8:00
a.m.
I’m
sitting here in the waiting room of a cardiology group watching television
coverage of the approaching storm in the northeast, Sandy, the one called “perfect.”
The calls going out now as they have several days to those who live in the hurricane's path to stock up on food, water,
batteries and to take evacuation warnings seriously.
On
the other side of the door to my left, my husband is being interjected with
radioactive material in preparation for a nuclear stress test. The chest pain
he had a few days ago while exercising mandates this medical procedure.
I
wonder if a perfect storm might be brewing in his arteries. Has the 40%
blockage discovered during the stenting of another artery after a heart attack seven
years ago now morphed into a nearly total occlusion? (Why did he have to eat
that fried chicken?) How does one prepare for this kind of storm?
A
trip to the grocery or home improvement store just won’t do it. But really,
those kinds of preparations aren’t all that is needed for a meteorological
storm either.
The
artery in question behind the heart can’t be stented—only bypassed—a solution
no one looks forward to which involves an incision right down the middle of the
chest. Open heart surgery.
What
provisions can one hide away for these moments of wondering and waiting?
“I
have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you” (Psalm
119:11).
Lest
fear become a runaway train, I return to the words which strengthen and sustain
me—the promises of God, because “You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind
is steadfast, because he trusts in you” (Isaiah 26:3).
Promises
like, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).
It
is in moments like this I find in a real way that “God is our refuge and
strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, through
the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, through
its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging” (Psalm
46:1).
As
I watch the newscast, one reporter stands in the middle of what appears to be a
snowstorm, but in fact is sea foam churned from the raging waters behind him.
When
the anxiety churns out of my own rising waters, and I wonder if the door will
open, and a nurse step out to inform me there’s been a problem during the test,
I remind myself to take every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ, to take my refuge in Him. When
I do, I rest.
3:30
p.m.
We’ve
just returned from the meeting with the Doctor. Jerry's tests revealed no blockage
greater than 70%, which for now means no surgery, and no more procedures. For
that, we give thanks.
And
we know these results are God’s mercy, not because we deserve a good report,
but simply a matter of grace.
Every
day we have is a gift.
A
thousand miles away from the center of the storm, the wind blows at thirty
miles an hour outside my window.
It
reminds me of those still in the path of Sandy, the tempest described as
nothing like we’ve seen in our lifetime.
“Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying,
pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God
know your concerns” (Philippians 4:6 The Message).
My
prayers continually go up for those facing the wind right now that they also “…may
receive mercy and find grace to help …” in this very real time of need (Hebrews
5:16).