An update on Debbie

This is Mike writing:

Debbie is very happy and relieved to be staying in St John's Hospice. They are keeping her comfortable and out of any pain, and we are all appreciating the love and care they show in all that they do for Debbie. She is very tired, and communication is increasingly a challenge, so she is no longer able to engage directly with Facebook, blogs and email. However, I am checking from time to time and I'll do my best to pass on the greetings and good wishes I have found.

Sure Hope, Fragile Hope.

Life is rich with living parables at the moment.

As I was sitting last night contemplating the little lantern on my windowsill, this was happening beyond my curtained windows, just across the Bay in Cumbria:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-31936513

Which expresses perfectly the dilemma I fell asleep wondering how to begin to try to articulate last night. I think I want to call it "Sure Hope, Fragile Hope."

I claim no credit for the fact that Sure Hope is such a felt certainty for me that - as yet - I haven't detected even a hairsbreadth's crack in its surface. It is a gift for which I am profoundly grateful. People might describe it as 'My Faith'. But that's a phrase that I think is fraught with potential misunderstanding, and  I'd like  to try to unpack it a bit. So I hope you'll bear with me for a minute.

My life has been shaped and motivated by two things. The first is an overwhelming love for and fascination with the story and person of Jesus of Nazareth, and the whole vast world of the Spirit which pursuing him and the life of what he called 'the Kingdom of God' has opened up before me. The second is a gruellingly love / hate relationship with the whole panoply of  'Christianity' and 'The Institutional Church,' which is the very imperfect vessel through which his story and his person have been communicated to us. And as soon as I hear that phrase "My Faith",  it immediately sets off alarm bells that somehow I'm being unquestioningly identified with that label, that Institution. I want to do what I can to silence those bells before they start ringing.

So here's what "My Faith" is not, for a start. It's not membership of an exclusive club that sets me apart from anyone else. It's not something that puts me in one camp and leaves my friends who do not share my allegiances, belief systems or opinions in another. It's not a security blanket which promises me  heavenly returns for backing a particular horse in some sort of stable of alternative Gods and Prophets. It's not an asset, a thing I can pop in my wallet along with my debit card and my driving license to help me deal with the real business of having a happy and successful life. And - please God this will not come as a surprise to anyone reading this - it does not oblige me to think I have the right to think or talk about any group of people as defined by their sexuality,their race, their gender, their religious affiliation or lack of religious affiliation, or anything else for that matter, as a 'them' about whom I should have 'views' or 'opinions'. Such things are anathema to the Jesus I know and love. Always have been. 

So if that's what "My Faith" is not, what is it? Well, let me try to unpack this phrase "Sure Hope" which has planted itself in my mind this morning. Sure Hope is the unassailable sense that I, and not just I but the entire universe, am in a safe place, a good place, in spite of a lot of bewildering evidence to the contrary. Sure Hope is a laugh of pure joy that always has the last word. Sure Hope is the amazing connectedness of things, constantly surprising me into realising there's so much more going on than we know. Sure Hope is being surprised by moments of revelation, when the sky suddenly rolls up and reveals the light that never goes out, holding our tiny little paltry lives in a vast tapestry, and immersing them in dignity and significance. (If you've never watched "Ashes to Ashes", they certainly got that bit right. There's a boxed set to invest in. Only if you can cope with seriously non - pc humour and language, though.) Sure Hope is what I see endlessly in Jesus, and is what keeps me in pursuit of him. But it is not the exclusive gift of Christians, far from it, Just as he is not the exclusive property of Christians. Sure Hope is the gift, I think, of Love - which He exemplifies, and the seeds of which are in every creature, every particle of existence.  

This Sure Hope - of which all of you who have loved or prayed or sent positive thoughts are a part - is carrying me, more than carrying me, as we embark on whatever this journey is going to be about, to wherever it's going to take us. I have no fear about it at all. 

And yet, last night, I realised - not for the first time but in a very particular way - that more is required of me than simply to be carried in my Sure Hope. Because my life, as well as being eternal, is also particular, and mortal, and fragile. And living its fragility, and facing the pain of its mortality, is a necessary part of being fully and properly human. Saying I'm not afraid of dying - which is, actually true, and I'm so grateful it is - is an enormous gift. But the real challenge is allowing myself to feel just how much I want to live. Just how much I want to keep on this side of death for every precious moment I can. Not just for me, but for the people who love me too.  

