Tomorrow

Tomorrow brings a PET scan at 1pm. Our prayer is that it shows no spread of cancer. For two reasons: 1. The obvious. 2. The fact that if cancer remains only in the bones, I can go ahead and have the hysterectomy surgery this Thursday. Yes, the irony of my phrasing here "ONLY in the bones" and "I CAN have the hysterectomy" is not one bit lost on me.

BUT, irony or not, these are next steps. And, let me be clear, the PET scan and I are absolutely not best friends right now. Remember my post in October when it came back "All Clear!" Ugh. A bitter pill in light of this recent biopsy news. So, I know we are all wondering what the heck? Did it lie to us in October? I don't know. I've done some research, I have a few ideas. But, regardless, it did give me a "false negative" and, I suppose, a false confidence that these lesions were something other than cancer. 

Who can really know? Who can look back and second guess? It's not my place. To be sure, I have done it a few times in these past days. My husband gently reminds me each time to stop doing that. He is gentle, but firm, "This doesn't help you, Jody." There is no finger to point. No person or test to blame. There is no way any doctor or anyone could have guessed my stage 1 cancer might have metastasized. As I've already shared, it was a less than point-three-percent risk.  

I have this dear friend, Cathy, who tells the story of how many years ago she once said to her husband and friends, "Well, you know hindsight is 50/50!" If you knew Cathy you'd be tickled by that. She's the absolute best! We were all just together in the mountains last month for a book club weekend and she retold that story and we all just laughed and laughed. Hindsight is 50/50 for sure!

The PET scan is important, but it is not ruling over me. In fact, the last time I had this scan in the fall, I did some of the prep things completely  wrong. Somehow I missed the instructions to limit or avoid all carbs and sugars the day prior to the scan. Can I just tell you the night before the scan I happily divulged in the biggest pasta dinner and largest glass of red wine of my life. When, the next morning, a friend casually mentioned avoiding carbs and sugars I literally felt the floor drop out from under me. I was horrified. Why had I failed to read that or know that? I felt so stupid. I felt afraid. I was sure I would "light up like Christmas tree" when they stuffed my pasta-ladden body into the scan machine. I had done it all wrong. There was going to be sugar-activity dancing all over me. I was certain. And yet it came back with no signs of anything. Nothing ticked. Regardless of my pasta, I got nada.

So, tomorrow we will face the good old PET scanner again. Rest assured, today I have had the blandest, purest food day of my entire life. I was tempted to chew only on ice all day. At one point, I looked at myself standing in front of the refrigerator and said, "Jody, stop! Just stop it!" Chomping on ice wasn't going to change anything. I can (and should) follow the doctor's instructions, but I can't control the outcome of this scan tomorrow. I cannot. I simply cannot. 

Control. Man, it has been an issue in my life for all of these 53 years. I act kind of cool and pretty go-with-the-flow at first glance, but I think underneath that peaceful persona, I really do like control. I like to coordinate, designate, and orchestrate pretty much anything and everything that comes my way. I'm a 3 on the enneagram and with that comes the (icky) need to perform well and make everything look good, or at least orderly and highly efficient -- from my kitchen countertops to my kids. Even if the drawers are stuffed with stuff and the kids are acting like a bunch of rebels and rascals, I like things to be put away and all buttoned up ... at the very least, calm on the surface. Like that duck floating serenely across the pond, but paddling like a maniac underneath. Wow! Is  God doing a work here or not? He is!

But the truth is, we fool ourselves with illusions of control. I can take responsibility for doing the things I know to do, but ultimately, it is about surrender. Surrender in the small things and surrender in the big things. Surrender in the daily stuff and surrender in the life and death stuff.  My sweet nephew and I texted back and forth on this topic last night. How does a 53 year old middle aged woman explain to her 19 year old college aged nephew the freedom and rest which can come when we learn to open our hands and let go? When we learn to loosen our own grip and rest in His. 

It's been a life lesson. A hard lesson. A holy learning. And I'm still not there. I'm still standing in my kitchen chewing on ice and believing for a hot minute it matters immensely.

Still standing there begging my God for my brand of His Mercy. Begging him for the list I have written for what I want in my future. Begging Him for the things I think I need. Begging Him for the hope and plans I have for my family. Begging Him for how I want to write the rest of this story. 

And I will continue to bow before His throne and beg Him. He tells me I can. He calls me to His feet like the bleeding woman groveling in the dusty street who wanted only to grab hold of His garment and be healed. He calls me to Himself. But ... He also calls me beloved. He calls me His daughter. 

He tells me He will ...

"bestow on me a crown of BEAUTY instead of ashes,

the oil of JOY instead of mourning,

and a garment of PRAISE instead of a spirit of despair."

~ Isaiah 61:3

And He reminds me that though the PET scan results are important, they don't determine my future. My hope is not held by a scan, my hope is securely found in the Son of Man.  

The One who has already healed me. 

Hope and future. Right now those two words are hard for me to think about too much. I was struggling with them earlier today, but in the middle of that struggle today, I got a text from my college son, Connor, with this verse:  

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a future and a hope." ~ Jeremiah 29:11 

God really is so, so good.