the change day

--this post was actually written a week ago...but somehow I got distracted (go figure!) and only now am finding it and getting it out there--

God hasn't changed.  And in a sense, if I have changed, it is for the better.  I am thinking that although the news of cancer is only two weeks old, indeed it  is not.  It is only that I have had a 2 week awareness of this cancer.  The only thing that has changed in the last 14 days is my thinking, my awareness of the problem.  And that is for the better.  You see, this cancer would kill me if I was unaware.  A life lived without awareness is a life headed to death.  The change in me, the better change, is that I now am in a position to accept help for my problem.  Ask me a month ago if I had anything awry physically and I would have ignorantly said no.  I would not have accepted help for a problem that was even then viciously growing in my body.  Ignorance is not bliss.  Not knowing is not helpful.  Knowledge is the first action step.

But I go back to my first statement.  God hasn't changed.  Only I have.  He knew a month ago.  He knows today.  And He knows what the next year holds.  And through it all, He will be unchangeable.  Compassionate.  Merciful.  Aware of my eternal essence.  Although things around me have changed...even my earthly body has changed...yet the eternal of me has not.  I am His and forever so!!  I find that comforting--"when all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay"...

the "touch" day

I thought I knew how important "touch" was to us humans. Our children are only 25 and 23 so I can still  remember the most amazing feeling coursing through my body when I would hold that baby with her head on my shoulder and his face to my neck.  As I leaned my cheek to their cheek, my skin to theirs, I was drunk on love!!  I have rarely before or since felt anything so wonderful.  Skin to skin touch.  Ahhhh.  Obviously, the touch between a husband and wife is God-blessed and amazing!!  But today I was again reminded of the importance of touch between two people.

I was alone.  Very alone.  Behind a heavy door.  Shut and locked.  Humans were on the other side of the thick paned window.  No contact.  The MRI machine was the only sound in the room.  And that sound filled the room.  I felt small.  Insignificant and yet the machines existed for me.  I needed them.

But back to the touch.  As the contrast material began to drip into my body through the IV needle, I began to lose feeling in my hands and feet.  Dizziness set in.  I started experiencing the proverbial roar in the ears before the fainting starts.  I got scared.  I squeezed the ball in my hand that sent a signal to a human somewhere out there.  I squeezed again.  And again.  She came.  She touched me.  Just my shoulder....and even that must have been hard because the machine was still on and I was still stuck in the tube...but she found a way to connect the two of us.  Her hand.  My shoulder.  And it made a difference.  Not a lot.  But enough.  I still had to complete the test.  But I could do it with some support from a hand just outside the machine. Did the touch fix everything?  No...it fixed nothing except for my aloneness.  And that was enough. It gave me the strength to carry on and finish the test.

God had skin once.  Mary probably held His baby head to her neck and enjoyed the same exhilarating feeling of her cheek to His as I did with each of my children.  I long to feel that from each of my future grandchildren.  I also long to touch my Savior.  But until then, I am very grateful for the touch of the technician this morning.  Scripture going through my head kept me focused.  Praise music in my ears kept me encouraged.  But the hand on my shoulder got me through a couple of rough minutes.  Heavy sigh.  Gratitude.

the waiting day

The call came first thing this morning.  Dr. C. wants to see you tomorrow at 8:45.
Dial tone.

Wait.  What if I don't want to see him?
Did anyone think to ask me about what I want?
Will my wishes be taken into account?

I do not wish to see a doctor tomorrow.
I do not want to do this.
This was not on my Christmas 2012 list.

But then I go silent.
Remember?  Silence is my friend.
It is there, in my silence, my Father reminds me of truth.

This is truth...
Sickness is part of the curse.
He came to give life.
I have accepted this gift.
I have given my life back to Him.

And He wants me to see the doctor tomorrow.
Alright.
Then that's what I want too.

And so I wait.
In silence.

For tomorrow.
For the doctor.
For the plan.

  

the "telling" day

This morning Jeff and I shared with our church family what the past week has brought into our lives.  Mammo/ultrasound Wednesday.  Ultrasound/core needle biopsy Thursday.  Diagnosis late Friday.  And now the weekend to think about it.  What continues to roll through my thoughts are two phrases that the doctor said.  It matters which order he said it.  I don't remember the order.  Here are the two phrases.
You have breast cancer.
It doesn't look good.
Think about it.  The order matters.  Starting from a healthy body, the doc says, "It doesn't look good.  You have cancer."  That has a different meaning than "You have cancer.  It doesn't look good."
I don't remember.  I want to remember.  Maybe it doesn't matter.  But maybe it does.

But back to my church family.  Awesome.  Prayerful.  Gentle.  Caring.  Sad.  Tearful.  And...full of faith and encouraging words.  And this is not the only family that I am a part of.
I have an immediate family.  Awesome.  Prayerful.  Gentle.  Caring.  Sad.  Tearful.  And...full of faith and encouraging words.  And I have another family.
I have an extended family.  Awesome.  Prayerful.  Gentle.  Caring.  Sad.  Tearful.  And...full of faith and encouraging words.  (this time I used the cut and paste option!! because I am thrice blessed).

I am encouraged by the words my mother told me (a godly woman who knows about "faith stretchers"--times when our faith grows exponentially).  She gave me the verse that is the address for this blog.  Exodus 14:14.  "The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to be silent."
I can do silent.  I like silent.  Silent is an old friend.  Silent will be a new friend.  I need friends.