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Some people, when faced with severe crises, are prone to ask, Why me? This might be the most common response. When it seems that we are being attacked in ways uncommon to those around us, at times when we can least afford it, then sure, Why me?

But in her current battle with cancer, my wife Jenny tells me she sees it another way. Demonstrating the strong perspective that’s enabling her to win this battle so far, Jenny is much more prone to ask, Why not me?

Her thinking goes something like this: If you consider how many individual cells have to make up so many functioning processes in so many functioning organs in our body, all systemically intertwined and working in harmony, just for us to take one breath, it just makes more sense to ask: Why not me? Why should we expect our bodies to function perfectly?

It’s hard not to agree, when I really think about it. Our bodies, as well as our lives, happen because an infinite number of things continue to function just right. My favorite Einstein quote is when he points out that we can look at the world one of two ways: Either nothing is miraculous, or everything is.

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But I also ask Why not me?, for a different reason. I ask because this cancer is not attacking me, it’s attacking her. My family’s history is the one riddled with cancer, not hers, so why not me? I’m the one with the most flexible schedule, so why not me? I’m the hypochondriac, constantly complaining about one ache or another, so why not me?

But as my friends, mentors, and especially Jenny, keep reminding me, this crisis is mine as well. Cancer attacks a whole family, a whole community. One person goes through the violent physical experience, and that rightfully gets the lion’s share of attention. But everyone nearby experiences the crisis in their own unique way. We all, my wife, my kids, my family, my business partners, my church, we all have to survive this. Even me.

And I am tempted to do “whatever it takes” just to get through this. Just survive, baby.

This is a common expression, given out freely to those in struggle. In its best light, it gives license to throw out minor cares and worries, letting go of some of the “shoulds” and “oughts” that shackle us. Like, “I shouldn’t question God, I should just be grateful.” Or “I ought not go outside with my bald head, lest others might be uncomfortable.”

In this light, doing “whatever it takes” is incredibly freeing and encouraging. But as Bruce Springsteen points out in “Devils and Dust,” the need to survive cannot be a license to compromise our integrity, sacrifice the things we cherish most, or damn the very relationships we’re surviving to enjoy.

As Bruce so aptly reminds me, if I lose myself in the survival process, then I haven’t really survived at all. If what I do to survive kills the things I love, well, then I’ve invited forces in that threaten to take away the very me I’ve worked so hard to preserve. And then he goes further.

If the things we do to survive kill the things we love, then we’ll invite fear into our heart. And fear, left unaddressed, is the greatest enemy to true survival. When fear takes residence, our soul turns to merely devils and dust. When we give in to fear, it empties us of the very God-filled soul that can rise above it. I, perhaps self-servingly, see a remarkable parallel here to one of the tenets of ScreamFree Living. Whenever we give into our anxiety, we actually create the very outcomes we were anxious to avoid. Fear, like anxiety, robs us of the very resources we need to overcome any crisis.

So, okay, I, along with my wife, am facing a crisis. In many ways, I’m facing a struggle to survive, preserving the very things I hold dearest. What happens if I do “whatever it takes”? Knowing myself, I’d eat too much. Or give in to an old temptation and drink too much (or medicate myself in some other way). Maybe I’d depend too much on the goodness of others, or extended family. Or maybe I’d refuse to be “understanding” or “empathetic” when my kids start to act out, or whine more than usual. Maybe the strongest temptation of all would be to deny all those negative temptations and just try to push through, just serving without questioning or quitting.

Fear’s a powerful thing, indeed.

I love Springsteen’s connection here between self-compromise and fear. Fear is perhaps the most powerful of all emotions because it is the one that is most apt to cloud out both our mind and our truest desires. It leads us into emotional reactivity, either compromising our deepest held principles, or even freezing us into inaction altogether.

And yet I am afraid. I am afraid for my wife and her struggle for survival against a very deadly enemy wanting to take further residence in her body. I am afraid for my children as they feel forced to adapt to less than functioning parents, occasionally overfunctioning grandparents, and negative questions and feelings that simply do not belong in a child.

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Mostly, I am afraid that I cannot handle all of this. I am afraid that in my effort to just survive this struggle I will sacrifice what I hold dearest, and that the fear behind it all will leave my God-filled soul filled with nothing but devils and dust.

But I’m thankful for two things. First, I’m thankful that, along with Bruce, I do believe “I’ve got God on my side” as I’m “just trying to survive.” I believe in God as a parent, first and foremost. And as I examine my fear, it helps to think of him walking with me the same way I try to walk with my kids. It helps to imagine him listening to my questions in the same way I try to listen to my kids’.

Second, I’m thankful to have a remarkable example before me. I have an example of one who is able to see “survival” as more than just continuing to exist, but rather as an opportunity to face all the fears and yet hold onto the very principles and practices that make life worth surviving for. Of course…Jenny.

As I’m writing this, I just watched my 6-year-old son walk up to my wife and “breathe fire” on her like a dragon. His mouth wide open, his volume at peak levels, there he is, threatening to annoy my cancer-stricken wife. She’s just trying to get some rest. And yet there she is, calmly smiling at his display and welcoming him into her arms. As she kisses his dragon-breathing head, I know.

She’s truly surviving.

(But now Brandon’s making fart noises with his armpits, and she’s had enough).