Healing

A and I went to Livermore on Sunday. We hadn’t been to St. Bart’s in ages. The rector is retiring, and she’s a friend to both of us. I hadn’t seen Carol in way too long. She’s just good people. Loves me utterly, and made damn sure I know it. It was really healing to have that time.

She said something to me two years ago, that’s been whirring around in my head again. I was starting interferon the next day. I was scared. She was the right person at the right time. She said,

“God will either heal you, or change your heart so you don’t need it any more.”

I’m noticing, that I haven’t been asking. I’ve been aware of the presence of healing. Thankful for it. But I haven’t said, “Look, I don’t know if I’m dealing with this at all well, and I’m really not happy about any of it. Can you just come and hang out with me?” Let alone, “I don’t believe you’re a pharmacist, but I really don’t want to die.” I need to say these things. I need to be honest about them.

I think I’ve gotten too busy scrapping through this. Not only do I not have to do that, but I can’t keep it up all the time. I need to remember that it’s not just me, my care team, and my community in this struggle. God is in here too. God feels exactly as you or I would feel, if someone we loved more than life were this sick. God doesn’t come at disease with a scalpel. (God alone knows why.) God comes to us with love. Love sets us free to be who we really are.

There are times for fighting through, and times for remembering how loved we are. It’s okay for me to be honest about what I need and what I want. It’s okay to ask for whatever these things are. It’s okay to ask for wholeness; it’s okay to ask for life. It’s okay to ask for time.

I believe as I always have, that the medical aspects of this are up to my doctors and my body. I won’t be singled out to be cured. I also know that it’s okay to say, “God, please. Help me.” If that help comes in the form of clarity or love, that is healing.

Healing is so much more than cure. Cure is the cessation of disease. Healing is becoming who we are. In all the ways we can think of, and in every way unimaginable. I did not know before I was diagnosed two years and three months ago, that I would be who I am right now. I continue on that course. I believe this with everything I am: love makes real. And real is what we want. Real is where we are going. Real is absolute fearlessness; not defiance, but living in truth. Real is communion with ourselves, each other, and God. Real is love out loud.

Real requires the dropping of boundaries. Becoming demands that I say, “God, I have no idea how to do this. I know that you are with me. Show me how to walk through this.  Show me how to be whole.”

That, I know, God will.