It has been hanging around in my red notebook, in which I often write down my students' scores. I take the red notebook to team meeting on Tuesdays. I take it to professional development and sign my name into it 100 times and draw daisies (I swear that I have undiagnosed ADD). My red notebook goes everywhere with me.
On the first page of the notebook is a running score of a game of rummy between my husband and I. I won't tell you who won this rummy game, but I'll give you a hint - their name rhymes with Bendra. But the second page of the notebook brings me much fewer smiles than my rummy victory page.
You remember how I mentioned that the red notebook goes everywhere with me? Yeah, it went to Minnesota with me this past year, too. If you remember back to April, we didn't exactly take a vacation. We went to the Mayo Clinic.
The second page of the notebook has my notes from the only meeting that we had with a real doctor during our three days at Mayo. It is virtually the only memory that I have of that place, besides meeting two awesome people (the Halvorsens), running outside in 30 degree weather with short sleeves on and catching a cold, drinking Caribou Coffee, and buying a lot of hand soap at Trader Joe's. I also remember waiting a lot to get into this highly-anticipated meeting with our first oncologist. As you can see from the page, the meeting did not go well.
As I was writing these notes, my stomach had the weirdest feeling, like it was going to leap out through my throat while simultaneously dropping out my bottom. I blinked back tears and yet I felt like I was too stunned to cry. I remember staring at my husband, half-expecting him to act sick. But he didn't, which only added to the surreal feelings that I felt.
When I open up my red notebook, I see this page too often. The same pangs of fear, uncertainty, and doubt creep into my head. Hey Kendra. The doctor may have been a little off on his timeline, but no doubt he'll be right! Cancer is coming to GET you!
Of course, I can remind myself of the blessings that God has poured out, how He is a God of miracles, and how Ryan's response to treatment has been overwhelmingly positive lately. I can tattoo Psalm 91 on my arm or something. But that stupid paper drops in from time to time, taunting me with its memories and its nay-saying. To say the least, this page has derailed my attitude on more than one occasion.
I remember hearing a sermon once when I was a baby Christian. It was all about removing "stakes" in our lives that keep us from reaching our fullest potential in Christ. At the time, I realized that I needed to distance myself from certain friends that weren't healthy for me. At this point in my life, I am realizing that I am only able to have faith in my God's healing ability until I allow the medical profession to have more power over Ryan's cancer than He does. This is precisely why the paper can't win anymore.
It has outstayed its welcome. I think it's time for some closure.
Goodbye, doubt. Hope wins.
What do you have in your life that strikes doubt in your heart or keeps you from being able to fully trust in God? Maybe burning isn't the answer, but I think that there needs to be a cleansing of that thing from your life in some way, shape, or form.
Man, I feel better already.