Loved Well

There’s a thought I often come back to during these cancer experiences. It’s something like “I wouldn’t wish this cancer experience on anyone, but I do wish people could _________________(insert a certain gift received via cancer experience). And I’ve also heard that from others who have taken this journey or similar journeys. 

I was recently texting with my old friend, Steve Plunkett. I’ve known Steve since our middle school days of playing basketball, skating, and roaming the neighborhoods on our bikes. Steve has been through several intense cancer experiences himself. In his text, he commented that he, too, would never wish cancer on anyone, but “to feel the love from others when going through it is something that profoundly changes you.” Man, I couldn’t agree more. 

I’ve been flooded with so much love from others in my various cancer adventures, back in the Hodgkin’s days of my 20s and the more recent colon cancer adventures of my 40’s/50’s. All these people, some I know intimately and others I know from a further distance, just give so generously of their love. It travels through their words, prayers, presence, energy, care, support, conversations, and encouragement…straight into my heart and soul. 

That kinda love washes over you. It washes away that sense of isolation, which hard times can create in us. It reminds you that we are all connected. My struggle is your struggle, and your struggle is mine. Your joy is my joy, and mine is yours. 

I’m grateful to be connected to a pretty diverse group of people. Across that group is the full range of political views, jobs, religious and spiritual perspectives, races, ethnicities, sexualities, genders, approaches to life, etc. Do we agree on everything? Nope. 

And they have all loved me so well.

I think that love and connection, to friend and stranger, is ALWAYS there, weaving its way through and among us. It’s our first operating system, the one we see in the youngest kids who default to love and curiosity rather than judgment and fear.

I think we just get disconnected from it in the noise of life…and I do think most of it is noise. 

Nate Silver wrote about finding the signal in the noise, with the signal being the meaningful data and the noise being the distractions. To use his analogy, I think this larger field of connecting love is this permanent signal just waiting to be found again in the noise, or, better yet, consented to…because it’s always been there.

And deep down, we know this in our bodies. We are in the middle of a minor ice storm here, and neighbors are checking on neighbors (most of us Texans have limited skills here). And, without dismissing the trauma of Covid, maybe you remember, if only for a bit, living in deeper connection to some folks during that time. 

My life experience leads me to the language of God to describe this love. But, I only think that language is useful to the degree…that it’s useful. In other writing, I’ve liked the word “resonance.” For many, the word “God” has been wrecked through conflicting experiences that couldn’t be resolved. Maybe we just need to let the feeling of being loved and loving take the lead here rather than words. (Yes…appreciating the irony of my own words here!) 

Cancer (for you or someone close), Covid, a literal or figurative storm, the death of someone close - these can break us…and they can break us open. Break us open to that signal of love that is always there because the intensity of those challenging experiences clears away the noise, even if only for a bit. On the flip side, meeting your kid as they arrive in the world, falling for someone, watching someone you care about take a risk and grow - these also steer us into that deep, visceral resonance of love too. 

But the noise in our lives can distract us from that resonant love that is always at work in and among us. And the world feels ridiculously noisy right now, with the volume only seeming to increase. It can feel like all that noise stacks up, layer upon layer, and our connection to that deep, resonant love feels weak, if not absent entirely. And then we can only react - operating from judgment and fear, feeding the noise for ourselves and others, taking us only further from that innermost connection to that love, ourselves, others, and our surroundings. 

But, as my friend Steve and others have pointed to, that deep feeling of love profoundly changes us if we allow it. It can shift the ground under your feet, offering a new foundation to move from. And maybe that foundation of connection and communion is as old as the cosmos - it’s always been there and always will be, just waiting for us to tap into its resonance. When we pause, breathe, and allow it to move through us, that love guides a better way forward. 

Recognizing that we are all bound up together, this resonant love affirms for me that there is no “other.” And then I’m left with the question of how can I stay connected to and feed that deep resonant love, especially when the noise level goes up, so that I am moving from that foundation…that communal, connecting love that knows my suffering is your suffering, your suffering is mine…your joy is my joy, and mine is yours. That’s a question worth living into.