Facing Goliath

Today's sermon was about David and Goliath and how we all have a Goliath of some sort in our lives.  Right off the bat, I started thinking about several Goliaths in my life, but I knew my biggest Goliath had been breast cancer.  I thought about family and friends whose Goliaths have been alcohol, drugs, debt, infidelity, grief and other biggies, and I realized that some of the Goliaths in life are choices, and others simply happen to us.  And I know that I didn't choose breast cancer--it chose me.

If we're smart enough, we fight against our Goliath just like David did and with his same faith.  David chose a slingshot, some smooth stones and no armor, and he beat the giant down in spite of the fact that he was just a boy and untrained in the ways of war.  His story is one of many examples in the Bible where God equips those who are called to do mighty things.

As I think on some of my friends who have conquered the Goliath in their lives, I feel like one of the cheerleaders in their camps, and it's almost as if I have been part of the battle.  After all, we all need people to believe in us and to cheer us on.  Barry always told his youth groups to edify each other and to lift one another up, because without the support of our friends, life is tough.  Several of his youth who are now adults have made a point to tell him that they still remember to edify others in life.  Lesson well learned, guys.

Although I feel the cancer Goliath has been conquered in my life, I still have reminders of how it almost got me.  I get check-ups every three months with my chemo oncologist and my radiation oncologist.  I get a mammogram every six months, and I see my surgeon once a year.  And because my tumor markers have been elevated on two occasions since finishing treatment, I've had two PET scans.  All of this is to make sure that my Goliath doesn't rear its ugly head back up into my life.  I dislike going to the doctor, but I'm thankful for modern technology and for these visits "just to make sure". 

My next visit to the chemo oncologist is this Wednesday, and I'm anxious, just as always.  I'm trying not to worry about the "what ifs", because I've been living life like a normal person.  Even though I have a scar on my breast and under my arm, I have trouble at times with discomfort in my right arm, and the hot flashes are fairly relentless, cancer is becoming a distant, unpleasant memory.  I have truly moved on!

I remember it being such a surreal feeling that people could just keep on going and doing, having fun and living life when I was going through the tough days of treatment.  How could they?  I know it's  the same way my friend Becky feels right now as she misses her mom and my good friend, Glenda.  How can people go on and be so happy while others are in the midst of the pain of grief?

For any of us who are dealing with an insurmountable Goliath, until the battle is won, we wonder how people can go on as if life is normal.  Although my Goliath is gone, the memory certainly lingers.  And life has gone on around my battle, whether I've liked it or not.