Religion and the Decorum of a Good Insult

In which our genteel Lady insults Karl Marx. 

Religion is a big part of my life.  Sometimes I feel like an island in a sea of atheism, what with all the media that consistently and loudly states that there is no God.  Jon and I love movies and books—and guess what’s in them—a nearly constant barrage of voices claiming to know that there is no God out there.  Interestingly, these voices offer either nothing to replace the idea of God, or fall back on the age-old, and in my opinion out-dated, view that science answers the questions of life, as if the indefinite and ambiguous name of ‘science’ was a broom to sweep up the centuries of religious belief. 

Intriguingly, my new experiences with cancer have shown me that there are a lot of people out there that do believe in God.   It would appear that the media sadly misrepresents and manipulates our cultural views in this instance especially.  Not only was I astounded to have so many people say they were praying for me over the last few months, but I have often had chance, and somewhat odd encounters with people all over Anchorage that support the idea that God is a real and benevolent being.  

For instance, I went in to get new eye glasses at Cook Inlet Eyewear, and mentioned that I did not want contacts because they didn’t lend themselves to chemo if I had to do it.  “I have brain cancer,” I said.  Matt, the man who was helping me, simply held up his hand as if to say, this is just my belief and we don’t have to get further into this, but here it is: “God is with you,”  and proceeded on to the eyewear.  I was heartened by his proclamation. 

Another time, my dental assistant, after hearing what had happened, began to tell me about her Church here in Anchorage.  I think she was trying to convert me.  I thanked her and told her that the more cancerous I get, the more Mormon I become.  Again, I was pleased to hear someone willing to offer me what they probably considered the best thing they could give me, under the circumstances.

And yes, I am becoming more religious as I go, and specifically more LDS or Mormon.  Much of the time, this belief or faith is described as naïve by those who don’t understand it.  I suppose we have Karl Marx’s famous quote “religion is the opiate of the masses” to partially thank for that.  But I fight back against the declaration that religion is a drug, and therefore deadening and bad for your health.  If anything, my religious belief makes my life a hundred times more meaningful and vibrant.  Without it, the world would be a sad black and white representation of reality for me.  I gives color to my life to know that there is meaning and direction to the choices I make, the reasons I do things.  Furthermore, it is in no way naïve to have faith in something.  Naivety indicates a kind of youthful stupidity on one’s part, a falling in with societal norms and not being able to think for oneself, especially against harmful or adolescent kinds of behavior.  My faith is not born of naivety.  In my view, it is naïve for anyone else to assume that I haven’t thought long and hard about God, but instead just swallowed religion whole.  But I digress. 

I am glad to have the comfort of knowing that my suffering from cancer is not just suffering for the sake of suffering.  I am glad to think that it may have a purpose.  This is not naïve—but hopeful.  And I am glad to know that other people—the lives we briefly touch on a daily basis—may have this belief as well. 

Saucy Postscript:

Dear Marx,

Cancer sucks, but it would be worse if I didn’t have religion as my “opiate.”  I think you’re a smart guy, and your ideas are intriguing, but you seriously destroyed religion’s potency by your ill-thought-out statement.  And by the way, how dare you inadvertently call me naïve?  To get back at you, I will pointedly say that your socialism and intellectualism is your personal opiate.  Good luck with getting positive results from that. 

Admiringly yours,

T 

All Creatures Great and Small

In which our Heroine reads a Book

“Cancer lies dormant in all of us.  Like all living organisms, our bodies are making defective cells all the time.  That’s how tumors are born.  But our bodies are also equipped with a number of mechanisms that detect and keep such cells in check.  In the West, one person in four will die of cancer, but three in four will not.  Their defense mechanisms will hold out, and they will die of other causes.”  So says David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD in Anti-cancer: A New Way of Life, (2^nd edition, page 7), a book I began just this afternoon.  How absolutely frightening to think that we all have the beginnings of cancer within us.  Stopping with this only this single thought is debilitating in its finality. 

