Sunrise Paddle

I shivered as I lowered my kayak into the water at the lake's edge. It wasn't so much the coolness in the air but the nervous anticipation. This would be my first time going out by myself on the lake and it was still fairly dark. Once situated, I pushed off with my paddle and began to make my way towards the middle of the lake where I thought the view of sunrise would be best. My whole body tensed up every time I bounced over the many ripples coming at me. Not only was it my first time out alone, it was also only my third time in a kayak at all. My husband was on the opposite side of the lake. I knew he could sort of see me, in the dim predawn light - a small, unsteady silhouette of nerves and determination wobbling in his direction. He didn't want a kayak because of persistent back problems that would have made it less of an adventure and more of a torture. But even if he were in his own kayak next to me, every paddle that inched me along had to be up to me. This was something I needed to do on my own.

Cancer. Just saying the word sounded wrong. That's something other people get. Everyone knows something about it and when you share the news of a new diagnosis, whoever is hearing it immediately thinks of someone they know. In fact, when I first heard the news, I immediately thought of a former coworker and friend who had passed away from breast cancer. She wasn't the only person I knew who'd had it, but she was the one who came to mind first. The interesting thing about that is, most of the people I told were reminded of people they knew who survived. Could that be because I was hearing the news from a place of fear and others were hearing it prepared to encourage? Who knows?

No matter how familiar we are with a similar situation, there are some parts of every journey that must be travelled alone. Going into surgery for my double mastectomy, I asked a dear older lady from church to come wait with me until I was taken back. We didn't know each other well but she had been on this journey and she was the one I wanted with me. But even she, as much as she understood, could not go into surgery with me.

People want to help. They try. And sometimes they feel pain and loss at just not knowing how to make you feel better. I remember after each of my chemo treatments feeling so miserable but not knowing how to even describe the feeling. My husband would rub my back and helplessly ask, "what hurts?" I didn't have an answer. It wasn't a feeling that had a description. It wasn't really pain. It wasn't really nausea. I just didn't feel... right. I still can't describe it even though I remember exactly how it felt.

And that's how it is sometimes on our solo journeys. It is so specific to us that sometimes, it just can't be explained. But just because we're on a journey of our own, that doesn't mean we aren't seen and heard - even those things we can't put into words.

"Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." Romans 8:26