Holding Hands {What I'm Holding}

Someone held my left hand so gently, rubbing the back with her thumb. The hand's mate stroked my arm, as I might do for a young child upset by illness. Whose hand was it? Female, certainly, too soft and small to be my gardener husband's; skin too smooth with youth to be my mother's. Had my baby sister come? But who was minding the boys, and why wouldn't my eyes open? The kindness of the touch wrote love on my arm.

Gradually I began to see a bright blur that made me squint. My head turned toward the other hand--Allen?--rubbing my right shoulder. The face came into focus. Oh! The doctor! When did he return, and what was he saying? He repeated it until I could understand. Yes, yes, I could hear him. But where did Fernando Ortega go, and why were my earbuds ringing so high and steadily instead? My phone must have been acting up. The doctor persisted with his questions, Did I have tunnel vision? (Oh, is that what this is?) OK, sure, I nodded.

Then I remembered having said I was lightheaded, and my beloved's face moved into view. Oh, good, he's here. Someone had reclined the chair which held me, but I still felt lightheaded and queasy. I started to ask him if I had fainted, but even in my disorientation it occurred to me that perhaps I should assume that I had, that perhaps that was the most likely explanation for these strange goings-on and the level of concern around me. Instead, I asked, "So... how long was I out?"

"Not long," he replied.

The kind hand was gone from my arm, and a blood pressure cuff replaced it, squeezing hard before the click, click, click, and slow hiss as it released air. The room held its breath a moment before the doctor said, "Take it again." The nurse replied in the affirmative from my left side. It was her hand, then? Astonishment and gratitude rose up together; she had been all stern, quiet business before I fainted, yet when I was in trouble she treated me like a sister, a friend. First impressions don't always tell the truth, it seems.

On the second reading, the doctor asked if I thought I could drink some coffee or tea. My pulse was only 41, he said, and my blood pressure was still 80/40, even with consciousness regained. We could not continue with the tumor removal like that. Yes, I could drink some coffee. (This office had good coffee, but I didn't trust their tea.) Allen was dispatched to fetch me caffeine and alarm update my parents, who waited in the lobby.

The doctor left with him, leaving the nurse with me. I apologized for causing a fuss and thanked her for taking care of me. She refreshed the cold cloth on my forehead and asked me more questions to type into my chart before returning to my left side to take my hand again. I told her that I used to grow lightheaded routinely in health and science classes when teachers told gory stories, but that life with chronic illness, lots of needles, and multiple surgeries had desensitized me to the point that this really surprised me. She began to share a little of her own health story when Allen returned.

They helped me sit up a little, slowly, so I could sip my drink. The doctor popped his head back in, seemed pleased to see me drinking, and asked if the coffee was the way I liked it. Nodding and patting Allen's hand, I just said, "He knows," and he does. It's nice to be married a man who knows how I like my coffee, especially since he's the only reason I bothered learning to drink it.

After a few sips, the doctor returned to repeat my blood pressure, and it had normalized. "Your color's back," the nurse said. A few more sips, and they repeated the readings again to make sure I was stable.

"Are you sure you want to do this today?" the doctor asked. "If this has made you too anxious, we can send you home and reschedule at another time."

"I want to get it over with, please."

"OK, then. If you're sure you're all right."

(They hadn't even started cutting yet. We had only proceeded as far as the local anesthetic and sensitivity test when the world went black.)

The rest of the procedure went smoothly. Microscopic inspection confirmed the doctor had removed all the cancerous cells on the first try. Recovery will take some time, and I'm on a shorter-than-usual activities leash for eleven days, until the stitches come out. Today only my head hurts instead of my whole self.

The pieces are still coming together from the scary start yesterday morning. The complexity of our bodies amazes me. Despite my perception, my eyes never completely closed, Allen said. During what seemed merely a long blink to me, noise and hasty activity had erupted around me. Allen said I was unconscious less than a minute, but I wasn't immediately certain I had fainted at all.

Later I remembered the verses about God holding our hands, but only when I looked them up just now did I realize I had read one of them yesterday morning before the adventure started:

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast. (Psalm 139:9-10).

The verse of Psalm which had stuck with me at the time was a different one, about God having scripted the day before I even was:

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them (Psalm 139:16).

