On Conquering Death and Being Angry at God
Yesterday we celebrated life. Because Jesus conquered death, we will too. O death, where is your sting? What a beautiful thought at this time during my life. As morbid as it may seem, I’ve been thinking about death lately. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be facing death (at least not due to this cancer) for a long time, but being told you have cancer has a way of refocusing you and life and death are suddenly center stage. How have I lived? Have I made a difference? Am I making a difference? Or just existing, taking up space? How will I be remembered after I’m gone?
If things go south and this cancer is worse than originally thought, I’m not afraid to die. My greatest fear is for my daughters and wife. I’ll be in a much better place and more alive than I’ve ever been, but they’ll be here dealing with the aftermath and suffering and grief . . . and that tears me up. I don’t want my girls to grow up fatherless and my wife to be husbandless. That’s where I need to trust God to take care of them. (Yes, I’m feeling morbid this morning; a lot’s been on my mind . . . sorry).
Somebody asked me if I was angry at God because of this whole cancer thing. Why would I be angry at God? Through one man, sin entered the world. Man brought sin and suffering and pain and, yes, cancer into the world, not God. I’ve got my head on straight enough to understand that we live in a fallen, sin-cursed world and cancer is part of that world. Just because I’m a child of God doesn’t exempt me from the conditions and terms of this human experience.
So that’s some things I’m thinking about this morning as I await the results of my CAT scan. Our prayer at this point is that the cancer hasn’t metastisized and that when the surgeon does the ultrasound Thursday, he’ll find that the tumor has, in fact, shrunk and we can skip the radiation thing.
Life is hard; God is good.