Author: jenzug

Before we decided to not hire a contractor to remodel our basement, we actually did hire the tall and loud contractor team that was in our home the night I found out Gordy had cancer. He was supposed to draw up the plans, submit them to the city for permitting, and get started on the project within a few weeks.

What I learned, and what I’m sure everyone who has undertaken a remodeling project has learned, is that these things never go as planned.

I bought a plane ticket on a Friday to leave for Minnesota that Sunday afternoon in May – Mother’s Day 2004. I took Ruthie with me but didn’t get her a seat, hoping she would sleep in my arms, which she did – for about half an hour.

I think that was the longest flight in my life for more than one reason.

Gordy was in round two of his six rounds of chemotherapy. My visit coincided with the “good” week of the three-week cycle. Since his cancer treatment began, the concept of a “good” week or a “good” day has taken on a new meaning for me.

Gordy’s hair began to fall out while I was there. Not that any of us are insensitive enough to care that he is bald, but the hair loss is a visual reminder of the illness. Once you see his bare head you know, you are reminded — even if he is having a “good” strong day where he seems to be his old self – the illness can’t be ignored.

I was very grateful for that visit, for that window into the early days of his fight against the imperfection and unfairness of our corrupt life on Earth. It made me think a lot about Adam and Eve and the blissful life they led, naked in the garden. How nice that would be today.

Back then, in May 2004, my mom was very optimistic about the future. I wanted to be optimistic, but something inside me left me heavy and foreboding. I hated the waiting, the wondering, the questions left unanswered. It drove me crazy that The Doctors didn’t give percentages or prognoses, that they didn’t say, “If you do X, the outcome will be Y.

I felt like that’s all we did that summer – waited. Six times, over the course of four and a half months, for three days in a row each time, nurses would inject powerful chemicals into Gordy’s veins.

And we would wait.

And we waited all summer, wondering what would happen.

I called home several times during that visit. The contractors were supposed to start their work while I was away, but we had heard nothing from them in over a week. I began to worry that he was flaking on us, and was grateful we hadn’t given him any money yet. Bryan sent a terse email requesting that he update us on the project, and he finally responded. He was waiting on word from the city regarding the permits, and would get started as soon as those came in.

So we waited for that as well.

The words of Psalm 40 came to mind: “I waited patiently for the Lord, he turned to me and heard my cry.” I wondered what it looked like to wait patiently, and what it looked like for God to hear my cry. Would the bad things go away? Or would I just feel comforted in the midst of the bad things? And was I wrong to feel that being comforted was worse than being delivered?

I was not afraid to ask these questions of God. But like The Doctors, God does not always give percentages or if/then statements.

I felt comforted then, and continue to feel comforted. And now it seems that deliverance by my definition is not to come. But I do not feel wronged by God, only that I am to continue to wait, and that he continues to hear my cry.

Although I’m still not sure what that looks like.

I had a team of contractors in my house when I found out the spot on Gordy’s lung was cancer. They were tall and loud and made my house seem small, but they liked my dog and thought my daughter was cute so we started off splendidly.

I don’t think I ever suspected the spot would be cancer. Perhaps it was denial, or maybe I didn’t let myself worry until there was something to worry about, or maybe it was denial. It seems that no matter how well you know the Capital T Truth of who God is and how he operates, one still has a tendency to believe good people will go through life relatively unscathed. Maybe that’s why Christ commands in Matt 5 for us to love our enemies, because the rain falls on both the righteous and the wicked.

You’d think after 33 years on this earth I would clue in to the weather patterns of God. It’s not like the Zoloft commercials on TV where the rain cloud follows the individual blob around while the rest of the blobs are having a great time sipping cocktails. No, in God’s weather patterns wicked people can be successful and righteous people can struggle.

This concept never really bothered me much until a family member was caught up in a hurricane. Then it kind of pissed me off. Then it kind of worried me that it pissed me off so much. Then I became less pissed and more trusting of Things I Don’t Understand. Then I began to feel a Star Wars-like force field around my thoughts because that pissed-off thing never happened again.

I remember that the most frequently asked questions I had during those first weeks were “Why?” and “What does that mean?” The first question I continually asked of God. The second was usually in response to my mom’s report on the latest CAT scan or visit to Dr. Duane. The second question usually implied — at least in my mind — secondary questions such as “What will make this go away?”

If only it were that easy.

The tall and loud contractors left my house, finally, but we never hired them even though they liked my dog and thought my daughter was cute. In fact, we decided to not hire a contractor at all, but have the work completed as smaller, more manageable task projects. It will be a labor of love requiring patience, and a lot of tolerance for Things Left Undone.

How appropriate.