The Waiting Is Over

 Benign.

There is a tumor, 

But it's benign.

And yesterday, Mr. Miracle turned 15.

There will be another surgery, which sucks.

But that's it. 

That's the treatment. 

I'd declared my will to serve the Lord regardless of the results.

There was a time that I hated God.

I understood His power and was angry that He wouldn't rescue me.

But a faith that can't be tested, can't be trusted.

Those tests prepared me for my high-risk pregnancy. 

When doctors told me to abort or die.

She's eleven.

Those tests prepared me for my nephew's cancer.

The last treatment occurred four years ago, on the 30th. 

Those tests prepared me for my sister's cancer.

It was diagnosed 7 months after my nephew's last treatment.

She needed surgery only, no treatments. 

And then there's the day-to-day living.

Inflation is crazy, and yet we live off of one income.

I can homeschool as I've always wanted to. 

I can monitor my health and strength. 

I can share Christ without the restraints of politics. 

And though inflation seems like it isn't going anywhere,

Neither has God's hand of provision.

Those tests made my faith strong. 

And here I sit, grateful for another miracle.

And if I'm totally honest, 

I'd prefer God to let this be the last health scare my nephew has.

He's been through so much.

But, I am not God.

So, I will serve Him.

No matter the moment,

or wait,

or pain,

or hurt,

or confusion.

God was, God is, God will always be. 

I'm just a small part in His grand design. 

Waiting...

 My nephew was diagnosed with cancer 5 years ago.

I felt my heart stop as air seeped from my lungs. It felt like I'd never take deep breaths again.

And then they opened him up. A 10-year-old, weighing in at less than 60 pounds. 

Neglect kills. 

And the cancer was like nothing they'd seen before. 

So they closed him, made some calls, and came up with a different action plan.

I felt like I was being squeezed on the inside. 

It was the waiting. 

Waiting for bad news. More bad news. 

Waiting for test results. 

Waiting for surgeries.

Waiting for a miracle.

Bracing for the alternative.

Refusing to accept any other alternative.

Dear God, we need a miracle.

And after numerous procedures and countless treatments, it was gone. 

Thank you God for a miracle!

But it wasn't over.

More internal squeezing.

We had to wait for side-effects.

Waiting for present ones to disappear. 

Waiting for future ones to suddenly appear. 

And after almost 5 years since the beginning of this madness, we're STILL waiting.

There was a dark spot on the last scan. 

The grip on my organs tightens.

Now we're,

Waiting to rejoice.

Or waiting to grieve.

Waiting to relax.

Or waiting to fight.

Waiting to return to normal.

Or waiting for disruption.

Waiting to be grateful for a miracle.

Or waiting for another miracle.

I'm so sick of waiting.

May I never pray for patience again. 

Just fix it Jesus!

Starting Over

 I grieved...

Hot, angry droplets that stung as they rolled down my cheeks.

Staining pillows, sheets, shirts. 

Leaving behind concrete evidence of embarrassment and hurt. 

First, there was the status.

I'm the strong-willed, smart one.

I should have been rich. Wasn't that my setup?

Or was it a setup of expectations from the incompetent?

Was I brought up, or setup to believe that good grades held weight?

Did they know it was all a lie?

Or did they really try their best?

They could have kept their best to themselves.

It set me up for unrealistic expectations I placed on myself.

And when I finally began to see and understand the truth, it was too late for it not to hurt. 

Then there was my blood.

It's toxic.

It poisons.

It betrays.

It destroys.

It celebrates your defeats and then demands a seat at your Christmas table.

Expecting pseudo smiles and shallow, polite conversations. 

And I oblige the expectations, having used the entire week to mentally prepare for it.

And I leave the "celebration" drained. 

Seriously questioning whether or not I care about myself. 

Because, why else would I torture myself, annually? 

It's the blood...

Bronze goes to my health.

My immune system hates me.

Its attacks are systematically, never ceasing.

There is no relief. 

Just moments less intense than the others.

There's no empathy.

Just people who wish you'd stop talking about it and get better. 

There's no rest. 

There's too much pain to rest. 

There's always fear.

Fear of what pain or defect is coming.

Walking support is coming.

Blindness is coming.

Organ failure is coming. 

I must stop it from coming. But how?

Help is not coming. 

Finally, I grieved the babies I never bore. 

I prayed for sons.

And a daughter.

Before the humbling economic status.

Before the failing health.

Because of the toxic blood. That way I could fill my own Christmas table. 

But I got no sons.

I was allotted the daughter. And she's perfect. 

Thank God.

Thank God.

I just wanna thank God.

I just hafta thank God.

I used to hate me.

Enough to try and eliminate me.

But God, I thank you.

Recession hasn't seen my household begging for bread.

Or butter.

So, God, I thank you.

My husband loves me. Loves to care for me. 

He works daily so I can stay home and preserve my failing health.

And then rubs the pain out of knots that try to break me.

And so, God, I thank you.

That one little girl is a reminder of the power of God.

The promises of God.

Why wouldn't I thank you.

I thank you for the courage to let go of the plans I had for myself, so that I could walk in the plans that you have for me.

I thank you for allowing me to teach the next generation to love and trust you, just because of who you are.

I thank you for the strength of transparency. 

Because somebody reading this, just started over.

Is about to start over.

Is afraid of starting over. 

Is embarrassed to start over. 

Is avoiding starting over. 

Thank you, God, for allowing me to start over

And for keeping me every step of the way.