The Big Dipper is in full view, practically sitting in my driveway this morning. Behind me is the bright, perfectly partitioned half moon. I peer and squint but cannot make out the other half, although obviously it is there. Don’t worry this isn’t a trite glass half full commentary. The pause that I take, noticing the invisible, strikes me- particularly this week.

Jeff and Carmen are two fifty-something patients both with metastatic cancer. They have not met but their stories overlap. In each case they are managing, suffering, frightened (more for their teenagers) but generally facing down this tiger everyday. In and out of the treatments and hospitals, on and off from work, up and down with emotions and relationships.

When we visit during therapy or to review new biopsies or scans, all the focus is on the cancer. What isn’t obvious is that other hidden part of life- the reason all of the efforts are worth it. Yet its not the chemo, radiation, spinal decompression, lung and liver biopsies that really matter. They consume discussion and plans, but they are not the living part of this disease. The strength, reason and courage come from that quiet, silent, hidden part that propels them forward. Often I am shocked when patients such as Carmen and Jeff come in smiling, gabbing, energetic and not a ball of fears and tears. Occasionally I am egotistical enough to believe that we are giving them the hope or that therapy is the salve. Ridiculous.

These warriors teach me everyday to be humble in their presence. We do not develop courage when all is good in life. Challenges brought forth your own greatest moments, intensified your strengths and continue to guide your path. You can peer into these lives and never see the dark, quiet, silent whispers that soothe the distress and pain. I have no right to those. They are not for my edification. They are, each and every one, personal to the individual as are your own. With all the frenetic activity of doing in life, it is rarely that which brings us joy or peace.

So this morning, I quietly tip a nod to that brightly shining half-moon. I take heart in knowing its fullness will be back- even with all the imperfections and craters. The unseen part is holding up the shiny spectacle that cries for attention. It isn’t weak, or taken for granted, or missing. The other aspect of life or a cancer journey is exactly where it needs to be: protecting, guiding, inspiring and now appreciated. No one part is more important. These combined forces bring a blessed wholeness.