It has been several weeks since Jason’s brain tumor diagnosis. In the two months since July 10th, there have been other world events, regional tragedies, and even individual joys. You know. You’ve heard.

But, as the days pass and more news stories pour in, the old stories are diluted. The drama is over. The shock has faded. There’s more scrolling by. We’re that – old news now.

Neither of us enjoys the spotlight anyway, so fading into the background is actually much more comfortable for us. Still, though, there is a dread of feeling forgotten, of being alone.

There is a desire for everyone to forget and move on like normal, quickly followed by a disappointment that everyone has already forgotten and moved on like normal. It’s another exaggerated teeter-totter of cancer – of most trauma, actually.

Truly, knowing people are thinking of us, supporting us, feeding us, and praying for us does help – really! We see you. We feel you. It’s love. Like a drug, it medicates our souls. Also, like a drug, it can be addicting. Powerful is the desire to keep feeling the high of love and support especially in the face of knowing the alternative feeling of the deepest low of loss, sickness and pain. Therefore, to keep that high and avoid that low should we continue to find ways to draw attention to our cancer? To our pain? To ourselves?

I’m learning that it is very easy for a diagnosis to become an identity and for an identity to become an idol.

As a physician, I have seen it in other patients.  I'm even guilty of helping people put on the mask:
"You have diabetes" becomes "you are a diabetic." 
"He has dementia" becomes "he is demented." 
"I have cancer" becomes "I am cancerous." 
Each statement may be true, but the sentiment is very different.

Will Jason’s cancer be our identity now, too?

Will it become an idol around which our lives revolve? Hypothetically, will we feed it our time, energy, passion, and resources worshiping it in an effort to feel a certain way? to have community? to be loved? to be seen and known? and to not be forgotten?

Will we give cancer that position?

Nope.

Although it is so tempting and natural to do just that, the truth is that real support, friendship, and love are not defined by this. We are not identified by this.

Jason may never again just be Coach Newman. I may never again just be Dr. Newman. We may never again just be Owen’s, Griffin’s, Jordan’s, and Quinn’s parents – at least not without the * of cancer. There’s no going back.

And that’s okay. But we hope our identity never becomes just that-sad-family-with-the-dad-with-brain-cancer. Instead, we want to be known as that-family-with-awesome-stories, or those-people-who-really-love-us-and-love-Jesus. Honestly, even without a tumor, that was the goal.

Let’s be real though. Cancer has wounded us. It will leave a scar, and it’ll be one that will forever mark us – be part of our identity – whether we like it or not. But, it will never be all of us.

Jesus came back from the tomb with scars too, after all. You probably have one or two as well. We’re in good company.

So, we’re content being old news to the media and to the passerby. But even so, know that we’re still here. We’re still learning more each day about genuine friendship, about difficult gratitude, about miraculous prayers, and about unlimited love. We’ll still talk, and write, about all of it.

Side note: Interestingly, but not surprisingly, the times when we unselfishly give up the craving to be seen and heard are the moments when the phone dings with a text, a calming Bible verse comes to our mind, or the playlist blasts just the right song. Quickly, effortlessly and genuinely, we’re reminded that we are deeply loved and fully known. God is good.

I’ll take [Susan’s*] hand who doesn’t know the way, who can’t see where she’s going. I’ll be right there to show her what roads to take, make sure she doesn’t fall into the ditch. These are the things I’ll be doing for her, not leaving her for a minute.

Isaiah 42:16 MSG

*The night before Jason’s biopsy in Omaha some friends “broke into” our house and left this verse on my nightstand with my name inserted into the text. It still makes me cry every time I read it. God is so so good.