Linda came into the common area with the nurse. This was the area where cancer patients received their IV drips of chemotherapy. Two men were already seated with the IVs in their arms. One was an older, very dignified man. He was reading the Wall Street Journal. The other was a very big, very tall man, who sat stooped over, with his head in his hands.
On the far side of the room a young girl sat quietly, IV in her arm, working on a big puzzle book. Linda had seen her before, but she never let herself think about the girl. It was hard enough dealing with her own cancer. There was no way she could face a child with cancer. So again today, Linda focused on her own treatment.
Linda’s hair was already gone from her previous treatments, and she knew that she would spend tomorrow being very sick after receiving today’s batch of noxious chemicals used for killing cancers. She hated how sick this cancer “medicine” would make her, but Linda was determined to beat her cancer. She had to.
After getting Linda’s IV started, the nurse left. Linda sat quietly with her own thoughts, as the chemicals flowed into her arm.
Suddenly, the big, tall man started crying. His loud sobs filled the room and jerked his whole big body up and down. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, his crying stopped. He looked quickly around the room. His face flushed with embarrassment when he saw Linda was looking at him.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t think anything about it,” she responded. “I’ve been doing a lot of crying myself. Some days I cry from the time the kids get on the school bus, cry all through the day, and don’t stop until they get off the bus in the afternoon.”
“I never cry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened just then.”
“This stuff gets to you. That’s why,” she said. “This is a terrible disease to have.”
“You can say that again,” he said firmly. “I’ve never been sick a day in my whole life. Never been to a doctor. Never been in a hospital since the day I was born.”
“This is a heck of a way to get introduced to doctors and hospitals,” Linda offered.
“Nothing’s ever beaten me before,” he said, “but this stuff just about has me whipped. Once I fought fourteen guys in a bar. I was the only guy still standing and able to walk out before the police got there. But this stuff is like a sucker punch to the groin. I’ve spent whole days just doubled up in a ball, unable to even straighten out. I can’t even walk to my refrigerator anymore without getting worn out.”
“I know what you mean,” Linda agreed.
“I’m a strong guy,” he went on. “I once lifted a car off my little brother when it fell off the jack and pinned him. But now I can hardly lift myself out of a chair!”
“How long have you been on chemotherapy?” Linda asked.
“Ten weeks,” he answered. “But I just keep getting sicker, and the cancer keeps getting bigger. I’m not sure these doctors know what they’re doing.”
“Does make you wonder, sometimes,” Linda agreed.
“Excuse me,” the man with the Wall Street Journal said. “I couldn’t help hearing your conversation, and I thought you should know that this is probably the best cancer hospital in the world.”
“Are you a doctor?” Linda asked.
“No, but I’ve had a boatload of people research it and they all agree the docs here are the best to be found.”
“That’s helpful to know,” Linda said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Well they may be the best docs in the world,” the big man said, “but they told me I’ve only got a one in ten chance of beating this stuff. And this is one big, strong, tough guy who feels like he has finally met his match.”
“Strength has nothing to do with beating cancer,” the other man said. “And money doesn’t either. I’ve got a ton of money, and yet this is my last treatment. It’s not working, and there’s nothing else they can do. All my money won’t buy me one more day in this world.”
“I’m sorry,” Linda said.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he responded. “I’ve lived my days. But you,” he said looking at Linda, “you’re still young. And you have kids to raise too. Did I hear you say that?”
“Yes, I have three kids. One in first grade, one in fifth grade and one in eighth grade.”
“Wow,” he said, “that’s really tough. Those kids need you. I sure hope you can get well, so you can stick around and raise those kids.”
“You shouldn’t have cancer,” the big man said. “You’ve got kids. It’s just not right.”
“He said strength and money have nothing to do with cancer,” Linda responded as she pointed at the man with the Wall Street Journal. “Well, neither does right and wrong. I’ve tried to do what is right all my life. And I’ve still got cancer. I’m a good mom, and a good wife, and they tell me I’m a good employee at the store where I work. I eat right. I exercise. I do all the things they tell you to do to stay healthy. I’ve obeyed all the rules all my life. I’ve never even had a parking ticket! But cancer doesn’t care about what’s right or what’s wrong. It just grabs onto you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it!”
“There is too!” a small voice yelled from the far side of the room. A very angry twelve-year old girl stood in front of her chair, IV still in her arm. “You’re wrong!” she insisted. “You can pray and ask God to help you!”
“Well sure, honey,” Linda agreed, trying to calm the girl, “I’m sure your right.”
But the little girl continued, “God made you and God can make you well! And even if God doesn’t make you well here, God will make you well in heaven! And Jesus has it all worked out for you to get in free of charge, just because God loves you!
“She’s right,” the big man agreed.
“Little lady,” the man with the Wall Street Journal said, “I bow to your wisdom. God can and God will make us well. Thank you for reminding us grown-ups.”
“You’re welcome!” the little girl said as she sat down again and returned to working in her puzzle book.
Silence fell over the room, while a twelve-year old’s frown transformed was swallowed up in concentrating on her puzzles. She could play with puzzles because she trusted her future to a God whom she knew and loved as dearly as her own mother and father.
The three adults, meanwhile, sat thinking about God. Of course they had heard about God. They had even spoken God’s name from time to time, and once in awhile without cursing. They had heard that God was loving and had a desire to heal and to save lives. But what they were not sure about, was whether God would heal and save the lives of people who had worshiped at other altars. As drops of toxic chemicals flowed into their arms, all three adults wondered how much could God forgive, how much did God love. All three wished they could know God better.
Questions for Meditation, Discussion or Preaching
Copyright 2020. Robert D. Ingram, 32746 Jourden Rd., Albany, Ohio 45710 (dr.bobingram@gmail.com). Used by permission.
