My friend Denise asked me to share about my One Word for 2017, so I’m over at her blog today talking about where I believe God is leading me this year.
I shared a bit about my recent cancer scare a few weeks ago at The Glorious Table, but I deliberately glossed over the spiritual battle that took all of my extra time and energy during those weeks. When you have only 800 words with which to address another subject, albeit related, there isn’t room to get into the nitty-gritty of what the word cancer does to you. To your mind. To your heart. To your spirit.
When I stumbled out of the pulmonologist’s office on December 19, the day he told me I had growths all over my lymph nodes, the day he said those growths could be cancer–not likely, but still possible–I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. Yet I had to keep moving. I had to call my husband in Kenya and give him news he didn’t want to hear. I had to go home and relieve our babysitter. I had to cook dinner, bathe two small girls, tuck them into bed the way I always do.
I did all of that. But I didn’t get much sleep afterward.
The next morning dawned bright and crisp, like late October in the Midwest. The sun was warm on my face, and a persistent fall breeze sent fallen leaves, dry and brittle, dancing down the sidewalks. My preschooler had a theatre workshop, and after I dropped her off, I drove to my favorite cafe. I sat in my parked car for a bit, watching the few clouds that scudded across the blue sky. A train whistle cut the air, and I thought about how much I like the sound of a train whistle.
I don’t want to leave this, I said to God. These skies, these trees, the music this world makes. Not yet.
I hadn’t yet prayed about the possibilities, the hopeful ones or the dire ones. There was just this knot in my stomach, a bit vise-like, that didn’t want to unwind. But as I sat there admiring the late fall morning, one thing became clear to me.
When it comes down to it, what really matters is simple.
To read the rest, join me over at Living Holy.