3 Year Tumorversary

Three years ago today a life died and a life was born. These weren’t two different lives but the same life.  A brief moment separated these two lives. November 11, 2010 was the ending of a life and November 12, 2010 was the birth of a new life. There have been many such moments in my life. Moments that marked the end of a previous way of being in order to give way to a new way of being. The day I submitted my heart to Jesus Christ, April 24, 1994. The day I said “I do” to Heidi Downs, February 3, 1996. The days my four children (Zach, Jake, Hannah, and Ben) came into this world. These are all days that mark a turning point, a chapter turning, a new way of being in this world. The time between November 11, 2010 and November 12, 2010 was just such a transition from one epoch to another. November 11, 2010 seemed so predictable and innocent. Life was progressing along just as expected. I was in the best physical shape of my life as a black belt instructor of martial arts. Our family was ordered just like we had dreamed, with Heidi being a homeschooling mom. I was two chapters of a thesis away from finishing my doctorate and my ministry role was just like I had hoped. Life was good. Life was hectic with four kids, but simple. When the sun rose November 12, 2010, life was no longer innocent and predictable, but chaotic, dark, and uncertain. November 12, 2010, after a seizure early that morning, I learned I have an Oligodendroglioma brain tumor. The next three years have been a roller coaster of treatments, setbacks, recovery, side effects, hope, despair, and a strange combination of hope and despair (still not sure what to call that). There are physical reminders that the previous life is gone: surgery scars, cysts on my spine from surgery debris, hair loss from radiation, memory deficits, balance issues, visual deficits, constant fatigue, aura seizure activity. Yes, the days of 360 spinning hook kicks are just a faded memory. Our family also shows the marks of this transition. It is now arranged differently with our kids in public school and Heidi finishing up her teacher certification. Yes, there are outward markers that the previous life is gone. But, there are inward markers as well. I can’t speak for my wife and kids, they will need to tell their own story. But for me, the previous life did not know this kind of suffering in the way the new life does. The previous life had only observed it from a distance. Hope was a stand-alone trait. Now, hope is mixed with despair. The hope is the same, that God will usher in a day of no more pain or fears, when he wipes away every tear, and where the burdens of this life will be no more. It’s just that now, that hope has some darker shades to it, and echoes of lament. One might say the life that died was much more victorious. But, there is an ominous long shadow cast over the new life that says, “maybe victory is not what we think it is.” The shadow is the cross of Jesus Christ. It reminds us that life is not always as it seems. The winners don’t always win and the losers don’t always lose. Sometimes beauty is found in the ugly. It may be hidden; we may need to search and go deeper, but it is there. Allow me to repeat a line I’ve posted before and shared numerous times in preaching, but captures my hope as I celebrate my 3rd tumorversary: If I ever find myself wondering if an experience has broken my heart or fixed my heart, it is probably evidence that I have stepped into that divine, thin space where heaven and earth meet, and I discover that my greatest fear (that this experience has destroyed me) has actually become my greatest hope (that this experience has transformed me). So, here’s to the birth of a new life, that was only possible because there was a death of an old life. “And the one who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5).