Years ago, while I was attending the U.S. Army Chemical Corps School in Alabama, I met a soldier from the Royal Thai Army. He was an enlisted man by the name of Corporal Chumpol. It was relatively rare to see foreign enlisted soldiers at the school (we had just two while I was there), although officers from around the world could be seen there quite regularly.
One day, following a military parade, Corporal Chumpol came back into the barracks smiling broadly and told us, “I just love Ah-May-Ree-Ka (‘America’). Everybody is so nice to me.” He had been saluted by many officers and he was clearly enjoying the honor. His dress uniform had “shoulder boards,” or epaulets, with an embroidered Royal Thai Army insignia placard, along with three brass cones that looked like Hershey Kisses mounted on them. In most armies of the world, those three cones would designate the rank of captain. But Chumpol was just a corporal. Again and again, he had been mistaken for a captain, and had been called, “Sir,” by unsuspecting officers, who snapped to attention as he passed by and saluted him. And Corporal Chumpol just loved it.
Then one day, just when he was about to be saluted again, an American soldier told the officer, “He ain’t nothing, Sir. He’s just a corporal. Don’t salute him like he was an officer. He ain’t nothing.”
He ain’t nothing. I supposed that many of us spend a lifetime hiding in that disguise of “nothing,” unnoticed and disregarded, for the most part. True, we might attract attention from time to time and be recognized by others, perhaps when someone says, “Yeah, that’s him, Officer. Second guy from the left. That’s him.” But usually we can chameleon ourselves so well that we disappear for all practical purposes.
Which brings me to my point. Yes, there is a point to this, believe it or not. Do you know how lucky it is to have cancer? You’re probably thinking that “lucky” and “cancer” cannot be used together in the same sentence. You would be wrong if you thought that way, however. I say that it’s a very lucky thing to have cancer because cancer turns on God’s Sunshine Pump. And when that Sunshine Pump is running, everybody salutes you and treats you like Corporal Chumpol - even if you don’t deserve it, even if you’re a “nothing.”
I’m not going to dismiss the pain and suffering of cancer. It can be quite intense at times. There are days when it hurts so badly that you’re afraid that you are going to die. And, after an hour of that suffering, sometimes you begin to be afraid that you’re going to live. That’s not what I’m talking about.
Instead, I’m talking about how easy it is for many people to obey our Lord’s commandment to love one another when they are dealing with a cancer patient. The same impatient people who fly into a blinding rage on the highway when they are cut off by another driver suddenly become mellow and loving around those afflicted with cancer. That’s what I’m talking about: the utter transformation of people who would like to treat you as if you were nothing at all, but now are kind, and loving, and solicitous - just as our Lord intended them to be.
I feel a particular debt of gratitude toward those who have sent cards and letters; to those who have called me on the telephone to ask about my condition; to those who have wrapped me in prayer as a gift to God; and to those who have offered to help in any way, and have offered their time and talents to make this cancer journey a bit easier. At times this endless parade of goodwill makes me feel like Corporal Chumpol: I don’t deserve it; but I love it nonetheless.
Indeed, it is a lucky thing to have cancer.
One day, following a military parade, Corporal Chumpol came back into the barracks smiling broadly and told us, “I just love Ah-May-Ree-Ka (‘America’). Everybody is so nice to me.” He had been saluted by many officers and he was clearly enjoying the honor. His dress uniform had “shoulder boards,” or epaulets, with an embroidered Royal Thai Army insignia placard, along with three brass cones that looked like Hershey Kisses mounted on them. In most armies of the world, those three cones would designate the rank of captain. But Chumpol was just a corporal. Again and again, he had been mistaken for a captain, and had been called, “Sir,” by unsuspecting officers, who snapped to attention as he passed by and saluted him. And Corporal Chumpol just loved it.
Then one day, just when he was about to be saluted again, an American soldier told the officer, “He ain’t nothing, Sir. He’s just a corporal. Don’t salute him like he was an officer. He ain’t nothing.”
He ain’t nothing. I supposed that many of us spend a lifetime hiding in that disguise of “nothing,” unnoticed and disregarded, for the most part. True, we might attract attention from time to time and be recognized by others, perhaps when someone says, “Yeah, that’s him, Officer. Second guy from the left. That’s him.” But usually we can chameleon ourselves so well that we disappear for all practical purposes.
Which brings me to my point. Yes, there is a point to this, believe it or not. Do you know how lucky it is to have cancer? You’re probably thinking that “lucky” and “cancer” cannot be used together in the same sentence. You would be wrong if you thought that way, however. I say that it’s a very lucky thing to have cancer because cancer turns on God’s Sunshine Pump. And when that Sunshine Pump is running, everybody salutes you and treats you like Corporal Chumpol - even if you don’t deserve it, even if you’re a “nothing.”
I’m not going to dismiss the pain and suffering of cancer. It can be quite intense at times. There are days when it hurts so badly that you’re afraid that you are going to die. And, after an hour of that suffering, sometimes you begin to be afraid that you’re going to live. That’s not what I’m talking about.
Instead, I’m talking about how easy it is for many people to obey our Lord’s commandment to love one another when they are dealing with a cancer patient. The same impatient people who fly into a blinding rage on the highway when they are cut off by another driver suddenly become mellow and loving around those afflicted with cancer. That’s what I’m talking about: the utter transformation of people who would like to treat you as if you were nothing at all, but now are kind, and loving, and solicitous - just as our Lord intended them to be.
I feel a particular debt of gratitude toward those who have sent cards and letters; to those who have called me on the telephone to ask about my condition; to those who have wrapped me in prayer as a gift to God; and to those who have offered to help in any way, and have offered their time and talents to make this cancer journey a bit easier. At times this endless parade of goodwill makes me feel like Corporal Chumpol: I don’t deserve it; but I love it nonetheless.
Indeed, it is a lucky thing to have cancer.
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