How glad I am that He wrote into the script the loving hand of a stranger to remind me of His. Taking a hand is such a simple action, but in that moment when all senses but touch had deserted me, when I wasn't even certain what was wrong, one nurse's simple kindness reassured me that everything would be all right.


As a way to reflect on the week, my friend Amy has begun a Friday series of blog posts called "What I'm Holding."  At the risk of oversharing, this story of being held seemed a good place to begin to keep company with her in this way.

What else I'm holding~
An ice pack on my aching head
Extra prescriptions to relieve pain and prevent infection
A few hairs fewer for God to number
A dear husband at home to take care of me
Leftovers in the refrigerator from the supper my mom prepared
Comfort in the knowledge of gracious prayers lifted on my behalf
Mixed emotions about the results of the many elections just held
Relief that the surgery is behind me
A full laundry hamper that is not my responsibility today
A half-finished crocheted hat to cover the stitches when I feel like going out again
A cleared schedule for a week to rest and mend
Incipient holiday gift planning
Stack of magazines to peruse
A long Netflix queue and temporary control of the remote
Red pears and Cortland apples
Smiles at Ebony barking at dream squirrels while he naps next to me
The lingering, comforting awareness that God is the one who holds my hand, and gratitude that sometimes He sends someone else to remind me.

sharing with Teagirl in a Coffee World today

Praying on Election Day

Ancient of Days, we praise You that You are the one who removes kings and establishes them. We praise You that Jesus, the King of kings, sits at Your right hand, far above all rulers and authorities, powers and dominions, and every title--including President, Senator, Representative, and Judge--that can be given, not only in the present age, but also in the one to come.

In that confidence, we entrust ourselves and our nation to You. Guide us in Your will, not ours, as we cast our votes.  May the elected officials, including our next President,  live in voluntary personal submission to Your reign. Show them Your ways, O Lord; teach them Your paths, for You are God our Savior, and our hope is in You all day long. We ask this in the name and authority of Jesus the mighty one. Amen.

(Dan. 7:9; 2:21; Eph 1:20-21; Ps 25:4-5)

The community at the Living Proof Ministries blog is praying Scripture together today.

This previous post also offers a prayer for our nation and people.

"But Also..."

My morning Bible reading has reached a dismal stretch in 2 Kings, wherein almost every paragraph documents a ruler worse than the previous one, a nation mired in idolatry and unfaithfulness to Yahweh, and threats or actual defeats by foreign armies. Israel has been divided between northern and southern kingdoms, which occasionally join forces against a common enemy but sometimes attack each other instead.

God's faithfulness nonetheless shines through. He sends prophets like Elijah, Elisha, and Isaiah to speak truth, to call the nation back to the true God, and to minister with signs and wonders to the faithful remnant and even an occasional Gentile (non-Israelite) whose need opens him or her to the God of Israel.

In the midst of this context, the Biblical historian summarizes the circumstances:

They feared the Lord, but they also appointed from their number priests to serve them in the shrines of the high places. 33 They feared the Lord, but they also worshiped their own gods according to the custom of the nations where they had been deported from. 

34 They are still practicing the former customs to this day. None of them fear the Lord or observe their statutes and ordinances, the law and commandments the Lord commanded the descendants of Jacob. He had renamed him Israel. 35 The Lord made a covenant with them and commanded them, 

“Do not fear other gods;

do not bow down to them;

do not serve them; 

do not sacrifice to them.

36 Instead fear the Lord, who brought you from the land of Egypt with great power and an outstretched arm.

You are to bow down to Him, 

and you are to sacrifice to Him.

37 You are to be careful always to observe the statutes, the ordinances, the law, and the commandments He wrote for you; 

do not fear other gods. 

38 Do not forget the covenant that I have made with you. 

Do not fear other gods, 

39 but fear the Lord your God, and He will deliver you from the hand of all your enemies.” 

40 However, they would not listen but continued practicing their former customs. 41 These nations feared the Lord but also served their idols. Their children and grandchildren continue doing as their fathers did until today (2 Kings 17:32-41, HCSB, formatting and emphases mine).

