(*Michael W. Smith reference intentional)

I’m coming up on the 10 year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis this week. That reality has been present in the back of my mind for months, and I’ve been trying to think of how to honor this anniversary, or as we say in the cancer world, this “cancerversary.”

I’ve also been trying to figure out when to honor that since I got the call on the day before Thanksgiving, but that actual calendar date is the Monday after Thanksgiving this year. Plus, my mom wonders why I would even celebrate the anniversary of the day I got the news since that’s not exactly something worth celebrating. Should I celebrate on February 4^th, the day I found out I was in remission? In some ways, that date seems fitting because it’s also World Cancer Day, and yet, I still had 4 more months of treatment, so though remission was an incredible victory, I was still in the trenches and feeling terrible. Should I celebrate May 14^th, the day of my last chemo treatment when I knew I would finally start to feel better?

One of the reasons I’ve marked the day before Thanksgiving each year is because it’s such a meaningful time—yes, it was the day my world felt like it came to a halt as I looked “terminal illness” in the face, but it’s also a time to be grateful for all I have and all God has done in my life. In the years since November 2008, Thanksgiving has been that much more poignant for me as a time to celebrate the gift this life truly is. I might have flippantly said that in my previous 21 years—“Oh, life’s a gift!”—but I know that to be true in a profoundly real way now.

I may just go ahead and celebrate all of those days—this Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving; Monday, November 26^th, the 10 year date of my shopping-trip-turned-cancer-call; February 4^th, my remission date; and May 14^th, the day I said, “See ya, suckers!” to chemo. And honestly, I feel like I’m allowed to do that, as if this year is a “reunion tour” or “victory lap” of sorts. Scripture is rampant with examples of believers praising God for the great things He has done, and that’s honestly how I look at all of these dates: with profound gratitude and humility at the gift it is to celebrate and to even be able to talk about what He’s done.

For the past five or six years, I’ve had a verse on my wall that summarizes my mindset in continuing to talk about these things, or “my mission,” as I have the verse titled.

Psalm 145:4 “One generation will commend Your works to the next; they will tell of Your mighty acts.”

You may be tired of hearing me talk about cancer, and that’s fair. To be honest, there are days when I’m tired of having to talk about it–of having had it in the first place to feel this sense of stewardship with it today. But I’m probably not going to stop talking about it; in fact, I’m probably going to keep commending God’s works to the next generation, telling of His mighty acts as best I can.

I attended a seminar Shauna Niequist held years ago in Honolulu, and afterward I got to chat with her about her talk plus all things Chicagoland. One of the things she said has stayed with me: “God gives each of us a handful of stories, and we tell and retell them again and again.” The Israelites talked about crossing the Red Sea again and again and again; in fact, their children’s children who weren’t even there talked about it because God gives each of us a handful of stories, and we tell and retell them to His glory. So, for a semi-arbitrary reason called “my body started attacking itself,” I have this cancer story that I tell again and again and again, remembering for myself and reminding others that God is good and He is faithful.

I found my prayer journal from 2008-2009 recently, and I’ve been reading through it and having all the thoughts. So I’ve decided I’ll write more this week as I reflect on the gift of this, the First Decade (shocking, I know, after not writing for a year or so). Stay tuned as I celebrate, re-celebrate, and re-celebrate this 10 year milestone and get to reflect on The First 10 Years.