A Spring of Joy

On Monday, I spent three hours at the hospital having an ultrasound on my neck and a barrage of blood work. All went well at the appointments, although the ultrasound was painful. I wanted to feel happy about that. I wanted to be thankful. I stopped by to visit a friend, a quick hug, a few moments of sharing life, telling each other stupid jokes to make us laugh. But as I left her, all I could feel was the overwhelming sense of fear and dread, the “what if?” of the results of it all. Until…As I began the drive home, the sun was just beginning to set, and I found myself almost intoxicated by the beauty of Fall in the Valley. And my lament turned to worship.

Today I learned that there is indeed an enlarged node in my neck, and I have a biopsy scheduled next week. I caught my breath as she told me and felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath me. How many times do I have to experience this before the surprise of it all stops impacting me? I called my Bri, and the heaviness in his voice broke my heart. I called my parents and wept, and when Daddy got on the phone and I heard the break in his voice, I could bear it no more.

It’s the “not again” of it all. It may be clear, and I am working to not borrow tomorrow’s troubles. But I know the biopsy will be painful. Very painful. I’ve had three before, so I know I can do this. But I don’t want to do this. I want to just curl up in a ball and cry. Then I want to jump up and fight. And I wrestle with this manic flux of emotions.

I know a large part of my struggle is an exhaustion that is all-encompassing. I am not sleeping well. I am wrestling the dark thoughts and fears that wash over me; chanting prayers all through the night. I am in pain from the swollen node. I am in pain and have surgery scheduled in November on my abdomen to repair a hernia and clean up scar tissue from my other surgeries. I am still in pain from treatment, even from chemo years ago. I am spiritually weary from the battle… mentally, emotionally, physically.

Y’all these days are hard. I am a roller coaster of emotions. Satan wants to rob me of all joy. He doesn’t want me to see the beauty in each day, to be grateful, to grow. He wants the ugliness of cancer to impact me not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually and mentally. He doesn’t want me to live life. He wants me self-consumed and miserable.

Psalm 42 isn’t a happy psalm. He is in depression. He is struggling with questions. He is in agony. He is battling the enemy.

BUT

He is fighting for hope.

He still sings.

He preaches truth to himself.

And so I follow his example and I preach truth to myself. I may feel alone as I face the biopsy, but He will never abandon me. I may be exhausted, but He is my strength. I may feel like a failure, but He will never fail me. I may buckle under the weight of the blows of the enemy, but He is my shield. I may let go to steady myself, but He will never release His hold on me. I may not be able to sing the harmony, but He is singing over me with a melody more beautiful than any on earth. I may feel death in my body, but He has conquered death. I may feel as if life is against me, but He is FOR me.

And like the psalmist, I turn to truth. I read His Word–sufficient for all things. And I sing my song of desperation, how “when my soul is downcast, and my voice has no song, for mercy, for comfort, I wait for the Lord.”

And like the psalmist, I am fighting for hope.

And hope does not disappoint.

(I covet your prayers, friends. The enlarged node is deep in my neck, and the biopsy is scheduled next week. My Brian, my steady love, is out of town the day it’s scheduled, so I am working to move it so he can be there. Would you ask God for no cancer? Would you pray for my heart as I wait? For my family? The children do not know at this point. And would you pray for my fear to not consume me? Our hope is in HIM alone.)