of 60, a life more acquainted with loss and pain, but also more sure of grace and more open to joy.
It’s a whole life in that the whole of me has been affected: body, mind, soul, spirit, relationships, and vocation. It’s also whole, though, as in healed-and-being healed. Not cured, but healed-and being-healed of fragmentation and fear.
I’m not out of the wilderness. I don’t expect to be. The liberated Hebrew slaves wandered in a desert for forty years, living on mercy and manna which came day by day.
They had each other and they had enough signs of God’s presence to keep them on their feet. I do, too. My wilderness life is still a life, one which is new and whole and good.
Beautiful. Thank you.
You are a inspiration to us all. Praying for you as you
continue this long dissimulation road.
Heartwarming and somehow full of hope.
My Dear Friend, you ARE my pastor and minister, whether we gather around you in congregation on any particular day of the week. I eagerly anticipate every post and video that provides us with encouragement, guidance, and love. Frank or no Frank, I’m not certain you could elude that. The very leading of your life, the sweetness of your message, your willingness to share, and the beauty of your ministry grows more profound and more powerful and more meaningful each day. You are a child of God in whom we and God take immense delight. You have been an incredible blessing in my life. You will never not be… I love you! No words can possibly convey my deep joy and thankfulness that God placed you and I in close proximity.
Blessed by your baptism-drenched wisdom, Guy. Thank you, and thanks be to God.
"The wilderness is a crucible of identity." What a rich phrase and meaningful article.
Thankful for positive news. Prayers will continue. We all are on a journey through our own personal forests but thank God we do not have to go it alone!!
Thank you for allowing us to share this walk with you. I will always be thankful for your leadership at fbc Asheville and Judy simply for who you are. Deep blessings to you.
You continue to bless with your thoughts through writings. Thanks for sharing! Continued thoughts and prayers for you each day. – Gloria Keown
Sobering and inspiring. God is using you in the wilderness…
As one who shares your brink of 60 view and has also had a dose of that difficult wilderness journey from what was to what will be, in recent days, my observations are very similar. I don’t particularly like the change but there is work to do wherever we land. God uses us as we are, where we are if we stay faithful. And you friend have remained faithful and for that I give thanks and celebrate good works, good numbers and just feeling better. Simple but meaningful gifts of grace .
Thank you for sharing your journey. My Pastor here in Bryson City, John Tag, has shared some of your comments, many that continue to resonate in my mind. Know that I have been praying for you for 3 years. Yes! God is NOT wasting this disease on you. I plan on sharing this writing with my dearest friend in Pensacola who was provided Divine healing from Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma 11 years ago. Last Fall, it returned. Thanking God through adversity most assuredly is a showpiece in heavenly realms. Keep up the good work.