I smile, wave, and say thank you as I head out the door. I’m leaving a lay ministry class that I have been teaching for the past 90 minutes at my church. The class was on communicating with people going through difficult times. We talked about listening, empathy, and I even gave a shout out to do good self care. The irony of all of this is going to smack you in the face soon. Because behind my jaunty wave, hid my fear. My legs were wobbly, and I could feel my eyes begin to tear up. I knew at that point that I had pushed my body too far to teach that class. The teaching process had kept me energized, but now I was crashing. Did I ask for a quiet place to sit before I got in my car? Did I even let on that I was struggling? Nope. I have become so good at hiding my fatigue and pain since cancer has come into my life, I pushed on.
Why did I even need to hide any of this? I had shared with the class that I was a cancer patient when I introduced myself. I had openly expressed my knowledge of responding to people in difficult times was in part because I had an abundance of professional training. But I had also learned a great deal as I walked this journey with cancer. All I can put together for myself is that I can share the idea of my cancer with you, but I can’t allow you to experience my cancer. I think a part of that is wanting to protect the people I care about from the true reality of the cancer. But another part is that is while cancer gives me so many gifts, it is the place I feel most broken. Irretrievably broken. Deeply broken. 
Then as I fell asleep last night, I thought about my sense of brokenness. It’s in my broken places that God meets me. God knows my fatigue. God knows my pain. And He walks beside me. He does not make my brokenness vanish into thin air. Oh how I wish He did. He just lets me know I’m not alone. I don’t know if wrapping myself in God’s love will allow me to expose the vulnerability I experience… Or help me to allow others experience the reality of my cancer. My therapist may have to help me through that quagmire. But I will hold onto the knowledge that even with teary eyes and wobbly legs, God walks with me. And maybe, just maybe, I can let others walk with me too.