Before you read this, you need to know several things. I am
not religious in the sense of being at church whenever the doors are open. I was raised so, but moved away from that a long while back. I am a believer. I do spend a fair amount of time "talking to God." But I don’t spend a lot of time “talking with God.” But there have been times in my
past when I have felt a clarity of thought that was not my own. It was in my
head, but not of my making. I know. That’s not normal. Well, what can I say?
Sometimes "normal" doesn't fit the experience.
I was struggling with what it looked like to see God last
night. I wanted to thank Him. I was addled from the anesthesia effects from my
recent tube-removal operation. It was successful, and when I came out of my
snoozy state I wanted cheek-kisses from the nurses to celebrate. I know I got
cheek-kisses, but from whom is a mystery to me.
But now I was lying – more like tossing – in my bed trying
to put definition into what God would say if I wanted to let him know
that I was grateful for my tube being gone. I had asked Him for that.
You know, here’s what came to me and what remained with me today. I thought about my precious little guy, Ben. If Ben had
a tube in his body, and if by some unfathomable circumstance I had not been able
to be with him when the doctors were trying to take it out, how would I act
when I saw him without the tube? How would I be? There is no question. I would
be ecstatic for him. My joy would be uncontainable. I would hold him and love
him and tell him that I was so happy for him. I would tell him that if I could
have had that tube in me instead of him, I would have done it in a split second.
I would have held him and felt his warm little back and too-tight embrace. And
then I would have watched him go unencumbered to life. That is how I imagined
telling God thank you last night. I had a good experience.
I also took the opportunity to talk to him about my condition. I asked him
if I could please not have to go back to the tube. He said yes. I asked him if
I could be miraculously cured of my cancer. He said, “It’s not that I can’t
cure you. I want you to go through this. There are things you haven’t learned yet,
and to cure you now would deprive you of their benefits.” He said these things
in a way that I seriously cannot articulate or reproduce here. They had such economy,
clarity, and force. They were structured in an unusual syntax that I can’t
conjure.
But to try -- he said them while in my mind the meaning
behind His words formed.
When he said, “It’s not that I can’t cure you,” I
immediately had images of indescribable beauty and power. The images from the
Hubble come to mind now, although they are somehow less impactful than what I saw last
night. The power He commands. Power to bestow Life. Power to imagine and then create
Light and embed energy within it that we have yet to comprehend let alone tap.
Power to create Dark and Despair. Power to cancel them. He has the power. He
could do anything to me or for me.
But then He said, “I want you to go through this.” The importance of me being present with my family through this whole thing was crystal. It was the image and thought of being vulnerable to the effects of this treatment and going through it, but remaining strong, present, and vibrant for them. And through it, we would gain … benefits … that I don’t yet understand. But it’s important to hold on and to look for these things so that when they do present themselves I am aware enough to capitalize on them; I am there and can capture their value.
I don’t know the lessons to be learned and benefits to be
gained from this time in my life. I am not sure what this holds for me or for
my family. But among all the bizarre meanderings of my mind last night, I was
struck by the clarity and presence of this conversation with God.
I don’t know what version of my future is in store. But I do
know that my loved ones will benefit from it, and that gives me strength,
determination, and patience to endure.
Dear One, I imagine that God is celebrating your freedom from the tube, just as you imagine yourself responding to Ben. You are treasured and loved.
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