Cancer's Unexpected Blessings

When you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change.

Tony Snow | posted 7/20/2007 02:30PM

 
Commentator and broadcaster Tony Snow announced that he had colon cancer in 2005. Following surgery and chemo-therapy, Snow joined the Bush administration in April 2006 as press secretary. Unfortunately, on March 23 Snow, 51, a husband and father of three, announced that the cancer had recurred, with tumors found in his abdomenleading to surgery in April, followed by more chemotherapy. Snow went back to work in the White House Briefing Room on May 30, but resigned August 31. CT asked Snow what spiritual lessons he has been learning through the ordeal.

 
Blessings arrive in unexpected packagesin my case, cancer. Those of us with potentially fatal diseasesand there are millions in America todayfind ourselves in the odd position of coping with our mortality while trying to fathom God's will. Although it would be the height of presumption to declare with confidence What It All Means, Scripture provides powerful hints and consolations.

 
The first is that we shouldn't spend too much time trying to answer the why questions: Why me? Why must people suffer? Why can't someone else get sick? We can't answer such things, and the questions themselves often are designed more to express our anguish than to solicit an answer.

 
I don't know why I have cancer, and I don't much care. It is what it isa plain and indisputable fact. Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly, great and stunning truths begin to take shape. Our maladies define a central feature of our existence: We are fallen. We are imperfect. Our bodies give out.

 
But despite thisbecause of itGod offers the possibility of salvation and grace. We don't know how the narrative of our lives will end, but we get to choose how to use the interval between now and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.

 
Second, we need to get past the anxiety. The mere thought of dying can send adrenaline flooding through your system. A dizzy, unfocused panic seizes you. Your heart thumps; your head swims. You think of nothingness and swoon. You fear partings; you worry about the impact on family and friends. You fidget and get nowhere.

 
To regain footing, remember that we were born not into death, but into lifeand that the journey continues after we have finished our days on this earth. We accept this on faith, but that faith is nourished by a conviction that stirs even within many nonbelieving heartsan intuition that the gift of life, once given, cannot be taken away. Those who have been stricken enjoy the special privilege of being able to fight with their might, main, and faith to livefully, richly, exuberantlyno matter how their days may be numbered.

 
Third, we can open our eyes and hearts. God relishes surprise. We want lives of simple, predictable easesmooth, even trails as far as the eye can seebut God likes to go off-road. He provokes us with twists and turns. He places us in predicaments that seem to defy our endurance and comprehensionand yet don't. By his love and grace, we persevere. The challenges that make our hearts leap and stomachs churn invariably strengthen our faith and grant measures of wisdom and joy we would not experience otherwise.

 
Picture yourself in a hospital bed. The fog of anesthesia has begun to wear away. A doctor stands at your feet; a loved one holds your hand at the side. "It's cancer," the healer announces.

 
The natural reaction is to turn to God and ask him to serve as a cosmic Santa. "Dear God, make it all go away. Make everything simpler." But another voice whispers: "You have been called." Your quandary has drawn you closer to God, closer to those you love, closer to the issues that matterand has dragged into insignificance the banal concerns that occupy our "normal time."

 
There's another kind of response, although usually short-livedan inexplicable shudder of excitement, as if a clarifying moment of calamity has swept away everything trivial and tinny, and placed before us the challenge of important questions.

 
The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change. You discover that Christianity is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft. Faith may be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution. The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks, reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies. Think of Paul, traipsing though the known world and contemplating trips to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain), shaking the dust from his sandals, worrying not about the morrow, but only about the moment.

 
There's nothing wilder than a life of humble virtuefor it is through selflessness and service that God wrings from our bodies and spirits the most we ever could give, the most we ever could offer, and the most we ever could do.

 
Finally, we can let love change everything. When Jesus was faced with the prospect of crucifixion, he grieved not for himself, but for us. He cried for Jerusalem before entering the holy city. From the Cross, he took on the cumulative burden of human sin and weakness, and begged for forgiveness on our behalf.

 
We get repeated chances to learn that life is not about usthat we acquire purpose and satisfaction by sharing in God's love for others. Sickness gets us partway there. It reminds us of our limitations and dependence. But it also gives us a chance to serve the healthy. A minister friend of mine observes that people suffering grave afflictions often acquire the faith of two people, while loved ones accept the burden of two people's worries and fears.

 
Most of us have watched friends as they drifted toward God's arms not with resignation, but with peace and hope. In so doing, they have taught us not how to die, but how to live. They have emulated Christ by transmitting the power and authority of love.

