Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Sarah Thebarge

Home
Progressive Christian
what airports in October teach me about compassion

what airports in October teach me about compassion

Last updated on: February 9, 2018 at 4:46 pm by Sarah Thebarge

what airports in October teach me about compassion 2018-02-09T16:46:35+00:00 Sarah Thebarge

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

To probably no one’s surprise, I’m at the airport again. Since The Invisible Girls launched, I’ve been to 48 states and 11 countries. I fly A LOT.

Because October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, airports this month are always awash in pink.

As a breast cancer survivor, sometimes I’m grateful for the reminder that I’m not in this fight alone, that other people are passionate about curing the disease that nearly took my life.

Sometimes I’m jarred by the small things that throw me back to memories of the worst months of my life — a pink balloon at the gate, a pink sign that greets me when I get off the plane. I’ve stopped caring if people see me tear up at the sight of a flight attendant’s pink cravat.

Sometimes the pink makes me weary. Because I remember how hard I fought through five surgeries, eight rounds of chemo, 30 sessions of radiation, a year of Herceptin infusions, three years of Zometa infusions, a pill every day and a shot every 6 months. It makes me weary to recognize how hard I’m fighting even now against the side effects of the medicines that keep me alive.

And sometimes the pinkness makes me grateful. Because I’m here. I’m still here.

As I sit in this airport, I’m reminded of October 2015, when I flew home after serving at a hospital in West Africa for three months, landing at an airport awash in pink, remembering my cancer battle, and learning a new lesson about compassion.

So here it is, from my heart to yours….an excerpt from one of the last chapters of WELL.

***

I walked to baggage claim to retrieve the large wheeled duffel bag that held three months of belongings. The walls in baggage claim were awash in pink—pink ribbons, pink posters, pink banners—and it took me a minute to remember that it was October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. As a breast cancer survivor, sometimes I celebrated Breast Cancer Awareness Month with gratitude, and other times I loathed the ubiquitous reminder of the disease that had nearly cost me my life.

As I waited for the conveyor belt to start moving, I thought about how, for several years now, whenever I told the story of the Invisible Girls, I had said that because my breast cancer diagnosis disqualified me from serving as a full-time missionary in Africa, God had brought Africa to me. God had given me a consolation prize of working with Somali refugees on my soil because, for a long time, my cancer diagnosis had made it impossible for me to travel to theirs.

Standing here now, minutes away from my feet touching American soil for the first time in three months, I suddenly had the humbling realization that I had been making unfair and untrue value judgments for a really long time.

I had assumed that loving people while standing on the soil of West Africa was more valuable than loving people while standing on a sidewalk in the United States.

That traveling for hours on a plane to get to people who were suffering was more significant than driving ten minutes in my car to the local rescue mis- sion, or the Somali girls’ apartment—or even walking to the neighbor’s house next door.

Somehow, I believed that I earned more cosmic points for loving people while jet-lagged than for loving people while well rested.

That eating strange food was more significant than eating leftovers from my favorite take-out place.

That serving people who speak a different language from me was somehow more important than serving fellow English speakers.

It took a hard three months in Africa to open my eyes to the fact that the Somali girls were never a consolation prize. That cancer didn’t deprive me of God’s Plan A for my life. That I was where I was meant to be, and if I never used my passport again, the life waiting for me in the States was just as significant as the life I thought I’d have as a missionary overseas.

As I pulled my heavy bag off the carousel, I thought, Maybe in God’s eyes, the soil under our feet doesn’t matter nearly as much as the compassion in our hearts. Maybe the love we show to others is infinitely more significant than the ground on which we stand.

***

WELL launches November 7th! Pre-order your copy wherever books are sold.

Uncategorized

breast cancer

breast cancer awareness month

breast cancer survivor

compassion

international medicine

Previous Post

October 11, 2017

four things every sexual trauma survivor needs to hear (**trigger warning**)

Next Post

October 18, 2017 "Sista, are you sure you're strong enough for Africa?"

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Uncategorized

Select a Month February 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 August 2017 July 2017 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Which king saw "the handwriting on the wall"?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Nebuchadnezzar Belshazzar Cyrus Artaxerxes

Books by This Author Books by Sarah Thebarge

See All Titles »