Thursday, May 14, 2015
I'm having trouble with Blogger and am ready to upgrade this blog, so please send me any suggestions (or sites/things to NOT do!)
I'm suddenly unable to respond to comments on here and there are a few I can't bear to ignore--the negative ones. People who send stuff like that probably don't expect an answer, or might think I'll argue. But I believe there are real inquiries hidden behind the sarcasm, and pain is also wrapped in there. So, I read through a comment left on a post called, "More" from before I was healed. Instead of feeling led to respond to the comment I have decided to add more detail...
It was when we were leaving Texas, completely broken and devastated. I had been told time after time that I was dying but there were always more experts to ask, more leads to follow. Until Texas. My throat is drying up now as I think back to that day. I feel dizzy and weak, and somehow filled with shame, just remembering. This is cheesy, but since then I've noticed this lovely song reminds me of that time.
I have shared these details in public but not necessarily all on here: I was all alone at MD Anderson when the doctors dashed my hopes. It wasn't what they said, I'd heard that before. It was how they said it, like I was stupid for caring that I was about to die. That I was too dense to understand that my days were numbered, and that I was unworthy of the effort it would take them to try help me. Yaacov and the girls were waiting for me at an apartment we had rented, because it was just supposed to be the introductory meeting, the time set aside for paperwork and scheduling. Dr. Litton was literally my last earthly hope, and we were so sure that the Lord had sent us to her. So, not only were all my hopes dashed, but I also had to go tell Yaacov and my daughters that all our hopes were dashed. This time there was no silver lining to add a positive spin. I had yet to shed a tear in front of any of my doctors, but with the finality of this news I couldn't hold them back. I ran through the hospital, followed by a trail of tears...hunted for our rented minivan for what felt like hours, in the dark parking structure of the hospital. There was a huge thunderstorm blasting outside, and it echoed through my whole body. By the time I locked myself into the van I was convulsing with emotional agony. I screamed and sobbed to the Lord with desperation and loss until I was choking on my own vomit. I begged this God for help, for a lifeline...I listened for His voice but heard nothing but the deafening storm. I felt abandoned and alone, foolish and beaten. For me this was the most tragic of days, the most hopeless of hours.
The Lord did not answer me in a way that I could hear.
Not only was my petition almost identical to the lyrics I have since heard of Say Something, but whenever I hear that song it brings me back to that moment. When I was searching for a link to it I stumbled across a solo saxophone version of it--where the video is staged in a dark parking structure like the one I cried to the Lord in. Finding that feels like an extra boost of affection from the Lord for me. He knows how I felt then, and how I feel now. He had mercy on me by healing me, which changes the outcome, but doesn't affect the memory. I thought I needed to hear from Him, but He had already equipped me with everything I needed.
Isaiah 49:23, "Those who wait for me shall not be put to shame."
Hebrews 13:20;21 May the God of peace...equip you with everything good that you may do His will, working in us that which is pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen!"