This will be my last post before the the western chunk of the Christian world begins Lent. Because I am part of that chunk, I thought today’s post should reflect some of the Lenten spirit. I hold a special spot in my heart for Lent, not because I am one who particularly enjoys suffering, but because I do enjoy miracles.
Ask most people to explain it, whether they do or do not celebrate Lent, they will respond with the simple, and simplistic, response, “oh, that’s when you give up something.” True enough, for those who never progressed past their kindergarten level catechism class, sure, that’s Lent. It’s something to do. In the Catholic world, we approach it with a near slogan observation that we celebrate Lent through prayer, fasting, and almsgivimg. Without getting into an extended theological discussion of the origins and meanings of each of those Lenten activities, let’s just stipulate that it is a better description than “when you give up something.” So where is this miracle?
Although many would like to believe Lent is there so we know when to celebrate Mardi Gras, there is a more prescient reason for Lent. Lent is a 40 day journey, from Ash Wednesday through Holy Thursday, of self control, self discipline, and preparation for the resurrection of Jesus on Easter. It’s a faith thing. There’s no explanation, other than to do it because we believe. And if we prepare ourselves well, we can participate in that miracle, the miracle of the Resurrection. Of new life.
If you had asked me to explain Lent eleven years ago, I likely would have answered, “oh that’s when you give up something.” If you had asked me three years ago, I likely would have answered, “hmm, let me get back to you on that.” Why? What was going on during those seven years? I am certain there are little miracles happening every day. Most of us are too human to notice them. There are some big miracles happening every day and we still may not notice them. Please sit back, and join me on a Lenten journey and see if we can spot a few miracles along the way.
Twenty-two years ago I was diagnosed with a condition we now call Granulomatosis with polyangiitis (GPA), then called Wegener’s Disease. At that time, before most of the current, common treatments had been developed, the mortality rate was between 28% and 45% at 12 months, the wide range due to different organ involvement. The current treatments, which have resulted in a close to 97% survival rate, were not commonly used until the 2010s. That I lived ten years to make it to the current treatment landscape is a miracle and an opportunity that I could live life anew. Of course, that was when I was young and stupid and was certain it just ”wasn’t my time.”
In January 2013 I was diagnosed with bladder cancer, “regional,” or what in other cancers may be tagged as stage 2, that is cancer that has progressed to other nearby structures or organs. The surgeries I underwent to clear the cancer were long and not without complications, such that I spent most of the first year after surgery in the hospital. The 5 year survival rate for regional bladder cancer is 38%. That I lived to make it to 2018 was a miracle, but I was slightly older and angry and “I had more to worry about than just cancer.”
In 2018 I was undergoing the first of the requirements to determine if I might be a candidate for a kidney transplant. By then I had been on dialysis for a little over 2 years, complications of GPA and probably not helped by having had an entirely new bladder and “removal” system rebuilt from other parts of me. The what seemed like endless orders of tests and procedures all had to be scheduled around the three days a week I was attached to the dialysis machine when I’d watch my blood flow out of me through one tube, and back into me through another after having had done to it whatever the magical combination of salts and electronics did to it while it was inside the machine. But tested and processed I was and a year later I had my transplant. The day after Memorial Day 2019 I was in the hospital and 2 days later functioning quite nicely without the help of my thrice weekly companion, the dialysis machine. And that lasted for 2 more days after that. Then blood clots set in. Unable to be cleared by drugs or surgeons, and at risk for even greater complications, the decision was made to remove the transplanted kidney and return me to dialysis. If I lived that long. And by the middle of June of 2019 I was back to the clinic, visiting my old friends more often than I wanted. But then something happened. Test results came back with unexpected results, output returned to almost normal levels. By the end of the year doctors were conferring regularly about “my case” and on January 21, 2020, I had my last dialysis session, displaying a far from normal but still quite adequate renal function courtesy of my one remaining “old” kidney. The doctors cited a lot of technical possibilities but most were happy explaining it as a miracle. Three times in twenty years I had been given chances of rebirth into a new life. This time I sat up and paid attention.
So am I approaching Lent as “that’s when you give up something,” or will I more likely use it to seek ways to follow my God more faithfully, and prepare for the miracle of Resurrection and a chance to again begin a new life with Jesus? I’ll take the miracle please.
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I first published this in 2017 then most recently in 2021. Each time I read it, even though I wrote it, I seem to find something different to ponder. For example, this year – “while I think of all that I am thankful for I’ll manage to miss most of them.” We take too much for granted, our blessings, our talents, and most sadly, our fellow humans, often even the ones that occupy space right there next to us.
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