“…let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…” Hebrews 12, verses 1 & 2
“…knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope…” Romans 5 verses 3, 4 & 5
I have been thinking about what is means to endure or persevere. With both words there can be a connotation of putting up with something or barely holding on, but I think the meaning of both words is deeper. I like thinking of both words using the metaphor of running from the above passage.
When I was thinking deeper about the Hebrews passage, at first there seemed to be a bit of a paradox. The first image that comes to mind when I think of a race are people sprinting towards a finish line; conversely, running with perseverance brings to mind images of a really long distance, something like a marathon. I started thinking of running with perseverance and about the nature of endurance. Endurance is something one has to build, it doesn’t come naturally, you have to work towards it. When you race, you run with the finish in mind, but in a race of any distance you may not be able to physically see the end. You know it’s there, somewhere in the distance, and maybe you have an idea of how far you have to go, but you can’t actually see the line and the end of your
journey. You can’t see the people waiting to cheer you across.
I don’t have any endurance to run right now. Right now I can’t run or I pass out afterwards. Literally. In order to reduce my risk of my cancer setting up shop somewhere else in my body, as it is want to do, I need to get as lean as possible and exercise. My sister suggested training for a run together to help me to get motivated and so I have committed to do a 15K (about 9 miles) in March near my cancerversary (a survivor’s term to denote the anniversary of a cancer diagnosis or other
meaningful cancer-related event). Maybe you like to run, but I haven’t run since high school, well, except for running after kiddos, but I certainly don’t chase them 9 miles worth! It feels really good to be out. While I am running I feel like I could do more but then I get home and I crash. In 2 miles I have used up all the energy that my body has for an entire day.
How can I achieve any distance then? I could give up. Be done with exercise. I’m exhausted and my spirit is weary. I don’t need to do this 15K. I don’t even need to get up off my couch. All that anyone is asking of me is to survive. And, I can be as cranky as I want. A sort of “it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to” for cancer patients. Just give in to depression: Stephanie, life sucks right now. Don’t take a shower. Don’t get out of your pajamas. It’s not like the radiation techs care if you
are wearing slacks, jeans or sweats with your beautiful, medical, “opening-goes-in-the-back” gown.
My sister has trained and run a full marathon and several halves. Anyone else who has also done so knows while training for a race of such distance you expect there to be pain and have to learn how to run through the pain. I love the perspective of one the authors of The Non-runners Marathon Trainer, David Whitsett, “Oh, there you are, pain; I’ve been waiting for you. Come run with me.” Using this perspective, I can look for the hiccups that come with exercising, even welcome
them as a sign of my body’s trying to heal. I can’t run right now and I can’t train to run; it’s just too much for my body to handle. But, I can walk. I can even walk quickly. I can walk much, much farther than I can run because it doesn’t overload my system and tax my energy to the point of
collapse.
It's been good to be thinking more about the point to all this treatment, my treatment finish line. The race I am running is more than just physical. How do I get through these next weeks as I finish treatment? And, can I look for ways to be a better person, even now? I look to Jesus, the one who taught us how to endure with patience and grace. I love Josh and my kids so much. I still want to be the best wife that I can be, the best mom, the best person. With the radiation treatment I go in to the radiation wing by myself and wait in a special waiting area just for patients. Once I am called I go into “my” room and get up onto the table where the techs position me for me treatment. There are two different positions. It’s a lot of holding really still; the actual treatment takes very little time. When I first started it kind of freaked me out to think about the radiation basically cooking my cells
and I would count to remind myself that the beams were really only turned on for less than 30 seconds at a time. Last week I started trying to remember to pray during my treatments. It’s so easy to just do the bare minimum to get through.
There are several Catholic prayers that I like. One is, “O' my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell, and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy.” Another is a section from the Divine Mercy prayers or Chaplet, and goes, “O blood and water, which gushed forth from the heart of Jesus, as a fountain of mercy for us, I trust in You.” Maybe you don’t believe in Jesus or in praying, or are another denomination and think either prayer is completely stupid, but I love them and feel a lot of peace when I pray them. I like to imagine Jesus with me in the radiation room saving me from any fires of the beams that might be harmful, so all that is left are the ones burning away the cancer. I like to imagine the blood and water that came from Jesus’ side washing over me. I like to imagine him holding me instead of the plastic form holding my head, arms and chest, that it is his arms around me.
O' my Jesus, I trust in You.
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