Jesus

Time

tiffanywarren

The clinical trial I have been on at MD Anderson has been such a gift. For the past two months, my thoughts have not been consumed by death.

During the month of July, however, dying was all I could think about. I felt like it was rapidly approaching.

I have been surprised at how many questions arise when contemplating my death.

  • Will I die before I finish the book I’m reading?
  • How many books will be left on my TBR list when I die?
  • Will anything happen to all my blog post drafts?
  • Will any of the stories I’ve written ever get told?
  • Is everyone going to have the passwords they need to get into all of my accounts?
  • How many bills are sent to my credit card?
  • So I’m never going to be a mom?
  • If I only have a few months left, which books should I prioritize reading?
  • Should I prioritize taking in information (reading) or putting out information (writing)?
  • Why do I waste all my free time when I could either be reading or writing?
  • When eternity is on my mind, how do I still manage to doom scroll?
  • What is going to happen to my cubicle at work?
  • How long will my dog look for me before he gives up?
  • Is my husband going to be okay?
  • Will I die mid-sentence?
  • Is it going to hurt?
  • Will my husband find and listen to all the voice recordings on my phone?
  • Does my husband know how much I love him?

A lot of personal goals come to mind as well. Some of them are more important than others.

  • I must survive until November 20 so I can see the new Hunger Games movie.
  • I really must survive until December 18 so I can see Avengers: Doomsday and Dune: Part Three.
  • Jesus made it to 33 so I have to, too. (And I did.)
  • I really need to make a bigger dent in my TBR list.
  • I should crack down on writing more, on getting words out of my heart and out of my head.
  • Alexis and I must go to Disney World before I die.

I’ve noticed that my list of goals is very different when cancer is no longer at the forefront of my mind. My thoughts float in shallow waters, and petty insecurities cloud my mind.

  • What can I do to get pregnant, even though I’m in medically-induced menopause?
  • How can I lose weight?
  • What can I buy to regain some of the hair thickness I’ve lost?

When I found out this past week that the target lesions (the specific tumors the clinical researchers are watching) have increased in size by 10%, it felt like a dam inside my brain collapsed. The silence I’ve enjoyed inside my mind for the past two months was drowned out by the roaring of the unceasing questions.

After we got the phone call from my doctor, my husband and I stopped by a coffee shop then walked around a book store, petting the book store cat, Luna. Eventually I started wondering how much time I have left.

Time.

If I could ask God for more time, how much would I ask Him for? A year? 50 years? Would I want to live until I’m 100?

It’s definitely best that I am not in control of those big decisions. If I had it my way, I’d stop breathing the moment my husband stops. I couldn’t live without him. I just don’t know how a heart could heal from pain that deep.

In the musical Hamilton, running out of time is one of the overarching motifs of the play. Hamilton is obsessed with his legacy and with making the most of every opportunity presented to him. At the end of the play, his wife Eliza reflects that Alexander could have done so much more if he only had time. She sings about all of the things she does after he is gone: 

I stop wasting time on tears
I live another fifty years
It's not enough
I interview every soldier who fought by your side
(She tells our story)
I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings
You really do write like you're running out of time
I rely on Angelica 
While she's alive we tell your story
...
The Lord, in His kindness
He gives me what you always wanted
He gives me more time
I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument
I speak out against slavery
You could have done so much more if you only had time
And when my time is up, have I done enough?
Will they tell our story?
Oh. Can I show you what I'm proudest of?
I established the first private orphanage in New York City
I help to raise hundreds of children
I get to see them growing up
And when my time is up
Have I done enough?
Will they tell my story?

These lyrics have echoed in my mind ever since that phone call. Time. Time. Time. Eliza Hamilton did so much with her life. Alexander Hamilton did a lot with his, too. It’s challenging to think about people with legacies who have used their lives to serve a bigger picture. The comparison begs the question, why should I ask the Lord for more time? Do I have a higher purpose? Can I make a bigger impact for Him? Does He have a huge plan to use me as an instrument? Will my life be spent in monumental ways, making change? Will lives be benefitted because I lived longer?

Do I deserve more time?

Should I gamble with God and promise to try to do something amazing (like end world hunger) if He will comply with my request and extend my life? What will I do?

What have I done with the time He has already given me?

  • June 28, 1993

    My birth

  • ? ?, 20??

    My death

What have I done with this time?

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