“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.” II Timothy 1:7
On Saturday, April 5, I was shaken. Paralyzed past the point of tears. Crying out to God, He met right there. And, He highlighted to me how silly to think for a second that I might possess any ounce of strength on my own.
I write. I speak on occasion. I facilitate Bible studies. I don’t pen those words with pride, just stating what I do. God has done exceedingly much in my life, my heart, my family; I can’t imagine doing anything without trying to serve Him. Some see my faith as strong, some claimed they have learned from me. But I promise, any words I utter that assist anyone else are authored by God, not by me.
That Saturday, I needed to have an MRI. An MRI with IV contrast. As a cancer survivor, exams and tests are standard routine. As a breast cancer survivor without lymph nodes in one arm, any needles, blood pressures, or tight squeezes are reserved for one arm only. And the veins in that arm are kaput! Simply stated, it took two wonderfully competent nurses four sticks, with the assistance of a Doppler machine, and finally an ultrasound to start that IV. The nurses were great, the problem was with my veins, veins which earned me the nickname “Hard-Stick Stefanie” when I was back in chemo.
I tried to stay positive throughout the ordeal. I was polite to the staff, encouraging and reassuring them as the minutes past and we had no direct line into my body. The clocked ticked on by the time I was supposed to be in the machine. And then the tears began to fall. Slowly at first as I struggled to maintain a wobbly smile, then accelerating as memories of enduring chemo with each stick intensified the moments of fear, both past and present.
Before I had entered the hospital that morning I had prayed. I hadn’t wanted this test. Although a nurse by education, I have not worked in the field in a decade. And after being a patient, I really prefer to avoid all things medical! But, my doctor had been insistent we needed this test. So I had prayed. And I finally agreed to it. And that morning I had prayed. Prayed that the gallons of water I drank the past two days would plump up those veins. Prayed that I could encourage someone in that hospital as it appeared that God was sending me there. And there I was, in a recliner, holding my arm still, holding my breath, trying to hold in the tears that refused to stop sliding down my cheek.
So much for encouraging anyone!
Lynn, my second nurse, drew the curtain against the rest of the room, against the world witnessing my sad reduction to tears.
“If you don’t mind, I could pray with you.”
“Oh, please,” I asked and once again offered a feeble apology for such an emotional state.
Her gentle, warm hands grasped my freezing fingers. Her soft voice filled with strength, His strength, as she prayed, quoting Scripture and claiming His promises. God used Lynn to remind me I don’t always need to be strong. Because His strength is made perfect in weakness. In my weakness. I didn’t want to be there.
It is relatively easy for me to get up and speak about what God has done in my life. How He healed me, how He held me throughout the long journey of chemotherapy, of radiation, and the year-long IV Herceptin treatments.
What is hard for me? Being the patient again. A patient with only a past history of cancer, wondering if this time, the tests will show the disease in once again rearing its ugly head.
Most days I don’t think of it. I go about life, praying for a whole host of others while I’m on my treadmill. I pray in the shower, asking God to order my tasks for the day. I thank Him for healing me and ask Him to show the purpose for my life that day. I’m busy. I live life on purpose. But when I’m back in the hospital, or doctor’s offices as a cancer survivor, fear creeps in. I recite verses in my head, and I know God is right there holding me, but for some reason, that knowledge seldom stops the flow of tears. I’m just not that strong. After six years, with no reoccurrence I should be good to go. And yet, in those moments I am still so very weak. That’s okay. Because in my weakness, His strength is made perfect.
Later, as I positioned myself in the machine, face down, arms extended over my head, my sternum carefully positioned on the cold, hard plastic, I was covered with a lovely warm blanket and given headphones and asked what type of music I wanted “Christian rock, if you have it.”
I couldn’t always hear the music over the loud clanging of the machine as the tests were run, but when I could, I gained such comfort. Toward the end, when it was time to inject the contrast, I laid there, praying that IV had held as the moments grew mountainous. Once again fear gripped my heart.
A hot flash.
A metallic taste in my mouth.
I knew those were confirmations the dye was coursing through my body.
Mandisa singing in my ears.
The clanging resumed, but I knew the song and I knew God was meeting me in the MRI machine. He was indeed providing just what I needed: His grace was indeed flowing through me. And, He didn’t need one thing from me to work that miracle of replacing fear with a peace which passes understanding. Maybe His purpose for me that morning was to remind me who I am alone. Maybe it was to allow Lynn the blessing of being Jesus to a scared cancer survivor. Maybe it was so my head could confirm what my heart already knew: that I am indeed in need of a Savior.
Reflections: Monday: What shakes me more than anything? How do I approach God with it?
Tuesday: What good can come from my fear?
Wednesday: What evidence have I seen of using that fear for good?
Thursday: Sometimes, God allows us to experience a tough circumstance repeatedly. What good can come of that?
Friday: Prayer: Dear Heavenly Father, Thank You that You are always there. You meet us wherever we are and provide for our needs. Please help me to always cling to you, and never assume I am strong enough on my own. Thank You for Your promise in II Timothy that You indeed have given us a spirit of power, love, and self-discipline. Thank You that I can always trust You, and that You have only plans to prosper me, not to harm me. We thank You for all You have done, and how You redeem everything, Amen.
Author note: The tests results are in: I am indeed cancer-free!
Thank you for reading! Please return by next Monday, April 21 for the nest post.
My Brave Sister. Such a powerful blog from Saturday. I am glad you were carried thru this experience in His tender hands. He has preserved you as a living testimony and you continue to allow Him to work thru you each time you share your talents. Thank you! Praise His Holy name for living and powerful testimonies! :o)
Thank you. He is good! And He wastes nothing!
Praise God for the wonderful report of your health!! I believe God placed a Christian in your path that day and am thankful that Lynn was prepared to be pray with you (makes me think of I Peter 3:15).