Part 1 of People who helped get us through and probably never knew it….

Monday’s post got me thinking about one particular person who helped Melanie and me get through some of the hardest times in this life journey with cancer. There were lots of others and I’ve mentioned a few already—like Sus and Doug who not only walked with Melanie through those early days but also stayed supportive these past seven years. I’ve been thinking I’ll just make this an ongoing topic, because so many gave of themselves in some way.  I continue to cherish each one of them.

The person I’ve been thinking of since writing my last entry has helped me as much as she helped Melanie and I am sure she has no clue. During the early stages of Melanie’s diagnosis and for several months after that, I was out of work as a priest. It is the nature of the ministry as an interim priest. In the best scenario, I would work in a church that was in transition while a parish entered into a search process for a new priest. When assigned by the bishop, with the blessing of the parish, I would work for as short as a year and as long as three years and then move on to the next parish. Ideally, there would be a break of a few weeks between churches, but that did not always happen. Sometimes, the bishop would ask me to move to a new parish before the new rector actually started, other times I would leave a parish one Sunday and start a new assignment the following week (definitely NOT recommended) Then there were the times when it would take a while to be asked to go to a new church. I never knew how long I would be out of work or how quickly I would need to be available. Those of us in interim work understood that the diocese had to constantly juggle to cover the needs of all the parishes in the diocese. But it was unpredictable and out of our control—two of my least favorite scenarios.

In 2003, I finished a church in the early fall and assumed I would be working within a month. Having had no Sundays off between the last two churches, I was tired and needed a break, but when the break stretched into months, frustration set in. All I could do was wait. It probably could have been a good spiritual exercise of letting go, but instead, I was just discouraged and feeling ignored.

About the same time, just before Melanie’s diagnosis, she had been sick for weeks on end, barely having the energy to get off the couch. One day when she was feeling down and I was bemoaning my situation to her, she told me that her friend Sus’s mom always told her that when things seemed rotten to drink a glass of water and take a walk. When you came inside things won’t look quite as bad. Hmmmm… sound familiar? Sounds a lot like that Annie Lamott quote from the last post, “Faith also means reaching deep within, for the sense one was born with, the sense for example to take a walk.” That day we drank a glass of water, threw on jackets, leashed up the dogs, and took a walk.

It was something we would do often in the months to come. After each surgery—and there were three in one month-- recovery came slower and slower. But we drank water and we walked. Even if we were barely moving, Melanie delicately shuffling forward, trying to protect her neck muscles from sudden movement, it helped to breathe fresh air. There were delights to be found—breezes off the ocean, a daffodil or crocus bloom, sea gulls laughing at us, a dog romping off leash. Getting outside even for a few moments took us outside ourselves. And yes, eventually Melanie began to heal and I was called to a parish, but in the mean time,  the water and walking took us a long way.

So today, I raise a glass of water to Sidney Kistin—wise woman, wife, mother and grandmother extraordinaire--unsung hero of the Richmond ladies!

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