It hasn’t been what I expected - living in the same house as a cancer patient. Truth be told, I’m not sure what I expected. More nausea and not quite so many banana loaves. I’ve been impressed with Amanda’s fortitude as well as with the generosity of her neighbors and circle of friends. Within 24 hours of going live, her meal/flower train was filled up through February. People have dropped off blankets, knitted hats, pitched in to finish the kids’ fort, and even donated a limo ride to look at Christmas lights. It has been amazing! I’ve tried to help out where I can, mostly it’s been the unpopular task of making sure the kids log in to their remote classes on time and the slightly more popular one of picking up library books when they become available.
But I find myself praying a lot to God for her healing and asking why it had to be this generous young mother of two young kids. Of course there’s no “right” person to be the recipient of cancer and no good time. Still, I argue and pretend I could make a decent case for why it shouldn’t be my friend.
That’s when, a few weeks ago, I arrived at the end of my study of the book of John, specifically the last chapter. Peter has just finished a heart-wrenching and restorative conversation with Jesus who ended it with the call to yet again “Follow me.” Instantly, Peter turns and sees his fellow disciple, John, and says “What about him?” Jesus answers, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!”
I see myself in Peter here, wondering about others and if Jesus will write fair stories for all of us. Regardless of whether my concern is selfish (as in: I didn’t envision my home assignment year like this) or more selfless (as in: I wish I could trade places and take your cancer for you), I’m convicted here that I spend too much time trying to patch together other people’s stories. As Aslan says it best in The Horse and His Boy, “No one is told any story but their own.” My main calling is still as simple as Peter’s. “You, Katrina, follow me without concern of the story I’m writing for Amanda.”
I also see myself in John. (And this is the part that hurts more than convicts.) He’s watching Jesus tell his friend and long-time fishing partner - the guy who was by his side on Resurrection morning - that he will die an early death, that John might not, and that Peter isn’t to worry about it. History tells us John did outlive all the other disciples by quite a bit, and if I’m honest, I fear that story a little bit. I’d rather depart first and not have to watch friends suffer through diseases and then die to leave behind a wake of sorrow. I’m not making light of the ministry I do have or the people I’ve loved well, but it’s not like I’m irreplaceable. There are other teachers and missionaries in the world. Mothers are not! That’s exactly when I sense Jesus turn from Peter/Amanda to John/Katrina and say, “If it is my will that you remain while others pass on before you, what is that to you? You follow me!”
No one is told any story but their own.
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