(Named Tamarra, after the name I gave to my lump . . "Here today . . gone Tamarra")
It’s been almost 2 weeks now since I found the lump on a Friday night. I imagine everyone who’s ever faced this sort of disruption in their life has felt very much the same things I’ve felt as it’s unfolded. I think my doctor must’ve thought I didn’t grasp the gravity of what he was telling me, and I also think he knew as soon as he touched it. Many have been admirably professional in keeping their reactions in check, but I’m deeply grateful to the first mammogram technician, Mary Jo, for slipping enough to give me a hint, in her sincerely compassionate way, of just how serious this might turn out to be.
Last Sunday I was fretting about all the things I should have done for the Lord and His work, all I’d not done, all I might never get to do now . . and He spoke very clearly to me, “All I ever asked of you was to love me.” It was the first of many unmistakable communications from Him in the coming days. When I got the results of the mammogram on Monday, I took it with surprising calm, but still found sleep that night elusive. In the scant hour I did sleep, I dreamed a vivid dream of a large window framed in weathered gray wood, plain around the bottom and sides, but with an ornate arched top. Through it I could very clearly see a wide grassy path through thick trees, the way bright with sunshine. As I moved through the path, it gave way to another, equally as brilliant . . and another and another, going on without end that I could see. I felt as if He were telling me that there would be many stages along the coming days, but His Light would light my way through each of them.
Tuesday was a quivery, quaky day as many thoughts chewed at me, and when evening came, I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. It’s our County Fair week, and my husband will be gone every night this week. Each option of finding someone to pester for the evening just didn’t seem to work, and so I resigned myself to facing an empty house. But as I was out watering flowers (I seemed calmer outside than in) I decided to be honest with God. “I’m lonely” I said. He spoke back “I’m lonely too.” He asked me to try and imagine just how lonely He was. He gave me time to puzzle it out, and then said that no matter how many of His children loved Him and followed Him, He still felt the pang of loneliness yearning for all those who didn’t. He reminded me of the verse that He isn’t willing that any should perish.
He then reminded me that in everything I’ve gone through in my life, bringing many of the worst moments to mind, He’s always been there and never given me more than I could handle. This time is no different. He will be with me.
When I was in the shower, I sensed the shadow of someone coming in and I asked tentatively, “Ted?” No answer, so I looked out. I realized it was God’s sweet presence overshadowing me, protecting, sheltering, everywhere I went.
He told me nothing would make Him happier than to have me come live with Him, but it wasn’t quite time yet, and that He has more for me to do.
I snuggled into what felt amazingly like a lover’s embrace as I sank into my bed, and sighed blissfully. Before I knew it, and completely unexpectedly, I erupted into Holy Laughter . . and this when laughter was the farthest thing from my mind. I laughed and laughed, new gales sweeping over me . . until my sides actually ached.
I got up and danced down the hallway to the song “Thou hast turned my mourning into dancing for me, thou hast put off my sackcloth” . . and promptly fell soundly asleep.
The next day, the day of the biopsy and meeting with my surgeon, I woke well rested and ready, with a light heart as if we were merely going to enjoy a day at the State Fair. We gave ourselves extra time, which as it turned out, we needed. I think my dear daughter-in-law was just nervous in getting us lost 4 times, since she’s usually an excellent navigator. Through it all I was the one calming her. And it made us both laugh, creating good memories.
He was so dear and close, caressing and stroking my hand, my shoulders, cupping my cheek in His hands as I waited, and kept whispering “I’m with you, I’m here” as the doctor delivered his assessment. Other women had their anxious husbands to lean on. I had the sweetest companion of all.
I asked the Lord why He was doing this for me, why so kind when I needed Him so desperately, and he told me He was there for whomever wanted him. And then, he said the most startling thing . . (Now I may question many of the other things He said, whether it was just my imagination, but this statement was most clearly from Him) He quietly stated that “Cancer is not evil.” I was stunned, and will need to think more about this.
Driving home later, after dropping off Paula, He asked me why I hadn’t yet asked the question everyone asks . . “Why?” So I asked. He told me that I had asked Him to draw me closer to Him, but had not opened my arms to let Him in. Now He was all I had . . but He was also more than enough.
That night I went into the Wednesday night meeting, almost not going since I hadn’t made it to any of them all summer. My priorities are definitely shifting. Many asked how it had gone that day (knowing from the request on the prayer chain), and you could see the pain in their eyes. The caring. After the message, Ruth had everyone lay their hands on me and pray for me. I wonder if anyone found it odd that I was so calm and breathing steady, even verging on laughter again at one point. Several prayed about the nights, which I was most grateful for. Jan shared about another woman we knew, reminding me that she had breast cancer and now looks better and healthier than she ever has in her life. I will make a point of contacting her.
A man I’ve known for many years, who’s struggled mightily with an array of issues but who is now of clear mind again, talked to me after the prayer and said he had a conviction of my full health, and then shared a scripture (worried I’d be offended) “There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus”. I haven’t cried hardly at all through this, but that set tears to my eyes. It was definitely of God, and ministered deeply to my heart. I have recalled it several times already as thoughts to the contrary arise.
On the way home, He spoke again . . “I’ve always been here for you . . you’ve never needed to hear my voice quite this much before.”
Then, this morning, I heard far less, but the tranquility reigns. At one point He did say very clearly “You are so ready to die, but are you really ready to begin to really live again?”
