Beginnings

by Sr. Maria Geheb

I never thought at sixty-four years of age I would write an article on Beginnings . . . but that is where I am in my life: beginning. This new journey of faith for me is the result of a nine-month bout with cancer, a gestation period, as it were, for new birth, new learnings, new relationships.

It all began on August 31, 1999, when I read the scripture in a little prayer book that I read daily. In it Isaiah said:

The Lord will give you the bread
you need and the water for which
you thirst. No longer will your Teacher
hide himself, but with your
own eyes you shall see your
Teacher, while from behind a voice
shall sound in your ears: This is the
way; walk on it when you would
turn to the right or to the left.
(Isaiah 30:20-21)

A line from Psalm 25 followed: "I trust you: let me not be disappointed."

I was stunned because I knew that I had an appointment with a gastroenterologist at eleven o'clock that morning to learn the results of my recent endoscopy. Was Isaiah (and God) preparing me? It would seem so. The diagnosis-malignant diffuse large cell lymphoma in my stomach-was a forceful direction sign. I needed to move on this, looking neither to the right nor to the left. I left San Angelo to come to Houston, and on September 14, Dr. Patrick Wallace of the Stehlin Foundation for Cancer Research removed the lymphoma and half of my stomach.

I will not reprise the details of what followed: reacting to chemotherapy, living with a feeding tube, finding myself on the receiving end of ministry, enduring endless days of not feeling well (to put it mildly). Instead, I would rather move to this day at the end of May, and the new journey I am beginning. Today I am well. The cancer is gone, the chemotherapy is ended, the hair on my head is returning-and I have this wonderful appreciation of how good it is to feel good.

What have I learned? What are my new beginnings? I will reflect on three: prayer, the role of the patient, and letting go.

Prayer: As I have experienced the last nine months, I have developed a new appreciation of intercessory prayer. I had long used the phrase "pray for me" or "I will pray for you," but this intense, lived experience is something much more real and meaningful. I can honestly say that I would not be here today without the prayer of others.

here were times when "to pray" as I have defined it for myself was impossible. I could not "do" anything and "being" did not seem enough. Then I received a twofold blessing. I discovered this definition of prayer* :

Through the great pain of stretching
beyond all that pain has taught me,

the soft well at the base has opened, and life touching me there has turned me into a flower that prays for rain. Now I understand: to blossom is to pray, to wilt and shed is to pray, to turn to mulch is to pray, to stretch in the dark is to pray, to break the surface after great months of ice is to pray, and to squeeze love up the stalky center toward the sky with only dreams of color is to pray, and finally to unfold again as if never before is to be the prayer. -Mark Nepo

And I began to understand that "being" is enough. When I was really down, I would remember the hundreds of people who were praying for me at the parish and retreat center in San Angelo as well as family, friends, my religious community, and even people who were strangers to me but had been told of my plight. I could visualize myself being lifted up as "on eagles' wings" and carried to God by this community of prayer. I began each day to specifically pray for the people praying for me, even those for whom I had no names. The communion of saints had become a new reality for me.

The role of the patient. The Stehlin Cancer Clinic through which I have received treatment emphasizes the role of the cancer patient as part of the healing team. I learned that what I saw in the orientation film is reality in daily life. I talked about my pain, my good and bad feelings concerning the things that happened, and asked questions. I shared how I felt physically, emotionally, and mentally. I had good listeners. I learned to ask for what I needed (in some instances demanding) through our nursing director here at St. Dominic Villa, where I have lived these last nine months. I asked to see a counselor and a physical therapist, and I had a spiritual director whom I asked to walk with me. Each had a place at various times in this "gestation" period. Along with the surgeon, hematologist/oncologist, and gastroenterologist, these people have helped bring me to the beginning of a new life and a new way at looking at life. When my hair began to reappear (a vital sign that the chemotherapy drugs were out of my body), I even had a shopper who bought me a red dress. My current motto is "New hair, new dress, new life!"

Letting go. I think letting go was the most difficult lesson to learn. In September I came to Houston saying to people at home in San Angelo: "It is only for a couple of months. I will be home for Thanksgiving." Then it was "Christmas," then "spring." Only in January as I began my last chemo did I finally say to God, "Okay, I am not setting any more deadlines." I am finally able to allow God to be in charge, which actually was the truth all along. To live day by day (or in some cases last fall, hour by hour) was not easy. I am so used to saying, "Sure, I can be at the meeting next Thursday." It is hard to say, "I will try to be there, God willing." I have learned to do that for the most part, but it will be difficult to continue now that the cancer is gone. It will be a challenge to continue to live one day at a time.

Beginnings! They happen in all of our lives as we continually renew and re-commit ourselves, as we begin a new decade of life, as we seek new fields of ministry, as God calls us to new life. Someone wrote that our morning prayer could well be just "Whatever," opening ourselves to whatever the day God has given us will contain. Let us begin . . .

Sister Maria Geheb presents retreats and days of prayer in the Houston area.