Every morning, often in that semi-conscious, pre-wakeful state familiar to all of us, I pop open the tiny thumbnail size lid of my daily pill organizer. Inside, I find a tiny blue pill designed to keep the thyroid functions of my body going. I’ve kept this routine for the last six years or so, following a cancer diagnosis and subsequent surgery to remove the offending gland, along with its malignant nodule. It’s both art and science in action to get the level of thyroid hormone right with that little blue pill, which comes in all sorts of shades and dosages. The trickiest part, I learned from my endocrinologist, is that the dose I took this morning is the dose my body will “feel” in about a month. I don’t know if that has to do with terms like terminal half-life or hormonal-metabolic-fluctuation (I made that one up) or what, but – basically – it’s a marathonic roller-coaster, an incomprehensibly sensitive and intricate system riding along the arc of an incredibly long wave.
It’s the kind of thing that gets one thinking about long-term consequences, about how the decisions I make today will “show up” in my life long after I’ve forgotten everything else about what happened today. It also speaks to another truth that God seems keen to employ in my life, as far as I can tell. That is: things are going to happen today, things I won’t be able to understand or appreciate or explain for a long time. Today, effects will be set in motion that I won’t be able to comprehend for years, perhaps decades, from now. In fact, for my purposes here, I’d like to adjust this month’s theme of “walk a mile in my shoes” to “walk 20 years in my shoes.” Because it’s often only through this lens, the long-view, that we are able to see God’s providence, faithfulness, and care.
Here’s a simple thesis: You may never be able to answer a clear “why” when it comes to the events of this life, especially the hard ones — the pains, tragedies, and losses. And if you are graced with understanding, insight, or wisdom, experience bears witness that such gifts may take a long time to materialize. Maybe 20 years. Maybe 10. It’s all relative after a while. Sometimes, it does come in a flash, right away, but that seems the exception that proves the rule.
It’s my own cancer diagnosis six years ago and the new job I’ll soon begin, working directly and exclusively with cancer patients as they navigate the particularities of that crisis, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It’s the hellacious first year of marriage ringing loud like an echoing bell struck sixteen years ago as my wife and I (now securely bonded and more in love than ever) sit across from a newly engaged couple, sharing encouragement and hard-fought wisdom for their new journey. It was the sad and sobering chaplaincy training in the hospice unit, being baptized in death every day, which prepared me (years later) to be at my father-in-law’s bedside when he died and again with my grandfather when he was called Home.
The pain is the preparation. It’s the education and the ticket punched. Truly, our grief, stress, and hurt – even our sins, mistakes, and falls – are the necessary means by which comes the grace, mercy, healing, and help of God. Life happens. And death too. The bell tolls, and I promise – with the ears of faith – you can hear its beautiful sound… if you just hold on. Walk 20 years in my shoes.
Written by: Clint Hamm
