The day had finally arrived. We had prayed for this day, this doctor, and the answers he would surely offer. Within me I sensed a storm raging, but simultaneously I felt held and protected. Steadied. Like a child learning to ride a bike. Wobbly, out of control and yet secured by the strong hand of a parent.
The peace of God was guarding my heart and mind just as God promised it would in Phillipians 4:7.
It was an early appointment, probably the very first one on their schedule, which worked out well since I had carpool duties for Hollis and his buddies later in the morning. They were working out at the high school for a couple of hours several days a week, which had been a great distraction for me. The responsibility of being chauffeur to and from the strength and conditioning had kept my mind in the game of life and forced me to think of something else. Addie and I had just gotten in the car, I turned the key in the ignition and the words “everything will be alright” were being sung by Evan Craft on Klove as if on cue by God himself. Like literally the first four words that crawled out of the speakers into our atmosphere. The drive was roughly 4 miles and I honestly can’t remember anything else about it. Surely we talked, and I’m confident in some way I attempted to break the tense shroud the day was wrapped in. Regardless…we arrived, checked in, and were ushered to the exam room fairly quickly. These were the days of mask mandates in hospitals and medical offices, so while we couldn’t tell much about the doctor’s face there was a kindness and gentleness about him as he asked all the preliminary questions that are necessary in order to gain adequate knowledge of what was being dealt with. The room was large, more so than any optometrist’s exam room I’d ever been in, but then again he was a neuro ophthalmologist so maybe that title also meant more real estate. There was plenty of space for me to be tucked at one end of the rectangular shaped room with only the light of the doctor’s instrument allowing me to see as he began to look into Addie’s eyes. I prayed silently but so very loud in my head I felt sure someone had to hear. I was not speaking to God calmly, rather fear was shoving my internal shouts into the heavenly realm. Crying out to Him to guide the doctor, that nothing would be missed, that he would make an accurate diagnosis, that…
Be Still.
Now I was certain someone else HAD to have heard that. Based on how the exam continued and my searching eyes weren’t greeted by a response that would suggest it was indeed in stereo, I determined God’s words were only for my heart. With his words a peace fell over me as I was accustomed to when I heard his voice. And so I sat, watching, feeling the storm but being steadied by a hand much stronger than me. Upon his initial investigation he confirmed optic nerve swelling in both eyes (the original report over a month ago was only in one eye). His assistant came in to test pressures in her eyes and then she was led to another room where they continued to cover all the bases. Addie had stopped to use the restroom on the way back and as the nurse sat across from me discussing where we’d like to go for an MRI, possible wait time of a few weeks, and scheduling our appointment to go over the results, I gave voice to something that had been tip toing in my head for weeks. “I’m not sure if this will help, but my sister had a brain tumor”. It was as if I’d welcomed my worst fear into that room. The nurse, who was every bit as sweet and kind as the doctor was, decided she would make some calls to find the best options for us and would get in touch with me later that day. And she did! We had an appointment for an MRI the following Monday. So for the next week we lived life a bit easier knowing the appointment was coming but definitely with an elephant in the room.
It was that peace. Understanding the chaos is there but being held just above it, where fear is not welcome and your feet just seem to glide forward.
On June 14th during the mid afternoon we finally met the machine. Shawn and Leagan took a seat in the waiting room just a few steps away, but not far enough that the sounds of the MRI couldn’t be heard. They were loud and daunting. Addie asked me to go into the room with her where no phones were allowed. The only thing I’d have to do for about 45 minutes was pray, and I was ok with that. This situation needed lots of prayer. After they had the iv in place, gave her earplugs and all the instructions, the automated table slid her into the machine. The clicking sound started to signal the beginning of the imaging, and it was as if they were also a cue for my heart to cry out. Be Still. Before I could even form the first sentence of my cry, the LORD stopped me and commanded me to surrender. The phrase is actually derived from the Hebrew word rapha (to heal) and carries the meaning “to be weak, to let go, to release”. He wasn’t telling me to sit quietly or shushing me. He was saying let ME do this, and you let it go. Do not hang on, and when fear creeps back in…as it surely will…do not pick it back up, wrap up in it and cry out. LET IT GO in full surrender at my feet. In that moment I knew I was praying from a place of fear, and fear has NO place in the presence of God. Fear has no place when my faith is totally IN God, and fear has no place in my prayers when I have surrendered this scan, this situation, to Him. And so I sang. Nobody could hear me over the sounds of the imaging if you’re worried about what this might have sounded like. “Jesus, Jesus, you make the darkness tremble Jesus, Jesus, you silence fear” I began. Soon my songs turned into prayers of thanksgiving and prayers about other things, but fear had no place. That day God taught me how to lay something at his feet and truly walk away. To surrender and let it go completely into the hands that held Addie tighter than I ever could and definitely loved her and cared for her more perfectly than I was capable of.
We left the office knowing we’d be waiting, just not sure of how long. The next appointment would be based upon how quickly the scans were read and then availability of another appointment to go over them and getting the referral for the next step in determining treatment. In spite of knowing all of this, we knew God was in control and that’s where our faith found it’s home.
Addie’s episode of almost passing out was a symptom I couldn’t shake, and now it had friends that showed up every time she went to bed. Night sweats.
They started over the weekend prior to the MRI appointment, but I decided to notify the doctor the day after the MRI in case it made a difference in the speed with which she needed to be handled.Turns out that intuition deserved to be trusted. I was asked to pick up and deliver the MRI scans and radiology report so that the doctor could take a look. That was Tuesday, right after lunch. Closer to 5:00 that same afternoon I was sitting in the parking lot of a local water park waiting on Hollis and several of his friends when my phone rang. After weeks of waiting and time moving as if it were being carried on the shell of a snail, our world was about to spin faster than we could have ever imagined.
But one thing I was certain of, I would be still.
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