Some memories are harder than others. This week we have been asked to pray for a dear church member who went in for surgery as a result of her cancer. This is a prayer request for which I have extra empathy since it was just four short years ago that I was coveting the prayers of our church members for my own mom. It was an especially difficult time in my life—watching my mom fight cancer, seeing my son spread his wings and fly (in the wrong direction), and striving to be the caretaker and cornerstone of the family through what might have been her last days. As difficult as that time of my life was, I mostly remember the good things that were showered upon us by so many.
God brings to mind Galatians 6:10: As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith. This verse came to life for me during that time as the household of faith carried us through. Countless numbers of people prayed, visited, brought meals, sent cards, and simply “did good” for my family. These are the memories that count the most when I think about Mom’s battle with cancer.
My mom is a fighter! Maybe that is how I got some of my stubbornness. One thing is for certain—anesthesia and drugs have a way of displaying what is inside a person. As Mom came out of anesthesia after her first surgery, her first words were, “Let’s go, or we’ll be late for church.” It was a Wednesday night, and she knew where we were supposed to be! Of course, she has no recollection of anything she said, and we enjoy teasing her about all the other crazy things that she tried to talk about as she drifted in and out of that deep sleep.
It was not long before God put us through another test. She developed what we now know was Stevens-Johnson Syndrome. It was a severe reaction to the chemo that literally burned her from the inside out. Once again, we found ourselves at her bedside praying for a miracle. She was at the lowest part of her life. Stripped of everything that made her beautiful from man’s viewpoint (breasts were gone, hair was shaved, nails were unmanageable), this beautiful woman I call “Mom” displayed a character of which I can only hope to have a fraction when I am faced with the same situations. As I watched her try to eat, to stay awake, and to remember things, I came to realize that she is the living example of Philippians 2:3-4, which says, Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.
Every time she would wake up from her drugged state, she would ask, “How is So-and-so doing?” or she would instruct, “Make sure So-and-so gets what they need.” While she was being forced to drink her broth, she would ask again, “How is So-and-so?” Every waking moment included a conversation about someone else who was on her mind. She was the one in the hospital bed, but it was evident that others were always more important to her than herself.
That season in our lives taught me that all our rushing through meals, emails, and phone calls can easily get us distracted from what is really important. It taught me that all these things do not count as much as the people in our lives. We need to slow down and appreciate the what and the who God has given us.
Do not wait until your loved ones are in a hospital bed to show how much you love them. Spend quality time with them now. Talk to them on the phone for more than a moment now—NOW—before it is too late!
I am thankful God gave me the opportunity to sit with my mom during her lowest time and to see the beauty that I have always taken for granted. I am glad I was able to feed her, give her foot rubs, massage her legs, and share good memories with her during the lucid moments rather than suffering regrets of missed opportunities. Most of all, I am grateful that I am still able to learn from her since God has given her more years to show me how to focus on others and to …do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.
by Melissa Caperton