 
I sat by my best friend's bedside a few years ago as a wasting cancer took him away. He kept at his table a worn Bible and a 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer. A shattering grief disabled his family, many of his old friends, and at least one priest. Here was a humble and very good guy, someone who apologized when he winced with pain because he thought it made his guest uncomfortable. He retained his equanimity and good humor literally until his last conscious moment. "I'm going to try to beat [this cancer]," he told me several months before he died. "But if I don't, I'll see you on the other side."

 
His gift was to remind everyone around him that even though God doesn't promise us tomorrow, he does promise us eternityfilled with life and love we cannot comprehendand that one can in the throes of sickness point the rest of us toward timeless truths that will help us weather future storms.

 
Through such trials, God bids us to choose: Do we believe, or do we not? Will we be bold enough to love, daring enough to serve, humble enough to submit, and strong enough to acknowledge our limitations? Can we surrender our concern in things that don't matter so that we might devote our remaining days to things that do?

 
When our faith flags, he throws reminders in our way. Think of the prayer warriors in our midst. They change things, and those of us who have been on the receiving end of their petitions and intercessions know it.

 
It is hard to describe, but there are times when suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you feel a surge of the Spirit. Somehow you just know: Others have chosen, when talking to the Author of all creation, to lift us upto speak of us!

 
This is love of a very special order. But so is the ability to sit back and appreciate the wonder of every created thing. The mere thought of death somehow makes every blessing vivid, every happiness more luminous and intense. We may not know how our contest with sickness will end, but we have felt the ineluctable touch of God.

 
What is man that Thou art mindful of him? We don't know much, but we know this: No matter where we are, no matter what we do, no matter how bleak or frightening our prospects, each and every one of us, each and every day, lies in the same safe and impregnable placein the hollow of God's hand.

 
 
 

Origins:   Tony Snow had a thirty-year career in the U.S. political news and commentary media, working as an editorial writer and editor for several newspapers (eventually landing his own nationally syndicated column), appearing as both a guest and a host of a variety of radio and television news programs, and serving as a speechwriter and media affairs consultant for President George H.W. Bush.

  

In April 2006, Tony Snow was appointed White House Press Secretary in the George W. Bush administration following the resignation of Scott McClellan.  In March 2007, Snow began treatment for the recurrence of cancer  (for which he'd undergone surgery and chemotherapy two years earlier) and had to scale back his official duties, as well as his speaking engagements and media appearances.  Snow officially stepped down as White House Press Secretary in September 2007, citing his need to earn more money for his family than the salary paid by his government position.  

  

On 12 July 2008, Tony Snow passed away at the age of 53, and many of those whom he had worked with (or for) paid tribute to his professionalism, including Vice-President Dick Cheney, who said of him: "He had this rare combination of intelligence, of commitment and loyalty to the president that he was working for, but also this great love of going out behind that podium and doing battle with what in effect were his former colleagues. And it was this capacity that he had to be unfailingly polite, to maintain good humor under the most trying of circumstances, and do it, I thought, better and more effectively than anybody I've ever seen in that post." 

  

The news of Tony Snow's passing brought additional focus and interest to a piece (excerpted above) he'd authored a year earlier, in response to the question of what spiritual lessons he had been learning during his bout with cancer.  His answer, in the form of an essay entitled "Cancer's Unexpected Blessings," was published by Christianity Today in July 2007.

Closing comments from www.snopes.com

William Robert Penninger was born 15 May 1920  (My 1st cousin once removed)

 
1.   He appeared on the census in 1930 in Stephenville, Erath Co, TX.

2.   Navy (US) Duty Station: USS Pope (DD-225). Destroyer Division 59

3.   Prisoner of War: 12 Apr 1943-15 Dec 1945, Makassar Camp, Celebes Islands.

 
Note: The following stories are mostly as written by Bill Penninger. I have edited some
spelling and paragraph formatting. (GLB)

 
Subject: Memories of long ago, in a strange land, when life the next was uncertain

Date: Sun, 12 Dec 1999 23:40:11 EST

From: Pennin80@cs.com

To: stories@hwy56.com

 

To Whom It May Concern:

 
Christmas is near, and my memories long ago in a strange land, December 24,1943. Very
short or, no rations had been had for almost two months. I can be said and foodless
stomach, works on the mind. A plot was hatch up to include meat the next the next day
to go with our small cup of rice.

