Cancer

Wednesday November 16.

That morning I was standing at Christine's desk recounting a dream I had the night before - my next door neighbors stalking me by driving around my house in their 1970-something Impala or other such car with their wedding clothes on and Paula looking a lot like Bette Midler as the police called me and asked their names - strange. I didn't get to finish telling Christine my dream because the phone rang.

"Joy Mikles"

"Hey sweetest girl in the whole wide world." (I know - it's really quite cheesy that my mom still calls me this even though I'm 27 but it's familiar)

"Hey my mama" (yes, that's always my response)

Then Dad says hi.

"Hi Daddy" A pause. "Oh no, you're both on the phone with me at the same time, what's wrong? What is it?" (This is the way they've always given us bad news - together - no matter what).

"Joy, I have cancer." My heart stopped beating for a second I think.

That's where it began. Dad proceeded to tell me that he had just found out that morning from the doctor. The doctor did say however that it was 90% curable because they caught it early.

Then mom asked through tears if I was okay. No, I'm not okay. My dad has cancer. I don't know what to do - so I sob. For the rest of the day as I tell people I just keep saying to everyone else that he'll be okay. This is more for me than for them. I can't stop saying it - like I'm trying to convince myself about the last part of the statement, the 90% part, more than the fact that he has to have surgery and they have to do it quick because...well, he has cancer.

On the outside over the next couple of weeks I'm fine. People ask. "I'm fine." What they didn't hear or see were my thoughts about what our family would become if he doesn't make it. It's so early I shouldn't even be there yet but I can't help it. Then, of course, I think about what my spiritual life would become if he wouldn't make it. Then I start bargaining and pleading and praying. For three weeks that's all I can do. Such basic prayers over and over again. I couldn't help it and yet I kept feeling the entire time like somehow my faith should be stronger - my trust in the Creator should be a little bit more solid. I couldn't get there though. My prayers simply just placed me clinging to Him - pleading for a cancer-free dad.

I was reading Psalm 81 that week and got to verse 10, "I am the Lord your God who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it." What's that mean? Open wide your mouth and I will fill it? Not quite sure. Then I realized that the Lord was telling the Israelites that if they would trust him, He would meet their needs. He wasn't just saying open your mouth and I'll put food in it - that's essentially what He's promising but He says, "Open WIDE your mouth." "Don't just stand there timid and barely open it and hope that I throw you a crumb from the table. Stretch your jaws, as far as they'll go and I'll fill them." (my paraphrase) Later in the chapter, verse 16 to be exact, he says, "But you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you."

He wanted me to trust him enough to throw my head back and open my mouth wide enough, trust Him so much, that I could ask him for exactly what I wanted - a dad without cancer. So I did. I pictured it over and over again. Me, head back, open mouth - hoping, waiting, wanting desperately - not just for wheat but the finest wheat and honey from a place where it couldn't come unless he provided it.

I was spiritually poor for three weeks. Still am I suppose. Dad went through surgery fine and came out looking beat up but okay. He said some pretty funny things while coming out of the anestisia - things that would embarrass him if I mentioned them here. However, I went home that night and sobbed like I had just found out the diagnosis. I guess I was just letting out the stress.

Anyway, he had his follow up appointment this past Wednesday. The doctor said it had spread just a little bit outside of the area but they took more than they needed so they probably got it all. I said, "probably?" Anyway, it comes down to the fact that we won't find out for sure until he has another test in January.

I don't really know where all of this puts me. I'm not quite sure my relationship with the Father has grown through this. All I know is that I'm still standing with my head thrown back, mouth open, trusting the Lord to meet my need - maybe.

Is my Dad's health a need? I'm not sure. I've asked myself that question over and over again. I feel like it is. It's the most desperate plea I've ever had in my life. Anyway, I just can't get past this part - the asking part. I'm not sure that's trust when you ask over and over again because maybe God didn't hear you the first time - or the fiftieth but I'm still asking.

Perhaps this is simply what holding your breath feels like.

With hope,
Joy