Sometimes, You Have to Just Go On Anyway
The following article is an excerpt from a chapter in my next book , Just Go On Anyway.
Life is a series of hard knocks. I know. I’m covered with bruises. But you are too, aren’t you? In my sixty-eight years, I’ve yet to meet someone whose life was unscarred by broken relationships, illnesses, loss of loved ones, loss of jobs, broken dreams, and cancer, cancer, cancer. When I originally wrote this essay, humanity was embroiled during a world war – the battle with COVID-19. We were shut in our homes, and I suspect the saying “Home Sweet Home” lost its popularity for a while. We got sick of being restricted like caged animals. Many parents’ patience was frazzled while trying to home-school the kids and keep them busy and out of trouble. We are happy to bid that chapter farewell.
As a pastor, I witnessed much sadness through the years. Divorces – lots of divorces – sickness, death – lots of death, and thousands of unmet dreams. Of all the subjects about which I spoke and taught, human pain and suffering resonated with more people than any other subject. We live in the puzzle of what we hope for and what is. My friend, Drew, accurately describes the situation as the space or “gap” between expectations and reality. Too often, for most of us, what is, is not what we hoped for. People don’t get married thinking of their future divorce. Parents don’t have children expecting to hear of a cancer diagnosis. Most folks don’t go through life expecting a life-threatening diagnosis to cross their path someday. Young people don’t get advanced degrees, hoping to end up in a dead-end job. These things and a thousand more maladies await every child that bursts out of their mother’s womb. No wonder we come out crying!
I’ll never forget the night I received a call from a good friend. She was visiting relatives in Florida, and her husband, one of my mentors, had gone to the hospital. “Would you go and be with him until I can get there?” Of course, I would. I would be honored. Phil was a great friend and life guide. He was a fine-looking man, well-educated, well-known, and respected in the community. He was the head of the English Department at a large high school in the area, but he was also a golf pro at a popular golf course in our township. I liked to golf occasionally, and Phil tried to teach me how to play well – emphasis upon “tried.” We were well into an 18-hole stretch when he sat down next to me in the cart. He said, “Don, you are terrible at this game. You need to keep your day job. You’re a pretty good preacher.” I kept my day job! Phil was a picture of success.
I took what seemed like, a very long walk to the emergency area of Holy Spirit Hospital. It was the middle of the night, and the emergency room was relatively quiet. I don’t like the smell of hospitals. No matter how well they are maintained, there must be some kind of mysterious odor to illness and the pain associated with it. As a pastor, I spent a lot of time in hospitals. It was never one of my favorite parts of the job.
I went to the front desk and asked to see Phil. I told her that I was his pastor, so she quickly helped me find my way to his little room. As I walked down the hallway, I could see one bed after another containing someone in pain, along with their family and friends sharing the burden. Hospitals always resonate with a constant dripping of beeps. I’ve laid awake at night hearing those annoying sounds. I hate those beeps. Finally, I pulled back the curtain, and there lay Phil.
This was not the confident, strong man from whom I’d learned so much. He was wearing the demeaning, ugly hospital gown that every poor soul in one of these beds dons. One maintains little personal dignity in the hospital. It’s the great equalizer. We all look equally foolish and embarrassing wearing gowns that reveal our entire backside and our front side too if you’re not careful. Wealth, education, power, and confidence all look the same in a hospital bed. I’ve always wondered who designs these gowns. I think of a group of college students who’ve been up too late with too many drinks sitting around a dorm room, laughing to one another, “Let’s design the ugliest possible garment for sick people to wear.” I think doctors and nurses constantly need something to cheer them up, and every new patient provides more humor as they fit into one of these hideous garments. Back to my story.
Phil’s face was downcast, and I could immediately sense that something serious was happening, and I was right. A doctor with terrible bedside manner had just entered the room a few moments before I arrived. She forthrightly told Phil he had terminal brain cancer. I think she had attended the Atilla the Hun School of Medicine. Science can be cold and deflating, especially when delivered by an ill-equipped, non-empathetic messenger. Phil and I began to chat a bit. I had no idea what to say. What can you say that’s worth anything in these situations? “I’m sorry. I’m here for you.” I guess that’s about as good as it gets. Mostly I’ve learned two lessons for situations like this; be present and keep your big mouth shut most of the time. And certainly, do not act like you have any magic words that will make everything better. You don’t.
Phil was a man of deep faith and a strong demeanor. But now, his beliefs were meeting head-on their most formidable foe ever. I don’t remember his exact words, but I will never forget the message. “Don, I guess this is where the rubber meets the road. I will find out if I really believe these Christian things I’ve espoused all these years. Do I really believe them?” Our deepest beliefs immediately come out front and center when we stare death in the face. I am reminded of a little church in our area. It’s an old white church building with a steeple and belfry. It sits along a major road, and at the top of the bell tower, there is an old-timey red neon sign that simply says, “Jesus Saves.” It usually seems outdated, but in times like these, this message is what we need to decipher. “Does Jesus really save or not?”
Phil and I discussed the implications of his long-held faith and how it would now apply to him in a whole new way. Would he crumble and acquiesce to the diagnosis, which meant his human demise, or would he somehow find in his spirit the power to believe that famous Christian Bible verse, “28 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NLT) Phil chose to believe. I learned many enduring lessons from Phil and his wife during the last few months of his earthly life. Little did I know that one day I would wrestle with those issues when my wife struggled with terminal cancer. I am confident that Phil’s light and momentary troubles led him to eternal glory with his God.
All this brings me to the point of this article. The frailties of humanity befall all of us. And we will often not understand the “hows” and “whys” of their intrusions into our lives. So, whether it is a lost job or brain cancer, we must determine what we truly believe and then say to ourselves “Come what may, I think I’ll just go on anyway.” Phil went on anyway and left a powerful legacy of faith and courage. You can too. When life deals you a bad hand, just go on anyway.