 
With the help of two New Zealanders, and several Americans, after dark. our camp lights
went out and under the fence, thru the coconuts a couple of guys headed for where we
saw a dog that afternoon, when we were returning from work. Since it was near the
guards Quarters across the road from the camp. we had a watch on all the guards on duty
at that time. For an hour between 2100 and 2200 the officers were still doing their Sakie
thing and being near Christmas, their excuse was to drink. in their mess and that left the
Officers Quarters empty and there we were.

 
Since we happened to be there and very friendly big dog, needed petting Estes, wrapped
the rope around his neck and we carried him almost back to the fence and I cut his throat
and bled him for a few minutes and then, I covered the blood with sand and back inside
after the all clear, to do so.

 
We gutted and cut that dog, up and cooked it the rest if the nite and the next to our
surprise the japs gave us the day off. The next day our NEW ZEALAND friends Kenney and
Murphy came over and to go with our small ration of rice and Potato leaf soup, seasoned
with the meat broth a good meal was enjoyed by the ten of us who stuck our neck (Head
losing offense) but a hungry empty stomach, is convince , when empty for a long time.
They address my diary, which I buried in July 1945 and was found in 1946. It was returned
to me in 1996. I wrote to Kenneys address in NEW ZEALAND and I was surprised with an
answer from him and the memory of that day.

 
The Jap commander I have always thought the guards ate the dog and didn't suspect we
had full stomachs.

 
I have thought of that day every Christmas, since those days, in a foreign land , with the
beating, torture, starvation, daylite till dark work, no medicine, and the threat of losing
your head, and some did loose their minds, many lost their lives.

 
That is what freedom is all about and it is our duty, for us survivors to speak for those
dead buddies of ours who gave their lives. Freedom is never cheap, many have paid for
our freedom in other ways, We as survivors, even though there was no record in America
of our the early happenings in the war. The Americans were known as members of "The
Fleet That Didn't Exist" We were officially struck from the NAVY List in Late 1942. In
defense of Australia and New Zealand which were the jap objectives as well as the Indies,
many of their ships and men were lost in the process. But Freedom prevailed ,

HAVE A
GOOD DAY

 
A SURVIVOR 3 YRS ,7 MO, 13 DAYS

 
 
Subject: Fwd: Contact

Sate: Wed, 15 Dec 1999 02:57:31 EST

From: Pennin80@cs.com

 

Hi Gerald

 
Yes that was a time when life was very uncertain, and there just wasn't anything to eat,
in september of 43, we had finished up a large Radio transmitter field in the edge of the
jungle some had worked on it for almost a year and when we got a chance to work out
there we could get a monkey or a snake or birds, with a hungry guard some time If their
officers weren't around and they were hungry enough they would go in the jungle with
several of us. When they did we had something evena wild boar one time and agawanas
were good kinda like chicken some time the snakes were hard to get, but a dumb monkey
was a push over, I could catch em but some body else had to skin and cook it, (it looked
too much like a baby) and I just could not go it.

 
After That I was sent back to the camp and that first day a horse and a carabo got killed
in a bombing raid and we got some of it but we had to be careful of the metal splinters
and then for the next three months hardly nothing to eat . So my hope was that our group
would get together and try for that dog a horse or carabo would have been better.

As Ever Bill

I heard from one of my friends that her mother stepped from Time into Eternity last Monday (6/23/80). My own mother died last year on the day after her wedding anniversary. When considering these deaths and others, I realized that we each react to these events in our own way. Probably no two of us are alike in this.

I finally selected a peom by James Weldon Johnson, *Go down, Death* (A Funeral Sermon) as my  memoriam to those who have gone and those who remain behind.  The audio clip below is Wintley Phipps reciting the poem.
 
Weep not, weep not,

She is not dead;

She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Heart-broken husband--weep no more;

Grief-stricken son--weep no more;

Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;

She only just gone home.

 
Day before yesterday morning,

God was looking down from his great, high heaven,

Looking down on all his children,

And his eye fell of Sister Caroline,

Tossing on her bed of pain.

And God's big heart was touched with pity,

With the everlasting pity.

 
And God sat back on his throne,

And he commanded that tall, bright angel
standing at his right 

 
Call me Death!

And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice

That broke like a clap of thunder:

Call Death!--Call Death!

And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven

Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,

Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

 
And Death heard the summons,

And he leaped on his fastest horse,

Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.

Up the golden street Death galloped,

And the hooves of his horses struck fire from
the gold,

But they didn't make no sound.

Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,

And waited for God's command.

