Behind-the-Scenes Blog

Intersections of the known and the unknown

“We found something.”

While I can imagine those words might be welcome if you’re looking for something valuable, they’re not words any woman wants to hear when she has her annual mammogram. 

Which I did, this week. Had the mammogram. Heard the words. 

So I’m going to say right up front that this blog post is going to be different from others I’ve written because I’m in a different head space. 

Yesterday, pre-mammogram, I looked at the graphics I had created for this week’s Narrative Lectionary reading about Paul and Silas so I could choose one as the basis for this week’s post. None of them called to me.

Twenty-four hours later—and one mammogram and one ultrasound later—the graphic titled “God in the Crossroads” fairly leapt off the page. 

I am certainly at a crossroads moment. As a two-time cancer survivor, I now face yet another biopsy and all its inherent questions: What will they find? Will I need another surgery? Possibly a mastectomy this time? Will I need chemo?

This moment in time is an abrupt intersection between what I’ve known and the unknown of what might be ahead.

I’m grateful to Pr. Pat for one of the themes he wrote for this week’s Narrative Lectionary text. The characters of the story are pretty diverse and the events rather dire: a fortune-telling slave woman, the imprisonment of Paul and Silas, a midnight earthquake, and a jailer ready to kill himself. Pat offers a helpful perspective about this surprising crossroads of people and events:

How do all these unusual suspects intersect and cross over? It’s at these intersections that the story of God’s people is being told . . . transformation happens in the intersections.
—Pr. Pat Fish, Narrative Alive sermon themes for “God in the Crossroads”

So I come back to my current crossroads and take a look at it from a different perspective, through the lens of an intersection. And consider where God might be in these intersections.

Intersections with people outside my sphere

Regardless of next week’s biopsy outcome, I’ve already crossed paths with people outside my normal sphere of interactions. I think of the mammogram technician in particular. She was especially kind, funny, and sympathetic. We both laughed a little at the indignities of aging (she told me she had been doing this work for 25 years), and I felt I had a comrade in that all-too-sterile room. And, who knows: Maybe my perspective encouraged her in some way.

If I find myself in the position of needing further cancer treatment, I wonder who else I might meet in the days ahead. What interactions await? Not just with medical personnel who could step in with knowledge and experience, but with friends and neighbors who might step in with caring and practical help. Who knows what those intersections might bring?

And even now. How does this week’s experience change how I interact with people in the grocery store, on the phone, in a meeting? I hope the jolt of a possible third cancer nudges me into being more open with and caring about the people in my sphere.

Intersections of the past and the future

This moment in time is also an intersection of my past and my future. Having survived two previous cancers, I have some experience with this disease. I know how fickle it can be. I know a bit about what needs to be done. And even if I dodge a bullet this time around, my past has certainly come charging right up against my future.

Many questions cross my mind, from what would a third cancer do to me, to how these biopsy results—positive or negative—will impact how I live going forward. If I’m cancer-free, will I embrace what really matters in my life more whole-heartedly? Will I treat myself any differently? Will I treat others differently?

But one thing I do know: I’m not alone. I have two wonderful sisters who have been there, one with a diagnosis for a 50% chance of surviving 5 years (that was 16 years ago!), and one with a recurring cancer like me. The three of us form a wall of strength, a circle of trust, a blanket of comfort.

This week, as I wait, they wait with me. They pray with me. And they will be with me in whatever the future holds, just as they have been with me in the peaks and valleys of past challenges. I treasure their love, and I thank God for them!

Intersections of fear and trust

As you may know if you’ve read the last couple of my blog posts, I’ve been writing about things like trust and divine reassurance.

Assuredly (or naively), two weeks ago I wrote this about trust:

I will keep on doing whatever it takes to make room for hope, for trust.
— “Trust Anyway”

Ironically (or presciently), last week I wrote this about peace:

The presence of Jesus’s peace is not dependent on the presence of quiet or stillness or calmness . . . This peace is not a passing moment; it is a state of being. This peace reassures me I can trust—no matter what chaos I’m living in, no matter what happens—that I’m grounded in love that won’t go away.
— “Is Peace Too Much to Hope For?”

This week I have to ask myself: Were those words true only in the abstract? What about now, in real time? Do these words still hold in the face of potential cancer? How much do I trust the medical solutions? How much do I trust my inner peace? How much do I trust God to be with me, no matter what?

Actually, at this particular crossroads in my life, I think the physical outcome may be less important than my reactions—and actions—to the news. If I choose to react only in fear—even during this week’s fear of the unknown—as I’ve done so many times in my past, then my life is and will continue to be limited. 

My mind goes back to something Ted Loder said in his book Loaves, Fishes, and Leftovers:

We tend to think of faith as though it were some commodity, something we have or don’t have. I think trust is a better word because trust implies an action. It is something we do rather than something we simply have.
—Ted Loder, Loaves, Fishes, and Leftovers

The road ahead, regardless of diagnosis, calls me once again to take action, to trust. Not just in words, but in body, mind, and spirit. Not just when I’m feeling calm, but when I wake in the night shaking. Not just when I’m reassuring a friend that I’ll be okay, but when I’m alone with a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

As I write this, I’m grateful that, months ago when I created the graphic for this text, I titled it “God IN the Crossroads,” not “God AT the Crossroads.” I may be scared AT this juncture of two different possible paths for my life, but I choose to trust God is IN the intersection, in my questions and fear, in my body and my spirit, in whatever lies ahead.

This morning, in my quiet reflections, I read this blessing by Jan Richardson titled “Stay”:

I know how your mind
rushes ahead,
trying to fathom
what could follow this.
What will you do,
where will you go,
how will you live?

. . . For now,
hear me when I say
all you need to do
is to still yourself,
is to turn toward one another,
is to stay.
—“Stay” by Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace

So I take these words to heart and commit myself, one more time, to actively nurture my somewhat-trampled trust. I will still myself. As I wrote in my blog post “Trust Anyway,” I will listen and hear and hope. I will turn toward people who care.

And I will keep quietly humming the hymn “It is well, it is well with my soul.” *

When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well
With my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

* Here’s a solo piano version of “It Is Well” if you’d like to hum along. (Sorry, you’ll have to skip the ad first!)

—Marcia Broucek, graphic designer for Narrative Alive

I welcome your comments about my reflections. If you have anything you want to share about your journey, I invite you to share your experience in the Comments field below.

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Click here to read more of Marcia’s blog posts.

Click here to see the Narrative Alive graphics and sermon themes for the Narrative Lectionary reading “Paul and Silas.”