The Empty Pew
My husband is an Oncologist. Caring for those who’ve been thrust into the uninvited world of cancer is challenging, as you can imagine. Often, after my husband comes home from work, I find myself privy to early evening phone conversations he has with those newly diagnosed who are trying to navigate their blindsiding new reality. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the unique and mutually regarded relationships my husband quickly cultivates with those he cares for. I share a recent story.
My husband was pacing the family room; repeating the same circular pace as he talked to his patient. The diagnosis was not good. Some cancers are especially hard, and the current litany of tests for this particular patient left my husband worried. I heard him speak with honesty and reassurance; finding the right words to infuse hope into the unknown.
He ended the conversation with encouragement. He suggested to this patient that he find a way to center himself and perhaps indulge in some kind of simple pleasure to ease the jagged angst of the road ahead. One day at a time, my husband said.
The next day, I heard my husband as he once again checked in with this patient to share additional medical information and to just see how he was doing. As is so often the case, this patient ended up being the teacher; the one who inspires. Because of my eavesdropping, I learned as well.
The patient recounted his day. That morning after this very difficult diagnosis, this patient woke with purpose. He was determined to do something good for himself. He found himself driving by a church and for the first time in years felt drawn to enter. Alone amidst the empty pews, he sat humbly, trying after years of atrophied prayer to initiate a conversation with the heavens. He said it made him feel better. Perhaps it was a moment of centering.
He then left the church and said he did something he’d wanted to do for years. He went to a shopping mall and bought himself a new pair of jeans. We all know a new pair of well-fitting jeans has the power to put a bit of swag in our strut. I envisioned this man feeling not only a bit centered, but maybe a tad more empowered as he walked out of the mall.
This second-hand recount gave me pause. I write a lot about how to put one foot in front of the other after adversity. In fact, I even wrote a book about just that. Yet, when I hear of others and their quest to reset themselves when the proverbial rug is pulled out from under them, I’m struck again and again by the depth and capability of the human spirit. This man’s search for solace within the spectrum of divine and worldly is something we can all relate to. Chances are not every day will be so positive for him, but this day, he nailed it.
Many of us these days feel we have all the answers. That can certainly work for some, but for many we think we know . . . until we don’t. Maybe because I can relate to knowing less than I do, or knowing the loneliness of the empty pew, this man’s lesson in how to do day 1 of hardship inspired me. It also reinforced what I do know for sure. The sharing of how to navigate the unwelcome journey offers the opportunity for good to rise despite the burdens of misfortune. Although I plead guilty to eavesdropping, this man’s courageous embrace of a tough day will stay with me. As I sit here in the early morning ready to embrace my day, I realize the empty pew might not be so empty after all.