A Good Cry

Why, I ask myself, am I so blah? Little things irritate me. I have no interest in household chores. The dishes lie dirty in the kitchen but I cannot address them. I cry with no provocation. I yell at people who are driving too slow. Or too fast. If I didn't know better, I would think I am having a bad case of pms or menopause. What gives?





I think about it for some time before I begin to understand where my distress lies. My assumption was that once the chemo and radiation treatments were over and I had moved past most of the side effects, I would return to some sort of healthy status. Remission should mean that I could put this cancer stuff behind me and live a normal life. But this leg thing drags me into yet another piece of the struggle. It rises before me huge and relentless, another block to putting the last six years away into storage.





I have summer plans - things I am really looking forward to doing. The mere thought that I might have shingles and have to cancel out again on my semester at Concordia or visiting with friends or attending a worship conference was disappointing. I am weighed down by what really is not a major setback. But its enough to make me weep.





There. Its out in the open. I have named this thing. Now that I see it for what it is, I can put things into perspective. First, a full confession and lament. Lord, I am angry that I am still having health impact from the cancer treatment. I want to be free. He already knows that. Now I instinctively put on a CD of hymns, curl up in his arms, and seek solace. The words wash over my weary soul.



O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home. Under the shadow of thy throne still may we dwell secure. Sufficient is thine arm alone and our defense is sure.



Abide with me, fast falls the even tide. The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the helpless O abide with me.



Eternal Father strong to save whose arm has bound the restless wave, who bids the mighty ocean deep its own appointed limits keep. O hear us when we cry to thee for those in peril on land and sea.



The mountain before me shrinks into a more reasonable size. Keep my focus on the hugeness of God and smallness of the problem becomes apparent. I decide to have a good long cry and be done with it. But I will not cry because I feel sorry for myself or because I am having a bit of a bump in the road.



No, if I am sad and want to cry, I will find something worth crying about. I rent the movie "Taking Chance," a heartbreaking story about a young boy who dies heroically in Iraq - based on real life events. A marine colonel escorts the dead soldier's body back to his family in Wyoming, and they are met along the way by people who are moved and touched by his death.





It is worth crying for our soldiers who are giving their lives overseas. It is worth crying about the families who will forever face an empty space around their dinner table. It is worth crying over war and hatred that reigns in our world instead of peace and love. Yes, I can allow a good cry over that. I watch the movie privately, and I cry freely throughout. My mountain shrinks to a molehill. I do not feel sorry for myself or concerned about giving up a few summer events.





The cry is exactly what I needed. Cathartic. Healing. Sensible. Productive. I still don't feel inspired to do the dishes. I recognize that cancer patients have these bad days, often for no apparent reason. The tiredness, the apathy, the pains crop up, wreck havoc, disappear for no discernible cause.



Its OK. I feel better now. Smile. The storm subsides.