The repeated pattern, "but...also," captures my attention and probes my heart. The people fear the Lord, but they also appoint their own priests to worship their own way in the places they choose. They fear the Lord, but they also worship their own gods, gods they borrow from the cultures around them and out of which they have come. They fear the Lord but also serve their idols and leave that legacy to their offspring.

What about me? Do I have a "but also"? If so, what is it? Is the worship, service, devotion, and trust of my heart divided between the God who brought me out of my own Egypt and anything or anyone else? Have I tried to meld His worship with the practices of the world system around me?

The preacher's words yesterday still ring in my ears:

When a good thing becomes the ultimate thing, then it's a bad thing.

Has any good thing--family, health, comfort, home, the bank account--become ultimate for me?

God's gracious correction to His people of old calls me back today. "Don't do that; do this." Israel rejects the call to repentance and remembrance, and history tells the sad tale of exile by their conquerors and the redemptive tale of God's faithfulness in captivity and in restoring them to the land in the fullness of time. In refusing to forsake their idols, they choose defeat over deliverance.

How will I respond?

Lord, knower of all hearts, search me and show me my "but also" idols today. Forgive me, and grant me grace to love You only and with all I am and have. Thank you for the written record of Your dealings with Your covenant people in the past. By Your grace, allow me to learn from their examples, to emulate the good and avoid the bad. Enable me especially to learn from the example of Christ in whom I live and who lives in me. What a great grace that is! Thank You, Lord, for Your faithfulness even when I am unfaithful. Thank You for the assurance that You will complete the good work You have begun in me. Let Your work shine through in me today, in the name of the Savior Jesus. Amen.

*************************************

Let me continue to give thanks to the Lord for all He gives:
first batch of cranberry sauce of the season;
cupcakes to share and savor;

garden roses and a bit of lavender perfuming the kitchen;

full moon on a cloudy night;

a new bird guest in the garden, not yet identified;

a very thoughtful greeting card from a Bible study friend having her own surgery today;

a loved one embarking on her own blogging adventure as spouse and primary caregiver to a stroke survivor;

the ongoing dance of the queen butterflies in our garden;

{If reading by email or in an RSS feed, you may need to visit the blog on the Web to view the brief video clips.}

a box of my late grandmother's music to sort through;
ability, graced by God and cultivated by parents and teachers, to enjoy it;

walking in fog rather than darkness this morning;

enough light for the step we're on;

prayers upholding me as I await an outpatient surgery Thursday morning;

laughter at photos and inscriptions in childhood yearbooks my parents unearthed from storage;

hugs from friends at church;

God's worthiness to be worshiped exclusively and entirely with no "but also."

(still counting gifts, these #7872-7887)

Jack-O'-Lantern {A Poem}

When adversity carves you open,
Empties out the flesh and fruitfulness
Of life before the knife;
Gouges gaping, jagged wounds
Too severe to scar--

That emptiness carves room for grace
And otherworldly light
To shine salvation into the wounds
Of this dark, frightful night world.

Life beyond the knife
Is not extinguished
But aflame
With glory.


For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

2 Corinthians 4:6-7, NIV1984

Revisiting "Revisiting Delight"

Today the bonnie wee lass next door was leaving for school as Ebony and I returned from our walk. Not wanting to interrupt her departure routine, as she was already being buckled into her seat, we crept past unnoticed, or so we thought.

"Kissteena! Kissteena!" I heard over my shoulder, and there she was running down her driveway to give us a hug. Last week was not my favorite week ever, so that was a welcome Monday morning surprise.

(In case you were wondering, she will be dressed as a Disney princess Wednesday evening and ought to be flying her magic carpet to our house for candy as she makes her rounds.)

Her vocabulary has grown by leaps and bounds since the following post from a year and a half ago, but the sentiment still holds true. Even if it didn't, she's studying martial arts now, so it behooves me to stay on her good side.

One evening last week, Allen and I returned from a brief outing at the same time as our neighbor returned from work. We exchanged greetings and let him know we'd referred a family member to his business. Then he asked if we wanted to see his toddler, "Olivia," who was in the truck, too. Of course, we did.

We stepped across to their driveway while he lifted her out and set her down. As she found her balance, he said, "Livvy, do you want to say hi to Allen and Christina?"

She sized us up and then focused on me, down on one knee, and began trotting toward us. Given the slope of the driveway, she picked up speed along the way until finally throwing herself into my arms.

