Another Planetary Pilgrim to Give me Hope - David Giuliano

My friend John Lochead shared a book with me recently. It is called Postcards from the Valley and has been written by David Giuliano. In 2006 David, a minister from Marathon, Ontario, had just been elected Moderator of the United Church of Canada, when he discovered that he had cancer. Listen to his story in three brief sentences, as he describes how his life changed on that day, as he stood on the stage, singing "Everything before us brought us to this moment, standing on the threshold of a brand new day":

"On the sky the northern lights danced green and purple with our spirits. Afterward, back on earth Pearl and I sat on the narrow residence bed and marvelled at the remarkable thing happening to our lives. Then I felt a lump on my temple."

His book deals in part with his journey through fear, cancer, surgeries, some facial disfigurement, more fear, radiation, more treatments, weakness, more fear. It also soars with hope, determination, faith, compassion, action. Listen just one more time:

"I dreamed of leading our church from a place of strength, wisdom and creativity. Instead I have been offering my weakness to the church, trusting that 'God's power is made perfect in weakness' (2 Cor. 12:9). I would not have chosen it, but I cannot deny that it has been a gift to me and to others."

I have found Giuliano's essays on fear to be very helpful. Fear is something I have been acquainted with lately. Not fear of death, but fear of the effects of cancer, fear for my children, for David; fear that they have to go through this with me. And yes, fear for myself. Giuliano has reminded me that fear is not an emotion about yesterday, or even about today -- it is an emotion concerning tomorrow. This is a powerful reminder, because the fact is that we only own today, only this minute is ours. Tomorrow is not yet in our hands, is it?


The title Postcards From the Valley refers, I suppose to Psalm 23, "though  I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil". It is a wonderful little book, and I recommend it, both as a collection of essays about walking through cancer, and as a witness to the power of faith and determination to live a life that proclaims that "we are not alone".

Just yesterday I was saying to my son John that the emotions uppermost in my mind during these months have been gratitude and joy. Every time that have I dwelt "in the moment" I have been aware of how well accompanied I have been. Everywhere I have been treated with respect, and buoyed by a great company of friends and family, scholars, doctors, nurses and technicians, chaplains, and the extraordinary people who volunteer at the Cancer Centre. Indeed I can say: "We are not alone, thanks be to God".


Now, I must get on with writing about my chemo, in my next post. And I will see you around, taking my anti-emetic pills and my hugely expensive Neulasta, on the way to Santiago!