 
And God said: Go down, Death, go down,

Go down to Savannah, Georgia,

Down in Yamacraw,

And find Sister Caroline.

She's borne the burden and heat of the day,

She's labored long in my vineyard,

And she's tired--

She's weary--

Do down, Death, and bring her to me.

 
And Death didn't say a word,

But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,

And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,

And out and down he rode,

Through heaven's pearly gates,

Past suns and moons and stars;
on Death rode,

Leaving the lightning's flash behind;

Straight down he came.

 
While we were watching round her bed,

She turned her eyes and looked away,

She saw what we couldn't see;

She saw Old Death.  She saw Old Death

Coming like a falling star.

But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;

He looked to her like a welcome friend.

And she whispered to us: I'm going home,

And she smiled and closed her eyes.

 
And Death took her up like a baby,

And she lay in his icy arms,

But she didn't feel no chill.

And death began to ride again--

Up beyond the evening star,

Into the glittering light of glory,

On to the Great White Throne.

And there he laid Sister Caroline

On the loving breast of Jesus.

 
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her
tears,

And he smoothed the furrows from her face,

And the angels sang a little song,

And Jesus rocked her in his arms,

And kept a-saying: Take your rest,

Take your rest.

 
Weep not--weep not,

She is not dead;

She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

 

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their  collection, from Picasso to Raphael.  They would often sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for
his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A
young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

 
He said,"Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved
many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and
he died instantly.  He often talked about you, and your love for art.  The young man held out
his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would
have wanted you to have this."

 
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The  father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.

 
"Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."

 
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took  them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

 
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many  influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.

 
"We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?" There was
silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings.
Skip this one."But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start
the bidding? $100, $200?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting..
 
We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!" But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?" Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting."

 
Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid $20?" "Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!" 

 
A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!"  The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over."What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will.
 
I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.  The man who took the son gets everything!"

 
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message
today is, "The son, the son, who'll take the son?" Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets
everything.

 
 
author unknown

From Mark Lowry at  http://www.marklowry.com

The next time you feel like GOD can't use you, just remember...

Noah was a drunk

Abraham was too old

Isaac was a daydreamer

Jacob was a liar

Leah was ugly

Joseph was abused

Moses had a stuttering problem

Gideon was afraid

Samson had long hair and was a womanizer

Rahab was a prostitute

Jeremiah and Timothy were too young

David had an affair and was a murderer

Elijah was suicidal

Isaiah preached naked

Jonah ran from God

Naomi was a widow

Job went bankrupt

John the Baptist ate bugs

Peter denied Christ

The Disciples fell asleep while praying

Martha worried about everything

The Samaritan woman was divorced, more than once

Zaccheus was too small

Paul was too religious

Timothy had an ulcer...AND

Lazarus was dead!

 
This reminds me of something I heard Rich Mullins say. He said, basically, that being used by God is overrated. God used a donkey to speak to Balaam. Being wanted by God is the thing to be thankful for.

A TioZopilote Movie Pick

"Science can't explain it. No one can. A seemingly ordinary stone has
been brought to the attention of four of the best paranormal experts in
the world. As the hours progress, they find out why. The stone emits
sounds, in no particular order, and no one can record them. But why?
And how can it do this?"

Get the movie. Watch it. Find the answer to the mystery.

This film may be too intense for pre-schoolers.

It seemed to be a common practice for a US Navy ship to leave port on Friday for an at-sea period scheduled to start on Monday, hence USS came to mean colloquially "Underway Saturday and Sunday." It was widely assumed that the main reason for this practicewas that when the ship was in port, Saturday and Sundays were "liberty" days, while at sea Saturday and 1/2 day Sunday were regular work days.

In a similar manner, for clock changes resulting from steaming across a time zone boundary, if the clock was to be set back an hour (adding an hour to the day), the change would occur during the day. If the hour was being taken away, it would be removed in the middle of the night.

Young sailors on their first sea tour almost always have problems with Navy terminology. Since I was a seasoned Petty Officer, when I heard a civilian term for something nautical, I would often gather the offender's shirt front into my fist, draw the young man close and begin my mantra:

"Listen.
That's not a ceiling, it's an overhead.
That's not a floor, it's a deck.
That's not a wall, it's a bulkhead.
That's not a door, it's a hatch.
That's port, that's starboard.
You don't go up or down, you go above or below.
You learn the proper Navy terms for things or I'll shove your head through that little round window!!

If your interest is piqued, check http://www.history.navy.mil/trivia/trivia03.htm