Hello, tender friends!
I’ve never written about this anywhere but in my diary, and I get nervous writing these posts.
I believe it’s time now to share now though because a different member of my family is sick and I need to remember what God has done and trust Him as I once did. (I’m not being evasive about the other family member – I’m just still a little too numb to write about it openly because the decline has been stunningly rapid).
Wow, it’s been almost ten years. So this is what happened:
Almost 10 years ago, my dad called me at 8:00 p.m. while I was still at work (the only person in the building) to tell me that my mom had cancer. I cried, of course, and regretted picking up the phone because I didn’t trust myself to drive home after receiving the news. (Phone calls at unusual hours never yield good news, do they?)
My mom called me frequently, always sobbing in a way that hurt me more than the diagnosis itself.
With twisting guts, I researched and researched alternative cancer clinics. I prayed and begged God to heal her. I researched efficacy rates for the chemo the doctor had prescribed and repeatedly said, “What in the actual f**”?” When I ran the numbers and determined that her risk of developing a secondary cancer from chemo was far worse than not doing chemo at all.
I knew I’d done all I could to help my mom in the earthly realm but still felt compelled to strive for something more to allay her fears and my own.
Then one Sunday at church, as I stood in worship, I told God this: “I know that you are good. I will serve you and do whatever you tell me to do, no matter what happens with my mom. I will follow you all the days of my life. Even if you take her, I will trust that you are good.”
At that moment, I felt someone pat me on the shoulder. I felt jovial laughter in my spirit but didn’t audibly hear it.
I turned around to see who had patted my shoulder. The two rows of pews behind me were empty. For a bewildered moment, I tried to make eye contact with anyone nearby to ask if they knew what had just happened. Everyone’s eyes were on the choir.
But then I knew in my spirit it was either God or an angel he’d sent. I have personally always believed that it was God himself, but I feel like that sounds really lofty. But I do believe, for whatever reason, that it was God and not an angel that physically touched me that day.
He never told me my mom would beat cancer. Even a year or two after treatment, I held my breath when she got follow-up blood work. But I repeatedly meditated on that moment, on God’s assurance that He was with me.
These days, my guts sometimes twist again. It’s a little different now though, because my prayers are focused on healing for this person but my energy during the day is spent taking care of Cubby and protecting him from worrying or figuring out what’s going on. It’s a relief to have him and Anthony to distract me, a relief to know that at least our family unit is intact.
My mom received healing when most people don’t. I received healing when most people don’t. I feel greedy asking for another miracle, but I also know that God never runs out of them. And yeah, people say sorrow makes you wiser, but I’d rather have happiness than wisdom right now.
So here it is, my plea to heaven: Please do it again, Lord.
Thank you for stopping by. That’s all for today, friends.
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