"What a good hug, Livvy. Did you have a good day at school today?"

"'Ehs."

"Actually, she went to her grandma's today," her dad amended.

I relaxed my arms, but she was still holding fast, so I relaxed into the moment instead, stroking her back and memorizing the vaguely fruity scent of her tousled curls. What's that feeling tugging at the corners of my mouth? Oh, yes, I remember. It's delight.

"What did you do at grandma's? Did you dance? I know what a good dancer you are."

"Dance."

"What else...did you take a nap for grandma?"

"Nap," she nodded.

"Did you...play outside? Kind of hot for that, though."

"Pay outside."

"Are you really answering my questions, or are you parroting everything I say?"

"Pehting ehveeting you say." (Somebody give that girl a rim shot.)

She kept hugging my neck a few minutes longer, then sat on the drive and on my lap while her dad talked with us about the city's basketball celebration. After high fives all around, she decided to swing, and her dad decided it was time to go inside where her mother was waiting. The spell was broken.

This small person gave me the gift of a few minutes of concentrated, spontaneous affection, and with it came joy. I had no candy or presents to offer her; she was not, as far as I know, trying to escape an unpleasant chore; she wasn't even sad and seeking comfort. She simply wanted to give and receive love.

How did I respond? I didn't push her away, saying, "Livvy, this is not the time. Can't you see those weeds around the live oak? Get to work." Her affection pleased me to receive as much as it pleased her, evidently, to give.

In my mind's ear afterward, I heard the word of the Lord saying, "If you, then, being evil... how much more your Father in heaven...?"

Can it be that my heavenly Father, just like my earthly one, doesn't care as much about my lists of duties and reading and prayer requests and getting stuff done as I do? as He does my spending time with Him, in His Word, prayer, and worship, without an agenda, but just for the pleasure of each other's company? Can it be that the God of the universe even takes pleasure in my company? Can it be that the commands to learn and keep His Word and to pray are not only good for me in an eat-your-vegetables kind of way but as a means of being close to each other?

Apparently so:

The LORD your God is among you,
a warrior who saves.
He will rejoice over you with gladness.
He will bring [you] quietness with His love.
He will delight in you with shouts of joy (Zeph. 3:17, HCSB).

He brought me out to a wide-open place; He rescued me because He delighted in me (Ps. 18:19, HCSB).

You will be a glorious crown in the LORD's hand,and a royal diadem in the palm of your God.You will no longer be called Deserted,and your land will not be called Desolate;instead,you will be called My Delight is in Her,and your land Married;for the LORD delights in you,and your land will be married (Isaiah 62:3-5, HCSB).

Jesus answered, "If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word. My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him" (John 14:23, HCSB). 

If you are a child of God through Christ, beloved, your Father delights in you; He delights in me. Let me say that again, in case you missed it the first time:

Your Father delights in you.

This week I personally need to revisit the practice of delight and celebration and reorient my practice of spiritual disciplines (which are primary means of experiencing His love and delight) around the starting principle that He loves me and wants me more than my agenda, even if it's an agenda I thought I'd received from Him.

May the Lord grant us grace this week to rest, even if only for minutes stolen from pressing responsibilities, in His loving embrace. May His delight in us strengthen and sustain all our obedience by adorning it with joy.

************************************************
Reviewing the last week, I'm giving thanks to our Father for
His trustworthiness no matter what ~ a lovely lunch fellowship to conclude the fall Bible study time ~
sharing a friend's sorrows ~ disappointing news that the pink spot on my scalp is basal cell carcinoma ~
caring for sick husband ~ Ebony's sleepy smell (like Frito's) ~ helping Eb with his new puzzle toy ~
beautiful sunset on rare evening walk ~ burger place that delivers ~
perfectly timed prayer words in a blog post ~ CraftLit starting Jane Eyre ~
learning to praise and thank even when that doesn't yield peaceful feelings ~
kind, funny medical staff at dermatological surgery clinic ~ a week with no away-from-home appointments ~
getting back on track learning new Scripture by heart, Eph. 2:1-2 this week
(Joy Dare, # 7790-7804)

We're praying for y'all who are in Hurricane Sandy's path. May God protect you!