The Passport

My friend is on a journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and I have the privilege of holding her hand.  She has been on her way now for several years, but it's not like a normal trip, where one relishes in the planning of the journey or the anticipation upon arriving at the destination. There is not the excitement in sharing details of the itinerary and all the exploits that are going to take place.  But oh is there baggage for this trip, and lots of it.  There is the large trunk of guilt and regret, the duffels of bitterness and anger, the tote of fear, the backpack of vanities, and the satchel of sweet memories.

 I met my friend 8 years ago, when we moved into our house.  She is my neighbor.  I have to say that for the first 3 months I never knew who she was.  My mother was dying in a hospital 30 miles away, and I was spending all of my days with her, while my husband and his dad handled the details at home.  I had only seen her out taking her walks, as I was on my way in or out of the neighborhood.  After my mom died, I was numb and my heart was cold and I didn’t want to meet her or anyone else for that matter, so I put my head down and carried out the responsibilities that come with running a household and family.  But as the days and months wore on, as the wound healed, and the ice began to melt around my heart, I slowly began to come around and make the effort to bloom where I had been planted.  So by the time my friend was diagnosed with her cancer, four years of life had passed and she had become an important person to our family.  She became a surrogate grandma to the kids and a bit of a mother figure to me.  There is something special about having a friend who is older and more mature than you.  She sees you with the wisdom of years.  She loves you for who you are and not what you are, or how cool you are, or for your social standing and achievements.  She loves you without the burden of competition or jealousy that sometimes occurs among friends who are in the same station of life. 

Anyway, my friend has cancer, Stage 4 cancer.  It’s in her liver, pelvis, lungs, and stomach.  When she was first diagnosed, the doctors did what doctors do....ordered tests, analyzed results, designed a treatment plan, and provided her with a grim prognosis, then led her to her seat, like the conductor of a train….“All aboard for the Valley of the Shadow of Death”.  When she told us about her situation, I prayed that God would spare her, and that He would use me to comfort her and help her in any way that she might need.  He gave me bible verses to calm her; He gave me words to encourage her.  He gave me times of un-busyness, so that I could sit and listen to her vent, or tell stories, or give me the benefit of her life lessons.  And He answered my prayer and the prayers of many others.  Much to everyone’s surprise, especially the doctors’, the tumors had shrunk over half their size after only 3 doses of chemotherapy, and by the end of her treatment, she was for all purposes, in remission.  It seemed that maybe she had been put on the wrong train after all, and off the train she stepped, back into the Land of the Living, back into the day-to-day with all her baggage in hand. 

She’s not alone, it’s baggage we all acquire and joyfully and needlessly carry around.  Yes it is joyfully carried, because we go to great lengths to pack it and unpack it, revel in the misery, share it with others, compare it with others, then repack it only to drag it along and do it all again on down the road .  All the guilt and regret that seems to accumulate when a person finds themselves standing at a new station of life.  The “I should haves” when you find your toddler has somehow become a teenager ready for college, or the “I wish I would haves” when someone close moves away or a friendship ends, or the “I wonders” when a spouse leaves for someone else or things don’t turn out at all the way we planned.  The bitterness and anger that has festered and grown, sometimes invisibly, into the cancer that consumes us along the path, on the journey to the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  The fear and vanities, that prevent us from sharing our love and lives with people on a deeper level.  The pride that precludes us from forgiving the real and not so real hurts that others have inflicted on us.  Yes all that baggage piles up and we cling to it, willingly and purposefully dragging it along as we make our way. 

I’m holding her hand.  It’s been a week now since she went into the hospital and learned the cancer had returned.  She’s endured more tests, sleepless nights, the indignities that come with a hospital stay and the betrayal of a body that is worn out.  She is in that desolate part of the Valley.  The dry, rocky, dreadful place where loneliness and fear grow into oppressive companions.

 I’m holding her hand and she is unpacking her baggage again, but this time it’s something from a different bag that she is rifling through and I can feel hope start to bubble up.  Somewhere in that satchel of sweet memories, she recalls a moment and as she begins reminiscing, the memory becomes a passport of sorts.    It contains an indelible stamp that she received way back, when she met Jesus, received His forgiveness, and accepted His offering of salvation.

 I am holding her hand and we talk about Jesus.  Suddenly the atmosphere changes, and those companions of fear and loneliness aren’t as oppressive.  Suddenly, it becomes painfully obvious that all the other baggage was never necessary.  That all she needed was the Passport. The one with the stamp of Salvation that allows her to be loved and to give love that is purer and deeper and indefinable in our human terms.   The stamp of approval that she never got from the trunks of guilt and regret, or from the duffels of bitterness and anger.  The stamp of conferment that permits her journey to continue through and on past the Valley of the Shadow of Death and into the Gates of Glory; that ensures that the Valley is not the destination after all, but just a rough patch along the way. 

And I am able to sit with her and share this portion of her journey, because I’m on the journey too.  We all are.  This physical cancer is not the only ticket to the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  Our birth is the ticket and we all have the cancer; the cancer that sin conceives.  We were all put on the train and we don’t even realize we are there. The distractions this life offers are bountiful and consuming. Maybe we are traveling through the lush forests of child-rearing and can’t see ahead for all the trees of obligation.  Or maybe we are coasting along the sweet shoreline of peaceful waters where all is good and right with the world and the Valley seems vague and distant.  Or maybe we have had a few brushes, or a brief glimpse of what is to come, as we have rimmed  a deep canyon of catastrophe.  Whether we acknowledge this truth or not, we are on the train.

I’m holding her hand and she is sleeping, something that has eluded her for a week now.  I don’t know how long I have left to share this passage of time and space with her, before we will have to part ways.  But I do know that I don’t want to drag along all the baggage.  I want to keep my satchel of sweet memories, and maybe a few things from my bag of vanities (a girl has to be presentable along the way) and it’s for sure, I’m going to cling to my passport.  It is my assurance of a fruitful journey.  It gives me the liberty of having my hands free to hold the hands of others, my arms and legs unburdened to support or even to carry someone else in their time of weakness, and a mouth free from complaint and protest, yet filled with praises and encouragements, love and acceptance, forgiveness and blessings to share along the way. And when I hear the conductor calling for new destinations, I will rest in the knowledge that my friend and I will meet again at our final destination, the one that required travel through the rugged and forlorn Valley of the Shadow of Death, only to end on the other side of the Gates of Glory.  For now, I have my passport in hand and I’m good to go, how about you?

Psalm 23:4a  Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I                                         will fear no evil, for You are with me......