I’m still lying in wait. But I did it “Sally Style” by going
to the Caribbean for a week. This trip was planned well in advance, but the
timing could not have been more perfect as breast lumps seems almost
non-existent while swimming along with seemingly weightless sea turtles in St.
John’s. My world was weightless too as I bobbled up and down with the
undulating waters around me. I purposely floated alone, away from others. The
sea was mine, if only for a few quarters of time, but it was mine as my view
held only the waters around me. (I will spare you the intricate details of
snorting water up my nose almost sending me into a flopping display of panic,
but know that moment was there along with also almost losing my swim bottoms as
I dove off the boat). I’m a sucker for creation. And the creation in these incredibly
blue waters provide nothing short of mental healing. One rolling tide can sweep
away any angst that lie at your back doorstep over to be discarded out over the coral
reef that protrudes up from below. It’s therapeutic. And it’s simply glorious
to lose yourself in the vastness of magnificence under the water line. But now,
well now, I’m back. Back to the ins and outs. Back to THIS side of the water
line. Back to the timeline of the ticking clock our society spends so much time
trying to tame. There is no clock in the ocean, or rather I found none in my
weightless stroll, but now I am back. Back to waiting.
Habakkuk 2:2 has been ringing in my ears non-stop ever since
stepping on the plane heading back to my reality. “I
will wait to see what the LORD says and how he will answer” (NLT). The verse
flooded my thoughts before leaving town and again flood my thoughts now that I’ve
returned. Aren’t we particularly horrible at waiting? Do we not conjure
up every known horribleness that could possibly be while we wait? Anxiety is
real. Worry is real-ER. Fear is real-EST. Somehow, for I know not how by my own
merit, I’ve been able to keep these predators at bay. They creep in (mainly in
the middle of the night), but then they creep back out. Crystal blue water surely
played some role, but I struggled more as the week went on. Flying home was
more like flying back to this breast nodule and all it may hold. I’m adoring
the statistic of 8 out of 10 (8 out of 10 breast nodules go on to be benign
cysts), but I’m finding less comfort around my own statistics for I know not
what they are. I did this prophylactic double mastectomy to keep breast cancer
at bay. So what does it mean when my risks were so high pre-mastectomy to now
find a lump post mastectomy? You can roll that around in your mind until worry
is all you know. I’m not there. I am not worrying. But I worry I will START
worrying while I wait. See, that is the vicious cycle of worry so easily portrayed
by us Type A folks. We truly can worry about worrying. Worry serves no purpose
here. Waiting serves all the purpose here.
I’m so gracious in knowing that even through this nodule, and
its imposed waiting mode, I am being refined. Ron is being refined. Our “We” is
being refined. And for that I give thanks as I lay in wait. In turmoil we get
glimpses of our self that we don’t see in the ins and outs of everyday life. There
is a camaraderie that can be found in struggle. There is a depth that can come in turmoil. The
lack of guarantee of tomorrow brings a filter which strains out the superficial
and brings back a focused lens aligned on the irreplaceable moments of life. I
don’t want even a single second of that surreal focus to be muddled with the
spoilage of worry. Worry is a predator that lurks behind each corner ready to squeeze
out any blessing that lies just underneath. It’s a thief of everything great. So I very much want to choose to get ahead of
that so my lens of perspective remains cleansed by the hope and clarity that
comes during refinement. I want more time in the irreplaceable moments
and in the sifter of refinement, and less time flooded by the corrosive nature
of fear.
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