The Cancer and the Hazelnut

Comfort from Julian of Norwich

When I started this Substack, I borrowed Julian of Norwich’s phrasing to express what was in my own heart:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

I knew that Julian (1342-1429) wrote amidst difficulties, spending fifteen years as an anchoress in a cell while the Black Plague raged outside. At age 30, she suffered from an extreme and unspecified illness from which it seemed that she would die. Her amazing recovery was followed by visions of Christ, which she later compiled into her Revelations of Divine Love, becoming the first woman to write in Middle English. She was a contemporary of Chaucer.

Whatever one may feel about shutting oneself in a cell to pray for fifteen years or experiencing mystic visions, Julian’s writings have encouraged countless people across the centuries. She’s encouraged people in their faith, in their love for Christ, and in enduring great suffering, especially suffering due to illness. Her famous phrase is written not as a Pollyanna-style denial of life’s difficulties, but right smack in the midst of them.

Today, I’m reflecting on the fifth chapter of her Revelations, where she marvels at a hazelnut that she holds in the palm of her hand. She concludes three things about the hazelnut.

First, God made it. Second, God loves what he made, including this hazelnut. Third, that God upholds and keeps this hazelnut. Thus, God is the Maker, the Keeper, and the Lover.

This hazelnut also reminded her how all people seek rest in various little things rather than in “God Almighty, All-wise, and All-good.” She adds, possibly echoing Augustine’s famous quote about our hearts being restless until they rest in God, “God willeth to be known, and it pleaseth Him that we rest in Him.” When we willingly detach from created things and turn our love toward God, only then we can receive “spiritual rest.”

All this from a little hazelnut.

I needed a word for today, a word from someone else who has made sense of suffering. Life is actually very good at this moment. It’s very interesting how the mind reels to make sense of the very good and the very bad alike.

What is very good is that my daughter had her last scheduled immunotherapy treatment yesterday. It’s been a two-year course, first with two medications and then down to one for the final year when the one drug started to be toxic to her body. Prior to that, she had a year of surgeries and radiation.

It’s been three grueling years, yet with beauty everywhere— beauty in the grace to continue on, beauty in the lovingkindness of God and others, and beauty in my daughter’s spirit.

Yet we are so happy that this phase is done. We can recalibrate as we look toward the future—which God holds in the palm of His hand, like a hazelnut. God made her, keeps her, and loves her. We, her parents, play a vicarious role in all three. But we know that we couldn’t create this amazing person by ourselves. We’ve also learned these past three years that we certainly can’t keep and sustain her. The best we can do is come alongside and strive to advocate for her health. We love her, with the love that God granted to us, a mutual love indwelling and flowing through us and each family member and friend on this journey with us.

And yet, I can’t hold onto a surety of a difficulty-free existence in the future. I hope for this, and I hope for good things in the Lord. I love the optimism that I have learned from my father, to see the good in life and to expect goodness from the Lord. I have also learned a fierce love from my mother, and, like hers, my mind always thinks about the next steps and how to help. I found myself calling my daughter to double-check the date on the next set of scans and to talk through the plan with her. The scans are important, and the timing of them is the only thing we have the slightest degree of control over.

Besides that, I feel kind of numb— a natural feeling even after the good news of yesterday. The news that she made it this far, and that the doctor has an outlook very much like my father’s: she is expecting good things. And, like my mother and me, she has a plan for the plans b and c if good things do not happen.

Yet, this expected goodness and the success of such plans ultimately depend on God.

The God who created, keeps, and loves my daughter. And me. And my family.

I love that Julian of Norwich can write about these things, shortly after a brutal illness, as she sits and stands in a cool cell in sodden England. Televangelists’ claims notwithstanding, I believe that the true evidence of God’s love and care is not health and wealth heaped upon someone.

Look at Job, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. Look at Jesus, Peter, and Paul. Look at Hagar, Mary, and Abigail.

Look at Julian. Look at my daughter Alexa.

Because God loves us, we can come to him “simply and plainly and homely.” Sometimes there are no words, and that’s OK. Lately, we’ve relied a lot on others’ words and prayers. God does not require that our prayers evidence creative and original phrasing every time. Simple is actually best because it reflects our hearts. Just say it! Just ask it!

But most of all, these struggles in life teach us that what we really need is Him.

A circle of us prayed around Alexa after church this week. This was the day before the final treatment. Alexa consented to be ensconced in a circle of praying women but only if we were clear that we weren’t compelling God for a miracle beyond what God desires to give. That is, complete remission would be wonderful and is hoped for, but our faith in God is not dependent on it. He does not fail us if this is not granted. Yet, we approach the throne in prayer and ask what is on our hearts. I ask for full healing for her and also the faith to rest in God’s goodness.

Julian ends her chapter with a similar prayer:

God, of Thy Goodness, give me Thyself: for Thou art enough to me, and I may nothing ask that is less that may be full worship to Thee; and if I ask anything that is less, ever me wanteth, — but only in Thee I have all.

We may sing about God being our all in all, but Julian is right that we won’t know whether He is or not until we have nothing between Him and us. This may never fully happen until our resurrected bodies, but the point is well made. Hazelnuts may point toward God, but we don’t put our trust in things held in our hands.

We ask that God give of Himself, for we know who our Maker, Keeper, and Lover is. We are all derivative of Him in each of these areas.

Because of His love, ultimately, all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.