So the countdown has begun; 135 hours until S-day. You can determine
if the “S” stands for “Surgery”, “Scared S…” or “Settle-up”, any of them seem
to work for me.
On Monday, November 3, I will enter the hallowed halls of
Christus Santa Rosa Hospital. Estimated arrival time to the O.R. is 12:30 PM,
( we all know how ambiguous hospital time really is). I hope to leave there
with this unwanted visitor completely excised from my recesses; a few ounces
lighter.
This past Sunday I attended church and Sunday school. It
wasn’t my plan nor was it easy to do. I haven’t felt very well lately and staying
in any one position for a prolonged amount of time is uncomfortable. But it was
a great Sunday. “Thee Class”, my Bible study group, included good fellowship
and a wonderful lesson taught by Joe Gil. Services were also amazing and a true
blessing as I listened to Pastor Leslie Hollon deliver God’s powerful message.
I made the decision to go to church after wrestling with my
own thoughts in the early hours of Sunday morning. I was feeling as if I had
already lost a few ounces, or in literary terms I was feeling a bit like Tootles having lost his marbles. If you are a purest then you know that J.M. Barrie’s Tootles never lost his marbles. It was
Spielberg’s version of the story, Hook, which
robbed poor Tootles of his marbles.
Early Sunday morning I felt that I too had lost a few
marbles. I remembered as a child playing with marbles in the back yard of our
home in Oscoda, Michigan. A group of dirty faced boys would draw a circle in the dirt and then challenge
each other for ownership of peewees, shooters, creepy crawlers and the coveted
steelies. Some days I would add to my marble bag, not so much on other days.
The marbles I lost Sunday morning aren’t tunefully known as
peewees or cat-eyes. They have their own monikers-hope, faith and trust. Somewhere along the way I had lost these
marbles.
This damned cancer consumes me, monopolizes my thoughts. I listen to the
encouraging words of those that have fought their own battles against this sickness;
I covet and appreciate them. I carefully do research about this disease, enough
to educate but stopping short of entering the realm of morbidity. I have craved
knowledge in every corner of my life, there was no reason to act differently
now.
I read the prayer-grams sent to me by caring Christian
brothers and sisters and recall the days when it was I who was sending words of
supplication out to the sufferer. I know the letters I received were written from
the heart with the love of Christ.
Yet the dark thoughts would not subside.
Early Sunday morning I walked out onto my back porch and
looked up to the heavens and I told God, “I
have lost my marbles. Tell me where they are. Tell me where You are!”
“Go to church.” A simple reply.
And so I did.
I waited until this evening to share this story with you
because I departed church Sunday the same way I had walked in, having lost my
marbles. But like Tootles I will not give up my relentless search for them. You
see because I know they are still there. If I close my eyes I can see them.
Their appearance is the same as it was on the day that God gave them to me as a
gift, a gift of hope, faith and trust. A gift that will last a lifetime, a gift
that can never really be lost…only misplaced.
Tootles encourages me. It seems a bit strange that I would
gain reassurance from a fictional character when I am surrounded by real people
who truly care. But sometimes we all need to be like a child in order to feel
His arms around us.
Here’s to Monday, and seeing Tuesday. (And finding a lost
bag of marbles!)
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