Cancer is NOT my identity

I think one of my biggest struggles since I've known about having cancer is worrying that it will become who I am to people.  I really like appearing strong, independent, and in control - actually, I think most people do.  I hate the idea of becoming this victim, someone who can't take care of herself, someone that needs to rely on others to do simple tasks, someone who has cancer.  I have already had to surrender my "manager" title at work because I can't carry things or be particularly helpful while on crutches.  So I sit in the back answering phones, which I am incredibly thankful for, but I'm frustrated that I can't do more.  That my body is limiting me, even though I have the knowledge and aptitude and desire to get out there and "really" contribute. 

I poke fun at my husband for being the crutch nazi, but he really doesn't have a choice.  Even though I know I'm not supposed to put any weight on my leg and I'll likely pay for it later, I try to get by without them, especially at home.  I don't want to have to ask him to get me water or do my laundry.  I want to do it myself.  I'm ridiculously stubborn.  My husband should get a large trophy for simply remaining in my presence for so many hours a day.    

When I first found out, my brother and soon to be sister in law (I love you Jeffy and Laura!!!) sent me a ton of helpful and sensitive books on cancer, chock full of useful information.  When I opened the first one, I threw it on the floor in a rage.  I don't want books on cancer!  I want books on making stuffed animals and pretty paint colors and how to be a leader and Downton Abbey and really anything other than cancer.  People with cancer read books about cancer and I wasn't ready to be one of those people.  Heck, I'm still not ready.  It's like buying books for school - you would never in a million years own a copy of the Organic Chemistry textbook if you didn't have to take the class to graduate.  I just don't want to identify with cancer so closely, so intimately.  Getting the port in has been sucky.  I now have something implanted under my skin (Danny calls me his little Cylon) that undeniably screams CANCER.  Losing my hair will be another big tip-off.  Although it may help those out who currently see me on crutches and unabashedly ask "Did you twist your ankle honey?"  No sir, I have cancer in my leg.  I bet now you feel dumb.

Anyway, the point of the story is, I don't want cancer to become my identity.  I don't want people to look at me and think "poor girl with cancer".  And then I stumbled upon a call to worship I wrote for my church near the end of last year and it somehow, perfectly, answered all of my doubts.  Here it is:

"I believe God is my identity.

I was fat when I was young.  Through 4th, 5th, and 6th grade, I was the big nerdy girl who always sat in the corner alone.  Even when I got older, joined some sports, lost the baby weight, and made friends, I often still saw myself as this kind of pathetic, majorly awkward outsider.  It kept me bound up in the lie that I would never be accepted and convinced me that I had to be fake to get others to like me.

I grew older and found other things to identify with.  As soon as I could charm a guy into dating me, I did, and I could finally call myself a girlfriend.  Being a girlfriend meant that I was valued, I was sexy, and I mattered to someone.  It made me happy and confident; it also made me clingy and fearful all of the time.  What if he broke up with me?  What if he found out what I was really like?  If I wasn’t a girlfriend, who was I? 

I didn’t always identify with negative images.  I went to Vanderbilt University and found out that being smart was actually a good thing.  I jumped at the chance to start telling people I was now an intellect.  This label told others that I had something to contribute and I finally felt like I belonged.  But pride crept in and I became a bully trying to prove to others that I was right and they were wrong.

After Vanderbilt, I joined the Navy and the identity was easy to define.  I was an American, an Officer, a true patriot.  I knew that if nothing else, I was serving my country; I was doing my duty.  I was strong and proud.  I was doing something that so many others respected.  But I was lonely, exhausted, and not myself.

Standing here today I can tell you that I am no longer obese or view myself as pathetic.  All of those boyfriends in high school and college were losers.  I no longer attend Vanderbilt and very few people know or care about my IQ.  And I don’t get to wear a Navy uniform anymore.  In fact, all of those things that were once my identity have passed away.  All of those things that made me feel worthy, purposeful, and accepted no longer apply.  But one has remained - Christ.

Ephesians 1:11 says It’s in Christ we find out who we are and what we are living for.  Galatians 3:27 that all of us who are baptized into Christ have clothed ourselves with Christ.  2 Corinthians 5:15 says He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.

I am a woman, a daughter, a sister, and a wife.  I am a veteran, a Yankie, and a college graduate.  I have been both the victim and the criminal.  I have two tattoos and I’m 28 years old.  I am unemployed, incredibly organized, and come from a split family. I’m a member of Big Spring Church of Christ.  

But these things DO NOT define me.

I belong to Christ.  I am Abraham’s seed.  I am an heir to the kingdom.  I am light in this dark world.  I am free.  I can approach the throne of the Most High with confidence.  I have been chosen.  I am a disciple of Christ.  This is my identity.  And THROUGH Christ we can be all things to all people."

I could write another section in there now.  I would be about that time in my life when I got cancer and I felt sick and my hair fell out.  And everything about my appearance would confirm that I was a victim of a horrible disease.  When all of the people I loved the most would think of me under the umbrella of cancer.  But this will NOT define me and it will NOT have the last word.  My God is bigger than cancer and He is the only thing I will choose to identify with.  I pray you will help me seek out a healthy balance between dealing with cancer in a real way and finding peace in my Lord, no matter what the cancer does.