Stumbling My Way to Joy 4

Winter’s gloom gave way to April’s fussy indecisiveness. My driving foot, finally free from its prison, was the only noticeably improved thing around the house. Up north, the baby had returned to Intensive Care. Could I come? Please?

Well, yes, but first a regular check-up visit with the gynecologist was on the calendar. “Hmm,” he said following the exam. “There’s something here. We need to schedule a biopsy.” What? What now?

Where was that life line? Oh yes, “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” But it seemed to me the night was terribly long. Where was that promised morning?

“I’m sorry, doctor, but I simply don’t have time for such minor matters right now. I am leaving for Rhode Island in the morning.” There was a day when such news would have stopped all of life’s activities until taken care of, but the list of problems had become weighty enough to push my potential medical problem to the rear – to coin a phrase.

Leaving father and son behind with hopefully enough food and instructions to hold them, I headed north once again. Sighing. Lamenting. Mile upon mile, I lamented and rehearsed my woes. Son is more distant and surely doing things he should not. Husband’s authoritarian response is creating more stress. Our relationship was one of endurance. The baby is not doing well, no matter how many surgeries. The heavens were adamant. And I had no idea where God was in all this. It had been many long months since I had any sense of His presence, any word of encouragement, any sign of answered prayer. And now I need a biopsy??

Pennsylvania. New Jersey. New York. Connecticut. The miles rolled by. The reality of adult life is not what the Amex commercials depict. No lying on the beach with smiling server of drinks hovering near by. No sail boat just off shore. It is rather just slogging through the crisis du jour, hoping it will all work out in the end.

By the time I crossed the Rhode Island line, I was certain the bottom was up there somewhere. The weight of lost dreams, dark future, and failed promises pressed in from all sides. Having given up on almost everything, I sighed once more, and started to sing a simple song I had learned at church. “I am His, He is mine by the blood of the Lamb. He sought me, and He bought me, He redeemed me with His precious Holy Spirit, I am His, He is mine.” Simple. Truth.

Then I declared out loud, “Well, things may never change. I may never hear from God again. But where else can I go? I cannot turn my back on the Lord!” As I said those words, something happened. Deep inside me there was an almost audible ‘click’ or shift and I knew that things would be different from then on. In my “knower” I felt the life line. No longer in the grasp of tight fingers frantically holding on, it was now wrapped around my being, holding me.