A Spring of Joy

Joys are coming.

I am clinging to this these days. My heart is spinning faster than my head, and it seems at every doctor’s appointment my head is spinning more and more. I’ve had appointments for genetic testing, eye ulcers, follow-ups, blood work, physical therapy, CAT scans and now two more tests loom, and I’m tired.

The weariness of it all has enveloped me, and honestly, y’all, I feel like David says in the psalms that the darkness has covered me. I must whisper truth to myself through the nights and scream it through the days.

Here are a few things I find myself preaching to myself:

I don’t have cancer! Not right now. Be thankful.

The genetic tests showed that my cancers are NOT genetic. This is huge. Be thankful.

My eye ulcers have healed and along the way, I found a new eye doctor that I really like. Be thankful.

Healing is a miracle, whether it’s a hangnail or a surgery. Have you ever thought about that? How miraculous our bodies are? How God created and wired us to heal? How often I take it for granted.

Each healed hangnail is a miracle. Be thankful.

I have doctors that care about me for who I am. They call each other on the phone and figure out what’s best for me. They aren’t afraid to refer me to another doctor who might know better. They check up on me. And they pray for me. Think about that last one.

My doctors pray. for. me. Be thankful.

We have technology that allows doctors to look inside my body and find out what’s really going on. That’s amazing to me. That God has gifted men and women with the minds, abilities and technology to light up my insides and see why I’m in pain. Be thankful.

And what is going on?

The recent CAT scan was inconclusive. There is a thickness around the surgical site that he wants to see better to see if it’s still swollen from surgery, if it’s just because of where the colon bends, or if there’s something wrong with the incision needing another surgery for a fix.

There is also a lymph node sitting next to the colon they want to check out. It’s not swollen. It’s not alarming. It’s just there. But because of where it’s located, he wants to light me up and see if it’s cancerous.

So next week will be long and brutal with three days of liquid diet and IV’s and nasty stuff to drink, and y’all, as brutal as all that will be on my body, my fears have already been brutal on my soul since we scheduled all this 3 days ago.

I’m tired.

So very tired.

But I’m trusting.

I have to.

In the darkness of this night, I am choosing joy. It doesn’t always show up in happiness. My body is tired, my brain is overloaded, my heart is frustrated, my soul is lonely… but there is still joy.

Because no matter what these scans show. No matter what I am walking through… joy is ALWAYS coming.

This means I can be thankful.

And have hope. Hope that does not disappoint.

And as Mr. Beaver says in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, “There’s a right bit more than hope. Aslan… is on the move.“

Yes.

Joy is coming. Full joy.