"Going through tribulation changes you, but it doesn't change who God says you are."
Have you ever been at an event but were not really there? Your body was there but your mind certainly was not. This happens way too often when you have cancer. Your body is present, but you're just too tired or too distracted or in too much pain for the rest of yourself to be present. It's like the only thing you have to give is your silent, statue-like presence. It sucks. It sucks because you want to give a smile, a hug, a wink, a "Hey! How ya been?" but you just don't have it in you to give anything at all. And you really, really want to.
Last December, my church community group held its Christmas party. I had a rough week, but come hell or high water, I was going to that party. Just being around this group is special. I got there early to spend some time with the group leaders and waited as everyone poured in. I was thrilled to see everyone, but I could feel my body losing steam. I slowly became limp. I couldn't start a conversation or move seats to join the commotion or even make eye contact with anyone. Eventually, I realized I needed to slip out, and as soon as I closed the door behind me, a flood of tears fell from my eyes. I was so mad. Why couldn't I stay and love on these folks who have shown me incredible support? Why couldn't I be my bubbly, social self? When I got to my car, I just beat on the steering wheel (I'm not a violent person so this was a new one for me) and looked out my windshield and did the thing that we all do when we've hit our breaking point: I asked God, "Why?" Why me? Why is this cancer taking so much from me? Why can't I love on people like I want to? Am I not supposed to do that? Am I not supposed to be your hands and feet? How am I supposed to do that when I feel like this? Aren't I supposed to be the salt and light of the earth, God?
For those unfamiliar with this concept, in Matthew 5, we find Jesus speaking to a crowd on a mountainside, known as the Sermon on the Mount. In verses 13-16, Jesus speaks of how believers are the salt and light of the earth:
13“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."
It's an honor that the Lord thinks of us this way.
(Back to my moment in the 2018 Honda CR-V.) I found myself getting upset at God. Boy, what a mistake that was. God wasn't picking on me. The enemy was. That blasted ole' satan got my tail! I gave him the cards to play against me and let him make me feel like this cancer disqualified me from being what God made me to be. So, I directed my attention to him. I told that no-good, crusty, musty, disgusting, probably-uses-miracle-whip-instead-of-Duke's-mayonnaise, busted, broke, c-average PEA ANT that I AM the salt and light of the earth AND there is nothing he can do about it. He's just mad because he has about as much flavor as a fat-free wheat thin. Boy, bye.
And after that, I put on Jay-Z, propped my leg up like all basic girls who drive SUVs do, and glided home like I owned those streets.
Going through tribulation changes you, but it doesn't change who God says you are. The Creator of Heaven and Earth told you that you are the salt and the light of the earth. Nothing changes that. Tell your enemy to kick rocks.
I've realized I have to do things differently now that I have cancer. I'm not going to be the friend hosting parties. I'm not going to be the loudest one in the group or the one itching to go on an adventure. That doesn't diminish the joy and love I have to give to the world. It just means I have to find new ways to be myself and be God's hands and feet. I'm still figuring out what that looks like. But the one thing I hold on to is this: Cancer can only take from me what I allow it, and I certainly won't let it take what God says of me.
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