Personal Journey

Pray for Me

I don’t know how to start this, but I’ve always been a fan of the snapshot of the mind. Here is the snapshot of my mind.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, this is not going to be funny. Some of you I know in life, and some are my friends through this blog. Either way, I am blessed by so many of you and want to share some tough news I got last week.

I have a brain tumor. Had it a while, actually, and it didn’t give me much trouble until now. In fact, what we affectionately referred to as my “marble” was a convenient scapegoat anytime I forgot something or said something dumb. My kids would invoke its presence whenever it helped their argument. Your tumor’s showing, Mom, you never told me to do the dishes…

Today I go to see the doctor who taught my neurosurgeon. You read that right. Taught. My. Neurosurgeon. Not today, but soon a man will have his hands inside my skull. Or more specifically, his hands on fabulous microscopic instruments inside my skull. I will have a fantastic haircut, and I will cry right up until the moment they put some happiness elixir in my veins.

While I am frightened, I trust God loves me and has already taught me through this. Only because of God could I face this surgery and feel blessed. Here’s how it went down.

I am a homeschool mom. I teach cozy creative writing classes in my living room. During my class break, I returned the call from my neurosurgeon’s office. I am supposed to have my head checked every now and again, in case my tumor decides to “turn on.” How it works is I get an MRI. It goes to my neurosurgeon. He calls me in. I pay the co-pay. He tells me I’m fine and to come back next year.

I wouldn’t have called in the middle of class if I thought it would be anything unusual. But, not only was it not your tumor hasn’t changed. It was here’s the name of the specialist neurosurgeon at the Neurological Institute, the director of the institute. Go see him today. To. day.

“Today? I’m in the middle of teaching a class,” I said.

“Well, tomorrow’s fine then. Just don’t wait.”

I’m serious. That’s how it went down, word for word. I had all these little people, aged ten through thirteen zigging around my house, giggling and cavorting. My own son was buzzing by on his new hoverboard blasting the Russian National Anthem so loudly I couldn’t hear to make the appointment.

“How do you feel,” asked the gal on the line.

“Fine, except I’m scared to death.”

This I said from the privacy of my bathroom. My students were waiting for me to finish the lesson, and I was numb in my hands and feet, probably due to the fact that my galloping heart stole all the oxygen. Fight or flight reflex, thank you, and now we’ll write some stories together…

God got me through my classes. When Bob walked in the door, he remarked that his day was rotten. But now that there was meatloaf for dinner, everything was going to be alright. You see how wonderful Bob is—it wasn’t even steak. Then I told Bob my news and the meatloaf and a whole host of other things were forgotten. Pretty much everything, actually.

I tell you, the hardest part was waiting to know what was going on. I believe in God, that He loves me and has a plan for my life. I know where I come from, what I ought to do and not do, and where I’m going when I die. Still, my faith doesn’t mean I never fear. I’ve been feeling a whole lot of fear this week. I’ve been doing a lot of hugging, especially my husband. I want to crawl inside my husband’s body and not be me. Since that’s not possible, I just crush him to me. Often. When I am afraid, I turn to God and ask Him to help me take another step, write another word, smile when I feel like crying.

I’ve been asking friends and family to pray for me, and I am so grateful for each of you. You know who you are and I love you. LOVE. You.

The first thing I did on hearing the news was to halt a writing project I was going to cram into my weekend.  Not because I don’t love writing, but the idea of cramming anything was overwhelming. The next thing I did was be present for the class I was in the middle of teaching. I purposed to mark the moment, to love my students, and be thankful for God’s blessings.

Even as I waited to hear more news from my neurosurgeon, we had trivial things to do like take the van to the shop, paint the walls (we’re about to put our house on the market haha), and grade book reports. I would be doing these things and stop and wish I could hug people. I hugged Bob a hundred times. I actually felt like cooking because it was a tangible way to show my love, which explains the meatloaf. But above all, I wanted to feel I was in the refuge of God’s arms. I wanted the peace that passes all understanding to guard my heart and my mind against the fearful what-if’s that slammed into my consciousness with tidal regularity.  Thank you to James who prayed with us at church through the most agony I have ever felt. And to Nancy, whose “random” email telling me to stop procrastinating set this all in motion. God loves me through you.

I’d be grateful if you who read me would think of me today and say a prayer for me and for my family, especially Bob, as we get our marching orders for the surgery. Parting thought. We are always as close to God as we wish to be. Trials make us desperate for Him. That’s the snapshot of this mind: desperate to be in God’s arms.

Look at the birds of the air: They do not sow or reap or gather into barns–and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Matthew 6:26

 

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