Jesus Commands My Destiny
Today at church we sang the song, “In Christ Alone.” In verse four, the lyrics read,
As you probably know, my dad died last year, about six weeks after being diagnosed with mesothelioma. It wasn’t that it took the doctors a long time to identify what was wrong with him; that’s just the kind of disease mesothelioma is. You don’t live long once it shows up (although six weeks was quick, even for mesothelioma). Dad first knew something was wrong by his lack of energy. Up until his illness, he was an active man. But over the fall, his energy and stamina had ebbed away. Eventually, taking a short shower was all he could manage before collapsing back into bed.
At the time we didn’t know why our dad, who could do anything he put his mind to, was spending more and more time in his recliner, why he wouldn’t just put his mind to the task of getting up and then make it happen. He would just sit there and say he couldn’t muster up any energy. But he also didn’t seem to be eating much. Not knowing what was wrong with him, we argued that he needed to eat more in order to give his body energy. We tried convincing him to eat more in general, but especially nutritive foods, vitamin and protein supplements, or even steroids if necessary, to stimulate his appetite and give him some pep.
But he approached our pleas with apathy: “I just don’t feel like eating” or “That doesn’t taste good to me.” Whatever he thought would taste good was always whatever we didn’t happen to have at the time. And if we rushed out to buy whatever he thought would taste good, he would take a bite or a sip and decide it wasn’t what he wanted after all. Once we knew we were dealing with something serious, we argued even more strongly that he needed to eat in order to fight whatever was hitting his body and to be stronger for whatever treatment might lie ahead. It was a battle we rarely won.
To me, his reaction to our admonitions always seemed to lie in the realm of “I just don’t feel like it.” That had never cut it for us as children and it seemed crazy that he wanted us to accept that from him now. We even got desperate enough to tell him that if he didn’t eat, he was going to die. And he would maddeningly respond that he had reached the average lifespan for an American male. Things didn’t improve once we knew we were dealing with a terminal illness. He seemed so resigned to his death.
I’m sure this was hard for everyone else in my family to see happening. But I think it hit me in a unique way. For the past four and a half years, I have gotten up every morning to face another day with a terminal illness. Every day, I have to choose to continue to live and to do the things necessary to sustain my life. To me, this is allowing Jesus to command my destiny. I do what’s been given me to do for my health – I take my medications, I monitor my diet, I get my blood checked and my body scanned. I can’t just say, “I’m going to die from this so let’s just get it over with.” I don’t think that’s my call to make.
We would eventually find out that there really wasn’t much my dad could do to improve his energy and appetite. The cancer was consuming all his calories and more, as well as sapping his energy and taking away all appetite. We stopped fighting with him over eating. He wasn’t really making a choice to just stop eating. But for a time, it really seemed like that to me. And the juxtaposition of that with my own situation made it extra hard for me to handle.
Jesus commands my destiny. He is sovereign over the fact that my cancer came back and can no longer be cured. And He is sovereign over the fact that I’ve been on my first treatment longer than the average lifespan for a woman with this disease. He is sovereign over the fact that I have lots of free time right now, but little energy to do anything with it. God has ordained all my days, from before I was born to the moment I leave this body. I don’t get to decide when that is. And sometimes, accepting that takes a lot of faith.
“No guilt in life, no fear in deathThe lyrics that Jesus commands my destiny, from my first breath to my final one, have much more practical application for me now than they once did. I think this idea is never very far from mind after you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. It is one thing to believe it on the good days, when you’re feeling pretty well and you’re generally happy with your circumstances. It’s another thing altogether when your situation becomes painful and miserable.
This is the power of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand” (Getty/Townend).
As you probably know, my dad died last year, about six weeks after being diagnosed with mesothelioma. It wasn’t that it took the doctors a long time to identify what was wrong with him; that’s just the kind of disease mesothelioma is. You don’t live long once it shows up (although six weeks was quick, even for mesothelioma). Dad first knew something was wrong by his lack of energy. Up until his illness, he was an active man. But over the fall, his energy and stamina had ebbed away. Eventually, taking a short shower was all he could manage before collapsing back into bed.
At the time we didn’t know why our dad, who could do anything he put his mind to, was spending more and more time in his recliner, why he wouldn’t just put his mind to the task of getting up and then make it happen. He would just sit there and say he couldn’t muster up any energy. But he also didn’t seem to be eating much. Not knowing what was wrong with him, we argued that he needed to eat more in order to give his body energy. We tried convincing him to eat more in general, but especially nutritive foods, vitamin and protein supplements, or even steroids if necessary, to stimulate his appetite and give him some pep.
But he approached our pleas with apathy: “I just don’t feel like eating” or “That doesn’t taste good to me.” Whatever he thought would taste good was always whatever we didn’t happen to have at the time. And if we rushed out to buy whatever he thought would taste good, he would take a bite or a sip and decide it wasn’t what he wanted after all. Once we knew we were dealing with something serious, we argued even more strongly that he needed to eat in order to fight whatever was hitting his body and to be stronger for whatever treatment might lie ahead. It was a battle we rarely won.
To me, his reaction to our admonitions always seemed to lie in the realm of “I just don’t feel like it.” That had never cut it for us as children and it seemed crazy that he wanted us to accept that from him now. We even got desperate enough to tell him that if he didn’t eat, he was going to die. And he would maddeningly respond that he had reached the average lifespan for an American male. Things didn’t improve once we knew we were dealing with a terminal illness. He seemed so resigned to his death.
I’m sure this was hard for everyone else in my family to see happening. But I think it hit me in a unique way. For the past four and a half years, I have gotten up every morning to face another day with a terminal illness. Every day, I have to choose to continue to live and to do the things necessary to sustain my life. To me, this is allowing Jesus to command my destiny. I do what’s been given me to do for my health – I take my medications, I monitor my diet, I get my blood checked and my body scanned. I can’t just say, “I’m going to die from this so let’s just get it over with.” I don’t think that’s my call to make.
We would eventually find out that there really wasn’t much my dad could do to improve his energy and appetite. The cancer was consuming all his calories and more, as well as sapping his energy and taking away all appetite. We stopped fighting with him over eating. He wasn’t really making a choice to just stop eating. But for a time, it really seemed like that to me. And the juxtaposition of that with my own situation made it extra hard for me to handle.
Jesus commands my destiny. He is sovereign over the fact that my cancer came back and can no longer be cured. And He is sovereign over the fact that I’ve been on my first treatment longer than the average lifespan for a woman with this disease. He is sovereign over the fact that I have lots of free time right now, but little energy to do anything with it. God has ordained all my days, from before I was born to the moment I leave this body. I don’t get to decide when that is. And sometimes, accepting that takes a lot of faith.
Dear Katherine,
ReplyDeleteWhat a Godly and mature response to your illness.Thank you, you arean inspiration
ro me and I pray for you
Karen Cowras