There’s a row of clouds measuring the treetops–barely peaking over, all in a straight row. And I imagine heaven above, over on the other side of this eastern sky.
I reach for my Fitbit and like every single morning the stupid thing seems to be shouting at me. The words are right there–scrolling, counting the milliseconds–fast. GO, GO, GO. And I roll my eyes and slap it on my wrist.
And then I remember what Christian writer Jan Karon wrote, “What are you going through these days? I am going through being in my eighties and waiting for the One who loved us first to give me a new direction, path, journey, ministry, passion. Waiting, that’s always hard. But right now, for the first time in my life, I am willing to wait. It’s okay to wait. It is even GOOD to wait. Whatever you are up to, waiting, hurting, feeling free, doubting, loving, straining, busting a gut, it is good. Give thanks, and you will be rewarded. I promise.”
In her eighties–she waits.
Also in the waiting are two men of God in my church–their bodies engulfed with cancer. And they are using their voices–one with song and both with testimonies of the goodness of the Lord. They celebrate every day, not in the hurriedness but in the thankfulness.
Jacob–he rang the bell this week and his family and friends celebrated–no more chemo. Cancer-free. This family has inspired and encouraged many in their journey. They have waited–trusting in God’s healing. And God is good.
I listened as a dear friend told me how her biopsy was more painful than she expected and her voice was shaky. And as brave as she wants to be I know she is scared. Tired. Worried. In two short days she receives her results and in the waiting we will pray.
And just this week I heard–two more women I know have been diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer.
On this morning I sit again in familiar surroundings. 30 days plus in this waiting room–today is my follow-up. This elderly woman, she comes out the door smiling after her treatment. Her husband patiently waited and he begins to gently lift her coat up to her shoulders–the coat is the color of God’s bluebirds. She smiles and waves good-bye to all of us who remain in the waiting and she tells us to have a good day. The flood of emotions I never expected from this place is somewhat overwhelming.
The two men in my church, they remind me of Paul and Silas–happy, singing high the praises of the One who’s coming. The One who will break down their prison walls of cancer–He’s coming. Their rescue–the breaking free–the healing. He is coming.
And the morning rain is pouring mercy.