It's All Going to Be O.K.

The doctor had said it would be about a 45 minute procedure. One hour passed, then one and a half, and then two. I sensed that something wasn’t going quite right. Spouse after spouse was called to join their loved ones in recovery, but not me. Then it was my turn, but instead of being summoned to recovery. A staff member asked another staff member to please escort me to a consult room. My heart sunk. The halls seemed very long. I felt the undersized room could swallow me up while I sat and waited for the surgeon to finish up and join me. I wished I had someone holding my hand. My teeth began to chatter. I just knew the events of the day had not gone as anticipated, and I really didn’t know what to expect next. I just knew my heart needed to prepare for the next thing.

When I was still in the waiting room, Bill’s mom and I were watching an episode of 7th Heaven where a sweet, older lady was assuring the mom that “It would all be o.k.” That the death of her mom, her husband’s heart attack, her children’s rebellion, her father’s recent Alzheimer’s diagnosis, would not define the quality of her life. It would all be o.k. In the last year, God has taught me that the phrase “It’s all going to be o.k.” can have many different meanings and interpretations. I’ve learned that “being o.k.” may have nothing to do with the outcome of the circumstances. It simply means that God’s character doesn’t change. He is still always strong. He is still always loving. He is still always faithful, and He is still the provider of the peace that passes all understanding. So no matter the hardships, no matter the blows, it can all be o.k.

So I sat there asking God for the strength to handle another blow, to be able to take the next steps in whatever journey had been planned, no matter how difficult things might be.

The doctor explained that he had removed the cyst, but that it wasn’t exactly like they’d thought. It had the appearance of a ganglion cyst. It came on fast like a ganglion cyst. But a ganglion cyst usually comes off a tendon. This mass was coming out of the nerve. It had split the nerve, was growing around the nerve, in the nerve, and following the nerve. There was concern that it might in fact be a schwannoma tumor. A ganglion cyst is always benign. A schwannoma tumor might be benign, but it might not be. A schwannoma tumor has the tendency to turn malignant even if it starts out as benign. He said there was about a one in ten chance that we were looking at something more serious. He explained that if it did turn out to be a schwannoma tumor that a neurosurgeon would need to go back in and use his ultra high-powered microscope to scrape the nerve completely clean of any trace of contaminated cells….and we should know all of this in as little as

72 hours.

The room felt cold. My head felt dark. My heart felt alone and cradled in the Father’s hands all at the same time. Teeth chattering and insides shaking, I delivered the report to Bill’s parents and then mine and then a few others and then to Bill. He embraced me and said those predictable words, “It’s all going to be o.k.”

Wal-mart didn’t have his prescriptions ready. I found myself wandering around the store piling things into my arms - frozen peas for ice packs, a cold water bottle for Bill (who was waiting in the van). I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I was in a fog. My dear friend Santha hopped on the interstate and met me at Wal-mart to give me a hug and wait for the prescriptions. She asked me what I was thinking, and I confessed. Honestly, nothing about this year has been for sure or miraculous or a big, positive answer to prayer. Time after time, the answer is no. Time after time, we’re called to deal with the worst possibility. My confession: I no longer expect God to do something big and miraculous for us. I expect to face the worst. It isn’t that I don’t believe God *can* do big. It just seems to be the year where we follow Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego in saying, “Our God has the power to save us…but even if he doesn’t…..” It has been the year of echoing Hezekiah in saying, “Even though there are no cattle in the stalls, and no grain in the fields…I will still praise you.”

We have come to accept that it can all be o.k. - even though it is horrible. But today, I am forced to wrap my mind around the horrible. I wish I could be one who didn’t think about the worst until we had all the answers, but it just isn’t me.

A friend of mine has been blogging about the recent death of her newborn son and how she is having to work through feelings of resentment and envy towards those that are having babies and carrying babies and announcing pregnancies. I can relate to those feelings in the small moments that others tell me about God’s miraculous answers to their prayers. They tell stories of having the elders pray, and God miraculously healed. Not Bill. They tell stories of taking requests to God and how he came through in a bigger way than they even expected. I would be completely ungrateful to act as if God never comes through for us, but I’ll admit…I have taken a hard swallow time after time at the good news of my friends, and chosen to rejoice with them out of obedience…inside wondering why all of the miracles seem to elude us.

I know that God is doing things behind the scenes that we don’t even see, that there are miracles He’s doing that we don’t even know we need. I know that He is always faithful, and that He is always loving, and that He is strong and powerful and mighty to save. But today, the truths of God’s Word and our feelings collide and need the opportunity and the time to learn to cooperate with each other.

So last night we returned 1,000 phone calls. I drug the down mattress that I’ve been trying to sell up the stairs so I could cozy up as close to Bill’s couch as possible. He lovingly worked on a knot in my back while we watched gymnastics, and tears streamed down my face. We didn’t sleep well.

…and today begins. Middle school orientation, registrations at two elementary schools, four dentist appointments, and waiting. I’d rather just stay cozied up to Bill today holding on to the preciousness of each moment. But life moves on. The world moves on.

…and it’s all going to be o.k.