A Spring of Joy

Monday morning, they strapped me down in the MRI machine, arms pinned to my sides, plates on my abdomen, jazz music in my headphones. The tears leaked from the corners of each eye… tears from dry eye syndrome, tears I could not wipe, tears of disbelief as I looked at the dingy white cylinder above me. “Lord, really?” I asked, “Is this really my life? Seriously?”

I’ve had a lot of those moments these past weeks as we’ve waited and faced more scans, more diagnoses, more possibly scary results. The contrast dye from the MRI gave me a migraine, and I started chemo again on Sunday, so I am still very weak and nauseated. “Seriously? How did I get here?”

On Tuesday, one of my heart friends showed up with both my favorite coffee and my favorite flavor of gelato, warm hugs and two hours of deep conversation, tears, grueling struggle on both our parts, and truth spoken gently. We needed each other. We needed freedom to really share our lives. And we needed truth.

Yesterday she texted me. Read Isaiah 55. So I put my Bible app on audio and listened as the Word washed over me, words of promise about our covenant keeping God, words of peace. I let it go on and on and the voice read chapter after chapter. When Isaiah 58:11 was read I fell into a ball on the floor and wept.

“The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.”

“Could this really be true? Will I ever be like that spring?”

The truth is, I already am. God has never ceased to guide us. He has satisfied all my need in Jesus. He has strengthened me in my weakness over and over and over… and ultimately will give me full strength in heaven. And those springs whose waters never fail. Jesus. His Word. When I drink deeply of Him, I am drinking of living Water.

He, our covenant keeping God, has promised. Oh, for eyes to stay looking up on Him and not on the hard, the daily hard of constant pain and fatigue, of wondering how I’m going to do. this. again. today. How do I live in constant brokenness?

He will guide me. Always.

As I puttered around the house last night, wiping counters, picking up clutter from the day, the phone’s ring startled me, and when I saw the hospital’s number, I sank into the couch. Deep breaths. Do I answer?

Of course, I did.

“Angela?” his voice, calm and steady, tinged with its kindly southern drawl, “This is the doctor. I’m calling you about your MRI results. I know you don’t want to wait until your follow-up (December 9th, y’all!). And you need good news, don’t you?”

Oh, y’all… do I ever need good news!

They believe it’s a cyst. It’s a proteinaceous cyst, and it’s shrinking–down 4 1/2 mm! He wants me to have a follow-up in six months to keep an eye on it, but it appears to be nothing of concern.

Oh, y’all. I sobbed on the phone and I could hear the smile in his voice. I sobbed with Brian and my parents and close friends.

One friend told me, “My heart is racing with the joy!”

That is how we all felt. I don’t think I realized how heavy this was upon me until last night when I felt two hundred pounds lighter.

Do I ever need good news!

The truth is every three weeks when I see my oncologist, the rug could be pulled out from under us again.

But the truth is, I have good news. I had it all day yesterday and the day before and the day before. Even in the blackest, darkest nights of midnight cancer I have good news, because I have my covenant keeping God Who covers me with His wings and sent His only Son for me. For ME!

We live walking on tenuous ground, yet we stand on a solid rock.

We are basking today.

In good news.

Thank y’all always for your heart, your love, your prayers. This cancer road is long and hard and never-ending. You are harbingers of joy and strength as we continue through each day. I am humbled.