While still in hospital, a kind friend of mine—also a cancer survivor—came to visit.  She brought me the gift of a MOTAB CD and a CD player, complete with batteries, to put the CD in.  She told me that she listened to these and a few other selections of hymns for several years each night before bed.  As I already was spending my sleepless (steroid-driven) hours thinking through hymn lyrics, I found the gift particularly appropriate.  At that point in my broken life and body, I had no room for the media of the world.  I needed maximum healing and comfort.  Her gift was perfect.  One hymn on that compilation was a beautiful rendition of All Things Bright and Beautiful, a hymn less well known to me.  The song expresses the idea that 1) Heavenly Father made many beautiful wonders in our world for which we can exercise gratitude, and 2) All things are in his power.  

What a comfort to think of the control that Heavenly Father had over every single cell in my body.  It was a beginning, a foundation on which to build my faith.  I figured that if He wanted me dead, I’d already be there, as I’d survived a few harrowing experiences already that year (black ice while driving, a terrible car crash in June, and enough time without breath to turn blue on that fateful blueberry day—the day that began it all).  Each time I’d come out of these experiences, I’d had the feeling that I’d done so because it was Heavenly Father’s will.  I could not doubt that same will now, constant and unchanging as I knew Him to be. 

There are many things to be frightened of in this world, but to focus on the fear is only paralyzing.  After a short time of this despairing emotional paralysis, I had finally found a place for my faith. 

In Proportion: Some Spiritual Truths About Burning Brightly

In which our Heroine Comes up with some good questions and recounts her Zest for life

This post is dedicated to those who have taken the time to write me personal emails about my trials and their own struggles of similar nature.  Thank you. 

I think it was my early college years when I really seemed to get my spiritual life together.  Rapidly afterward I gained what I will describe as a super ability: it felt like I could burn so brightly, spiritually speaking.  I would feel it as I went out to socialize with my friends: the feeling that I could smile a real smile and light up the room I was in with it.  All because I had found a new confidence once I was on solid spiritual ground.  That solid footing allowed me a kind of self-assurance I had only dreamt of in high-school.   I changed from someone who felt nervous in all social situations, to one who could begin to navigate them feeling not just happy and at ease, but as if I could actually help other people to be happier individuals.  And I think upon discovering this that Heavenly Father actually gave me the tools to do so.  My understanding of social situations and my ability to read people and their needs went way up.  I began to learn that Heavenly Father can change our abilities and talents according to need.

I wrote a short poem, a verse really, documenting this feeling:

“Quick and healthy, vibrant living,

shined sedately into my soul.

It plunged downward

A vast tunnel, my insides glowed.”

I wrote this a year or two ago.  I just felt so happy and lit up inside.  Now I can see it was a bit ironic, considering how I probably was not fully healthy at the time, and also how within a few weeks I will be going through radiation and my insides really will glow a little, for a short time anyway.  After the surgery, and during a short time when I was re-establishing my faith, I felt I’d lost my ability to burn brightly.  (Though truthfully, it may not be possible to do this when on opiates.)  I wondered if I would ever be able to burn like that again.  I’m happy to say that I feel I can.  In fact, I feel that I can do it even better or more brightly now.  It is possible that I have learned a new universal truth: that when a covenant-keeping person loses a physical health, the Father will generously compensate by offering spiritual strength, even in proportion to that which was lost.  Would a loving Heavenly Father leave us one-armed (so to speak) in a trying situation that frankly requires two arms?  No. He is not a small or a mean God.  As far as the "in proportion" idea, I have no quotes from any general authorities to support this—it is just what I feel about my particular situation.  I invite you to do the research for me if you feel so inclined. 

At one point in my struggles, I was also wondering why my honoring my covenants and following the word of wisdom had not protected my physical health more.  Of course, wisdom dictates that trials still come, but I wondered how I would ever be able to sit in a Young Women class and learn about the Word of Wisdom without scoffing a little about its simplistic a+b=c equation.  Well, along with a few other truths which I plan to share along the way, the above-mentioned idea is key to answering my spiritual dilemma.