Original art: HJ McEnroe
Reflection
Lazarus died twice.
While not a comforting thought, of its own accord, that simple fact can offer a useful perspective on how we spend our lives. It frames our subconscious grasp of the elation and wonderment to which Jesus’ followers attested – to which we all want to attest – when a loved one is resurrected from death, or escapes the ravages of cancer, emerging with a cancer-free diagnosis. Both feel like miracles. In my case, the two were one. So, let’s first acknowledge reality: cancer is nothing if not a harbinger of our death...though we know neither the day, nor the hour.
With the previous installment of “In Search of My Voice,” I focused – with good reason – on my seemingly miraculous escape from the vocal cord cancer that has plagued me for sixteen months now. Having received a tentative “cancer-free” diagnosis on Good Friday, this past April, my reflection in that essay was on the wondrous elation of such a “resurrection.” I felt, for that brief moment, a reprieve no less miraculous than that of Lazarus. Overcome with emotion, it was difficult for me not to shout and proclaim the glory of God. Couldn’t yet sing it…but oh, how I wanted to!
Such elation was short-lived. Within six weeks, I felt the strange and dreaded sensation of this pernicious intruder reoccupying my right vocal cord. Like a vampire, it had taken root, lurking within, hidden from view – like an unexplained coffin in the basement.
In late June, I again underwent the unpleasant procedure of KTP laseroscopy. KTP stands for potassium titanyl phosphate, which is the specific crystal used inside the laser device. This medical laser emits a focused, green light beam (at a 532 nm wavelength) designed to target blood vessels and dark pigment in the skin or tissue.
There is nothing quite like the unmistakable, noxious whiffs of one’s own burning flesh to remind us of our mortality. The “plan” is – or was – for a follow-up visit with my dear Dr. Frankenstein…polishing his lasers, no doubt, anticipating more fun at my expense, later this week. Yet, where this story now leads us has little to do with my vocal cord cancer…
The Mortality of it All
In this, my seventy-first joyride around our modestly-sized star, I’ve begun reflecting on another reality: this “mortal coil,” to which I’ve oft-referred in this series, is – in my case – well past its warranty period. I am richly blest; I am also mindful that my body is filled with the prosthetics that can extend a human’s life: knees, hips, spine (lower and upper), shoulder, etc. Indeed, my baby boomer friends often call me a “bionic man.”
This reality recently reminded me – with my failing gait and loss of spring in my step – that I had need of new “parts” in my left knee. Undergoing a recent surgical procedure (number 26) on July 6 to swap out those parts, I experienced some…”complications,” you might say. Thus, I underwent the surgeon’s scalpel yet again on July 20, delaying my recovery timeline just a little. Then came a bizarre sleep-walking injury in the wee hours of July 29th…prompting my return to my exasperated surgeon. (You see, the opioids dispensed for surgical pain were causing me to once again sleepwalk…as I had routinely done during my twelve-year addiction rampage, ending in early 2015.) By later that evening, I knew that whatever I had done was morphing my poor left leg into something approaching necrotic fasciitis – straight from central casting for a bad zombie movie.
“But Lord,” I asked, “this seems inconsistent with the plans we’ve discussed…?” Silence.
What I have learned about God in my time on Earth is that there is, indeed, a precise reason why we were designed with one mouth, but two ears. When in doubt, I’ve discovered it’s useful to echo the words given young Samuel by the priest, Eli:
“Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” 1 Samuel 3: 9-10 NAB
The Long and Winding Road
This, oddly enough, puts me in mind of a certain country road from my youth. It was long, winding indeed, and felt surreal…twisting and doubling back through verdant fields and forests, through pastures and wheatfields, rising to a crest of a hill that opened onto a spectacular view of Lake Huron…only to discover that I had finally reached the end of this country road, with no way to reach the lake! It left an indelible mark on my soul when I realized that some roads were never meant for deliverance…merely intended to show us that just because we follow a path faithfully, it may not be ours to complete.
I’ll never forget dismounting my bicycle on that aromatic May afternoon, following a violent thunderstorm the prior evening, in my fifteenth year of life, May 1970, listening on a transistor radio to the Beatles’ final number one hit…
The Long and Winding Road…
The long and winding road
That leads to your door
Will never disappear
I’ve seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to your door
The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way
When Paul McCartney penned those words in 1969, it was during the last tumultuous year of The Beatles’ existence as a rock band. In the span of a decade, four young men who had become famous to the world, were becoming infamous to each other through a series of personal events. Indeed, the metaphor itself – a long, winding road – of life’s journey, with its seeming certainty but unattainable goals and bittersweet relationships, symbolized for McCartney the mystery of each life’s journey: ancient and rather wise emotions for a relatively young man. No less surreal was that long, winding country road from my youth, culminating at the top of a hill, looking eastward, a panoramic view of Lake Huron…from a road that would never take me there.
“So, Carl,” as I imagine you may be asking impatiently, “…where are you going with this?”
If you consider, for even a moment, our troubled search for meaning in a world seemingly hell-bent on self-destruction, then it must certainly have occurred to you, at some point: “Why worry, in the face of such unpredictability?”
In fact, that same emotion was expressed two-thousand years ago, by an itinerant Jewish Rabbi, in his haunting reminder of how little control we exert…
Can any of you, by worrying, add a moment to your lifespan? If even the smallest things are beyond your control, why are you anxious about the rest? - Luke 12:25-26
I have spent the last fourteen months searching for my own voice…believing that if I could merely control that, I might offer back to God the one gift He gave me for communicating with him. But that, I now realize, was folly…vanity, borne of my own desire to be heard. Expressing that truth is painful; lest I do, however, I am disingenuous. I, dear reader, am no different from you.
This “long and winding road” we each travel is less about finding and obtaining; it is far more about discovering our limitations, resolving our bittersweet heartaches, and the journey of healing that can only begin by helping others…as Rabbi Jesus did.
There is nothing quite like finding one’s self laid low by unforeseen lapses of health to show us the folly of pedaling our little bicycles too diligently, without first looking over the horizon and realizing: that path we took for granted? Yeah, that might not lead to fulfillment…and was never ours to possess. We must go where we are called. The only way to do that is to listen for little faith whispers.
In my life, the Architect of the Universe has been whispering to me for some time now, cautioning me not to miss the forest for the trees, not to presume I have all the answers, hold all the cards, or know enough to define the rest of my life’s path.
Yet, that temptation lingers…
But still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago
Don’t keep me waiting here
Lead me to your door.
Inevitably, we can be certain of only this: this one Earth, one life, many paths – not completely known by us – and that our faith in Him is our calling: to serve one another, minister to one another, love one another…until we are led, finally, to His door.
Will the search for my voice ever permit me to sing again? I cannot say with absolute certainty. I know only that I will try, until it becomes clear the folly of such repeated efforts.
Will I recover from this latest medical emergency? My determination to do so yet leaves me needing Him to open that door and show me the way.
What I do know is that the most important things in my life come down to relationships with family, friends and loved ones. When I finally reach that door, will I be able to tell Him in good conscience that I loved them completely, with all my heart and all my being? Will I be able to answer honestly that I fed the poor, clothed the naked, visited the sick and imprisoned; that I helped the stranger, and gave comfort to the grieving?
These are our calling as His children. All else is in His hands.
Peace. Shalom.
1 comment
Thank you for sharing your reflections. You are very dear to us and remain in our daily prayers.