There, on the other side, was the ugliest human-like creature I've ever seen. It looked into my eyes, and offered me a wry smile as it began to step inside toward me. As it pushed past me, I noticed a large word across the front of its sweatshirt: CANCER.
"Wait a minute!" I shouted, "You can't come in here!"
It just smiled at me and declared, "Too bad," as it shrugged. "I thought I'd stop by and visit for awhile. I haven't been here before. Nice place you have here!"
I was angry; confused. I tried to grab it, to throw it out, but it wouldn't budge. Even a gun wouldn't stop this intruder. Under one arm it carried mutant genes, x-rays with spots, and conflicting studies. Under the other it carried many sleepless nights, hours of worry, and fear.
"Where do want me to put this stuff?" it asked.
"Outside!" I yelled. But it just smiled.
"Why are you here?" I demanded. "I'm healthy! I feel fine!"
It smiled crookedly as it moved closer and ran its grotesque finger along the word on its chest: CANCER. Then it whispered, "Oh, I'm not here for you – I'm here for your daughter."
I crumpled to the floor with a knife in my heart; it cut deep into my soul.
For a moment the ogre softened, and said, "Don't take it too personally. It's really not your fault, you know. Remember that I'm in your water, and in your air; I'm part of your pesticides, and in your processed foods; I'm part of your genes, and have followed your ancestors for generations; I'm in your plastics and your carpets and your cosmetics and your clothes." Then it hardened once again, and chuckled, "You brought me here!"
I was sliding into a common trap that the ogre loved. I felt alone, powerless, and guilty; feeling vulnerable and abandoned, cheated by God; dreadfully sorry for my daughter. Why can't the ogre eat me, instead of her? Where was our Protector? I wanted Him to appear from a cloudy mist or a magic mirror and slay this dragon.
After some tears and sleepless nights, I was gently reminded that God does not follow a Hollywood script. He's not separate from us, bursting in on a cloud, riding a white horse, swinging a sharp sword. He reminded me that He's a part of us, all interconnected people in one community, a single family. He abides in us, and we in Him. He gives His children different gifts to help us solve our problems, so we can work together for the common good – if we'd only listen to Him and work together that way.
And then I began to see Him: He was Honnie and David the surgeons, and Editha the radiologist, and Marie the technician, and Bobbie and Megan the geneticists; He was Margaret the friend, and Mary the mother, and Alice the grandmother; He was Doug the advisor, and Kelly the coordinator, and Elina the gynecologist; and He was Patrick the priest, and Kristen, and Laura, and Tiffany, and Karla, and Bronnyn, and Ellen, and Becca, and Lisa. He was all over the place! Everywhere we turned, I began to see Him.
The ogre grew pale and began to shrink. There were ways to get rid of it, and I knew that it wasn't going to happen alone. It'd be a community effort, and we'd win, one way or another. For now, it still roamed the house, but it didn't speak out. It was growing dimmer.
"There's one thing I want to thank you for, ogre," I said to it when I found it cowering in a corner one day. "You've helped me appreciate what I have right now – especially my family and those helping us get through this. Surely, the presence of God is in this place."
It winced. I could barely see the ogre anymore.
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