A Life Lesson from Disney World

In-between chemotherapy treatments earlier this summer, we sneaked in a family trip to Disney World. Even in the “happiest place on earth,” God found a way to teach me another timely lesson. This time, it was on fear.

While I am much more of a Tea Cup guy, I reluctantly went on Space Mountain. I honestly had no expectations for this famous roller coaster, but I did have a desire to avoid it completely. There has never been a moment in my life when I thought, “I would love to go on that roller coaster,” no matter the size. However, when your kids ask you to go, how do you say no?

Since my 6-year-old, Lily, was tall enough to go on the ride, I assumed there would be a few turns and drops, but nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for this ride.

If you are not familiar with Space Mountain, other than streaks of flashing light at various turns, it is pitch black. It is not a smooth ride and if you, like me, are not a fan of these rides from hell, it feels as if it will never end.

To make matters worse, somehow, I ended up in the first seat. Some seek this thrill. I do not! It just happened so fast.

Another unique part of the ride is that you do not have anyone sitting next to you. This meant that behind me was my precious Lily. All alone. And yes, so was I.

When the ride started its intense speed, my fear took over. Through the dips and bends, I wondered, is Lily safe? What if she falls out? Will this hurt her neck? Is she vomiting? Will she ever go on a ride again?

I was helpless and all I could do was wait for the ride to end. There was nothing that I could do, and that is a horrible feeling. Even after a year of having little control over my health, nothing compared to this feeling of powerlessness and not being able to protect my child.

When the ride mercifully came to its dreadful conclusion, I quickly turned around to check on Lily. To my surprise, she was laughing and proceeded to say, “This is the best day of my life.”

In reflecting on this experience, I kept thinking about the depth of the fear that I experienced.

I started to consider the parallels of this Space Mountain ride to the healing journey from cancer that I am on. I have often compared this journey as a roller coaster, with its ups and downs, but it took on an even deeper meaning after facing helplessness and fear on a 32 mph ride that felt a whole lot faster.

It is fear that can make this healing journey, and life journey, even more difficult.

I have asked, on many nights over the past year, what happens when I died. I immediately thought of my kids. I could no longer protect, guide, and teach them. We would be separated as my eyes went dark and they now faced a challenging future without their dad.

While I trust in God’s presence and how we have a village of angels in disguise who will support my wife and children, it is difficult to imagine letting go of whom you are responsible for and whom you love with all your heart.

For those few minutes on the iconic Space Mountain, I was paralyzed by “what ifs.” And at the end, Lily’s smile and laughs revealed that in the darkness, I missed the joy of the ride. I didn’t appreciate the twists and turns, the bright glimpses of light, the thrill of letting go, and even some screams of joy. Instead, I rode the ride, paralyzed by fear.

Over 100 times in the bible, “Be not afraid” or “Fear not” is mentioned. Jesus says it at least a dozen times, Himself. Why is it so hard to listen, follow, and live?

When we ride the more difficult roller coasters of life, it is easy to get lost in the fear. God wants us to trust and to enjoy the ride, no matter how frightening it might look. As St. Padre Pio said, “Pray, Hope and Don’t Worry.”

In the end, when I look back on this ride of my life, I pray I will be overwhelmed with experiences of joy despite the unexpected turns and difficult drops, and not be left with the regret of missing it all because of “what ifs” and fear.

Yes, God used my Lily to teach me another lesson on this healing journey. I am grateful for this reminder, although I hope future lessons come with my feet on the ground.