Into the depths: a different kind of strength

When I started on this journey through cancer, I thought I knew what it meant to draw on God's strength. People often talk about ‘battling cancer’ and in the earliest days, I envisaged myself putting on the armour of God and standing my ground ‘strong in the Lord and his mighty power’ (Ephesians 6:10). I vowed that I would stay positive, and not give into self-pity or despair.

To help myself do this, I planned a spiritual itinerary for my journey; a framework of prayer and Bible study to help maintain my focus on Christ rather than the storm that raged around and within me. But then everything changed.

I went for my first chemotherapy treatment on 23rd April. In the morning I dressed myself for battle, put on full make-up and my favourite cross and set off on the first stage of my journey. On that beautiful spring day, I sat by a window watching the birds wheel high above in an wide azure sky as chemicals poured into my blood stream. I could taste metal, and my arm ached from the repeated failed attempts to access my veins. But I remember thinking, I can manage this, I can win this battle Now such ‘fighting talk’ seems naive.

At first I tried to maintain a sense of normality. I was surprised by how badly the chemotherapy affected me. This wasn’t the first time that I had been down this road, and I thought I knew what to expect – but our memories play tricks on us (we never fully remember the pain of giving birth, probably because if we did we would never have another child). But as the days went by I became progressively weaker, my mouth and throat blistered so that I was unable to eat, and my strength seemed to be leaching out of me until I was unable to lift my battered body off the bed.

To begin with, I forced myself to at least sit up each day and pray the wonderful Irish prayer of St Patrick’s breastplate:

‘I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.’

I determined to keep to my spiritual schedule and lay in bed reading healing scriptures with gritty determination. When even this became too much for me, I lay listening to scripture and worship music. I was like a traveller on a train, who instead of looking at the scenery puts on headphones and buries their head in a book rather than paying attention to the rhythm of the journey and what is unfolding outside the window. But eventually, I found I couldn’t even cope with the sound of music – it hurt to even think. And as the infection gained control, I finally lost contact with all sense of normality.

I was adrift in deep waters.

Exhausted by the sheer effort of keeping myself afloat.

My strength having ebbed away on the tide, I began to sink

down through the aquamarine depths;

away from the light playing across the surface of the waters.

I no longer had the strength to struggle.

He says ‘let go’ . . .. and I fall softly

descending through the darkness.

Limbs gently settle on the ocean floor.

The weight of water crushing down until . . . .

sweet oblivion.

And there in the silence I wait

And in the liminal darkness, something new begins.

. . . another sea change?

A glimmer of something deep down inside.

I dream of Jesus.

He comes and lifts my broken body into his arms,

Carrying my pale lifeless form like an offering to the pyre

And he ignites a flame

That begins to burn within me

Until I begin my ascent back up towards the light.

This journey is going to need a different kind of strength than I first imagined.

Kate Nicholas is a preacher, Christian author and broadcaster. Her best-selling memoir Sea Changed (shortlisted as Christian Biography of the Year 2017) is an account of her previous journey of healing from advanced cancer.

Her books including the recently released Soul’s Scribe: Connecting Your Story with God’s Narrative are available at Christian bookstores and online at eden.co.uk, kooroong.com, Amazon worldwide.

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Photo by Cristian Palmer on Unsplash r