I am.
It’s been almost 2 weeks now since I found the lump on a Friday night. I imagine everyone who’s ever faced this sort of disruption in their life has felt very much the same things I’ve felt as it’s unfolded. I think my doctor must’ve thought I didn’t grasp the gravity of what he was telling me, and I also think he knew as soon as he touched it. Many have been admirably professional in keeping their reactions in check, but I’m deeply grateful to the first mammogram technician, Mary Jo, for slipping enough to give me a hint, in her sincerely compassionate way, of just how serious this might turn out to be.
Last Sunday I was fretting about all the things I should have done for the Lord and His work, all I’d not done, all I might never get to do now . . and He spoke very clearly to me, “All I ever asked of you was to love me.” It was the first of many unmistakable communications from Him in the coming days. When I got the results of the mammogram on Monday, I took it with surprising calm, but still found sleep that night elusive. In the scant hour I did sleep, I dreamed a vivid dream of a large window framed in weathered gray wood, plain around the bottom and sides, but with an ornate arched top. Through it I could very clearly see a wide grassy path through thick trees, the way bright with sunshine. As I moved through the path, it gave way to another, equally as brilliant . . and another and another, going on without end that I could see. I felt as if He were telling me that there would be many stages along the coming days, but His Light would light my way through each of them.
Tuesday was a quivery, quaky day as many thoughts chewed at me, and when evening came, I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. It’s our County Fair week, and my husband will be gone every night this week. Each option of finding someone to pester for the evening just didn’t seem to work, and so I resigned myself to facing an empty house. But as I was out watering flowers (I seemed calmer outside than in) I decided to be honest with God. “I’m lonely” I said. He spoke back “I’m lonely too.” He asked me to try and imagine just how lonely He was. He gave me time to puzzle it out, and then said that no matter how many of His children loved Him and followed Him, He still felt the pang of loneliness yearning for all those who didn’t. He reminded me of the verse that He isn’t willing that any should perish.
He then reminded me that in everything I’ve gone through in my life, bringing many of the worst moments to mind, He’s always been there and never given me more than I could handle. This time is no different. He will be with me.
When I was in the shower, I sensed the shadow of someone coming in and I asked tentatively, “Ted?” No answer, so I looked out. I realized it was God’s sweet presence overshadowing me, protecting, sheltering, everywhere I went.
He told me nothing would make Him happier than to have me come live with Him, but it wasn’t quite time yet, and that He has more for me to do.
I snuggled into what felt amazingly like a lover’s embrace as I sank into my bed, and sighed blissfully. Before I knew it, and completely unexpectedly, I erupted into Holy Laughter . . and this when laughter was the farthest thing from my mind. I laughed and laughed, new gales sweeping over me . . until my sides actually ached.
I got up and danced down the hallway to the song “Thou hast turned my mourning into dancing for me, thou hast put off my sackcloth” . . and promptly fell soundly asleep.
The next day, the day of the biopsy and meeting with my surgeon, I woke well rested and ready, with a light heart as if we were merely going to enjoy a day at the State Fair. We gave ourselves extra time, which as it turned out, we needed. I think my dear daughter-in-law was just nervous in getting us lost 4 times, since she’s usually an excellent navigator. Through it all I was the one calming her. And it made us both laugh, creating good memories.
He was so dear and close, caressing and stroking my hand, my shoulders, cupping my cheek in His hands as I waited, and kept whispering “I’m with you, I’m here” as the doctor delivered his assessment. Other women had their anxious husbands to lean on. I had the sweetest companion of all.
I asked the Lord why He was doing this for me, why so kind when I needed Him so desperately, and he told me He was there for whomever wanted him. And then, he said the most startling thing . . (Now I may question many of the other things He said, whether it was just my imagination, but this statement was most clearly from Him) He quietly stated that “Cancer is not evil.” I was stunned, and will need to think more about this.
Driving home later, after dropping off Paula, He asked me why I hadn’t yet asked the question everyone asks . . “Why?” So I asked. He told me that I had asked Him to draw me closer to Him, but had not opened my arms to let Him in. Now He was all I had . . but He was also more than enough.
That night I went into the Wednesday night meeting, almost not going since I hadn’t made it to any of them all summer. My priorities are definitely shifting. Many asked how it had gone that day (knowing from the request on the prayer chain), and you could see the pain in their eyes. The caring. After the message, Ruth had everyone lay their hands on me and pray for me. I wonder if anyone found it odd that I was so calm and breathing steady, even verging on laughter again at one point. Several prayed about the nights, which I was most grateful for. Jan shared about another woman we knew, reminding me that she had breast cancer and now looks better and healthier than she ever has in her life. I will make a point of contacting her.
A man I’ve known for many years, who’s struggled mightily with an array of issues but who is now of clear mind again, talked to me after the prayer and said he had a conviction of my full health, and then shared a scripture (worried I’d be offended) “There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus”. I haven’t cried hardly at all through this, but that set tears to my eyes. It was definitely of God, and ministered deeply to my heart. I have recalled it several times already as thoughts to the contrary arise.
On the way home, He spoke again . . “I’ve always been here for you . . you’ve never needed to hear my voice quite this much before.”
Then, this morning, I heard far less, but the tranquility reigns. At one point He did say very clearly “You are so ready to die, but are you really ready to begin to really live again?”
I am.