So - I rest in the Sure Hope. But I dare to ask for the Fragile Hope. And I accept the risk of disappointment. 

Mapping out the terrain

Waking up this morning in a place I could finally give a name to felt remarkably good. I know it's not a place I would choose to be, but it's where I am, and  now I can name it, I can begin to look around and explore the terrain.

And at the moment, I find myself to be in a room, which is considerably lighter than I'd imagined it might be.

Which is good - great - but also a little scary.

Mike and I often quote (well, I say quote - can't actually remember the line so it's more a paraphrase) a line from - I think - the John Cleese film Clockwise.  The essence of it is "It's not the despair that gets to me; despair I can live with. It's the hope . . . ".  That's certainly been proving true of the way I seem to have been handling things these past few weeks. It's been easier, for me, to block out everything except preparing for the worst case scenario - because then you can't have hope taken away from you. So I have cheerily been assuring myself that yesterday's news was almost certainly going to be of the 'there's nothing we can do' variety, knowing that left me in a place where disappointment could not strike.

Now, let's not get over excited. The news yesterday wasn't massively better than that. The hope that was there was tentative, and it was conditional. If tomorrow's PET scan reveals more tumours, then it's  a hope that will be very short lived. But it is, for now, hope. Hope that, if it survives the scan, and lives and grows, even holds the tiny seeds of the word 'eliminate'. A word I really hadn't allowed myself to contemplate.

So today's first challenge, as I survey the room I'm in, is to let myself look at this rather lovely but unexpected guest 'hope' which is sitting like a lantern, flickering away on the window ledge. And by hope, I mean very specifically, hope that I might actually survive this physically. I've got buckets of other kinds of hope, more of which later, all of the sort that, not being conditional on me surviving, can't disappoint me or anyone else. But this hope is risky. I want to take hold of the lantern, because let's be honest, I really, really want to live for as long as I can. I really, really don't want to leave a life which is brilliant and a family who are . . . well, I can't even begin to find words to say who they are to me . . . and friends who have stunned us these last few weeks with the depth of love they have poured on us. I want to grab that lantern and never let it go. But . . . I'm finding it surprisingly hard. And it helps me to say that.

Enough for tonight, I think. Bit more exploration tomorrow.

Let the blogging commence.

Having a diagnosis to identify what has been unfolding for us here over the past few weeks feels like a bit of a milestone - in a good way. It also feels like the right moment to rethink a little how to share things with our friends in a way that is open but not relentlessly in your faces, and allows you to 'buy in' to sharing this journey (sorry, hackneyed word, but it is a apt one) with us rather than having to unfriend me on Facebook if you want to avoid it.

 So - Mike has set me up with this blog, where I will indulge myself by writing and reflecting as and when I want to about what's going on, safe in the knowledge that if you're reading it's because you have freely chosen to. If you have, thank you. If you'd rather not, that is absolutely fine.

With that said, here is Mike's summary of what we learned today:

Today’s consultation has confirmed that Debbie has lung cancer and all the indications are that the tumour in her brain is a secondary from that. Secondaries are obviously serious, and further investigation will now take place to check it has not spread to any other location. Treatment options cannot be confirmed until after this is complete. However, if there are only two tumours, the recommendation would be for treatment by radiotherapy, which would reduce and possibly even eliminate the cancer.

We realise this may difficult news to receive, but for Debbie it is more hopeful that she was anticipating this morning. Another positive is that it is a slow-growing form of cancer, so it is realistic to think that Debbie will have time on her side. The doctor also assured us that there is every reason to believe that Debbie will be on good form for Jono’s wedding a week on Saturday and can even enjoy a glass of champagne on the day.

Later this afternoon, the appointment for the PET full body scan in Preston came through for this Wednesday, 18th March. So they're not hanging about. 

I think that's enough for tonight. I'll post on Facebook  when there are any new blog entries. Otherwise I'll keep Facebook for the other aspects of life. Thank you so much for being with us.