All Clear

“Come back in three months and we’ll take another look.” said the pulmonologist last September. He wanted to take another look at the “sinister” spot that showed up in a high resolution CT scan of my right lung.

For three months now we have been waiting. Waiting to see if the “spiculated lesion” is cancerous or not. Waiting to learn if we will stay on in Malawi or return to the States for possible surgery and chemotherapy. Waiting. Will our call from the infant orphans of Malawi extend 3 more months or 3 more years?

If only I could put off the anxiety while we waited. If only I could wait to worry. But fear, like a rudely insistent adolescent, refuses to wait its turn. Being busy at the Nursery helped. Nothing like a gang of little ones with their constant needs and open armed love to provide a time of self-forgetfulness. Nevertheless, the devil would return again to prod me with its pitchfork of fear, especially in the quiet of the night. 3 months or 3 years?

It’s not that God wasn’t surrounding me with offers of personal peace.

For starts, through the gracious hospitality of Doug Tilton (a fellow PCUSA mission co-worker) our two visits to Johannesburg (known not so long ago as the “murder capital of the world”) were delightful! Doug’s apartment not only “turned out to be” within easy walking distance of the hospital, which had been pre-arranged by our insurance, but also close to shopping, and restaurants. For the next three months I liberated a button from his desktop which said: “I will not obsess. I will not obsess. I will not obsess.”

What’s more, prayers were being raised from myriad friends and supporters, with my former work partner lifting me up in fasting & prayer every Wednesday. God was telling me “Do not be afraid.” But I often found myself hard of hearing.

Tuesday morning, on our way the hospital for the “big test” I was startled by the stop sign at the bottom of our street. Below the STOP someone hand painted “Being Afraid.” How much clearer could God’s message be?

“Yet, laying on the table, ready for the scan, my heart beats so hard I’m convinced they can hear it in the next room. 3 months or 3 years?

The scan is over and I jump off the table, go around the corner, and accost the radiologist sitting at his computer. ‘It’s gone.’ he tells me, right on the spot. ‘Completely resolved!’ Weak with relief, I say ‘I feel like hugging you.’ ‘Why not?’ he replies. So we hug, and he congratulates me, and I rush out to tell Paul. We hug, and cry and thank God for his goodness. Now we know. God wants us here for 3 years not just 3 months.”

Thank you! Everything in me says “Thank you!” Angels listen as I sing my thanks. I kneel in worship facing your holy temple and say it again: “thank you!” Thank you for your love, thank you for your faithfulness; Most holy is your name, most holy is your Word. The moment I called out, you stepped in: you made my life large with strength. ….. Finish what you started in me, God. Your love is eternal—don’t quit on me now. (From Psalm 138 The Message)