Saturday, July 2, 2011

A Return from the Wilderness

It is now 2 years after my experience in unemployment wilderness, and I finally surface to give an update. My time and energy has been spent on moving to a new city (Racine, WI), starting as rector of a parish (St. Luke's, Racine), settling into a cute bungalow and exploring the city, until two months in, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My usual routine when I move into a new city was altered as I focused on all the medical details, which I blogged about in CarePages for the last year. I am now overjoyed to report that I am "dancing with NED (No Evidence of Disease)", as my oncologist put it. Yes, God saw fit to put me in the care of an oncologist who is also a mystic and very spiritual: Dr. Michael Mullane.

Now, on the other side of chemotherapy and radiation and baldness, my hair has grown back curly, and I quickly revert to routines. I am still not ready to proclaim what I learned from the experience of cancer. In some ways, the experience of being on the prairie, in the wilderness of not knowing if I was going to run out of money or ever find another job, was much more difficult than cancer.

But I don't want to minimize anyone else's experience of cancer. I just found that having cancer was one of those struggles that I could easily share publicly. People expressed a lot of compassion and yes, some pity, but it was so much more acceptable than being unemployed, or struggling with depression, or having financial problems. The problem with going through more shameful (according to society) life experiences is that it isolates you. I found the same thing with the death of my husband Ernie, after about six months. People feel awkward and don't know what to say, so the tendency is to quit talking about what's happening. They don't ask, so you don't tell.

It's interesting that I did not feel isolated during my time on the prairie, any more than I felt isolated going through cancer. There are some high-powered pray-ers out there, and I have learned to cultivate the ones whose prayers I can feel. I'm not sure I'm one of them. I confess that I forget to keep praying for people. I make a point, when someone asks me to keep them in my prayers (a natural thing to ask your priest!) to say to God, "Take care of them and bless them, and help me to remember to pray again."

And so, there were high-powered pray-ers who were thinking of me, and there were people who checked in on Facebook, and there were others who met me for lunch halfway between Loveland and Boulder, and that meant so much. Because isolation, or estrangement, or alienation of whatever way you experience disconnection from others' care is ultimately a victory for the Dark Side.

I have been encouraged to take up this blog again, and I do so a bit timidly. When I was interviewing for the position of rector of St. Luke's, one of the parishioners Googled my name, and found my blog post about "Unemployment Wilderness." My blogging style is to be pretty candid and revealing about my own struggles of faith and confidence and God's work in my life.

This parishioner was alarmed that the person they were looking at to be their next rector didn't have the confidence to lead a parish, and so he contacted the Bishop's office. Fortunately, the Canon to the Ordinary who read my blog liked what he read, and I was hired anyway, but I wondered if I should risk putting my thoughts and struggles in such a public place.

It is something to consider for every one of us who decides to be honest in a public way. How much is appropriate, and how much is necessary to be authentic? What thoughts are helpful to others and what needs to be kept private, between a close friend or therapist?

The ultimate purpose of any writing is to bring us as human beings closer to each other through shared experience, thought, and culture, or to provide insight through different experiences, thoughts and culture from our own.

In addition, my hope is that through my being honest, it will bring you, the reader, closer to yourself.