LOVE LETTER
“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
therefore, I have continued my faithfulness to you.”
Jeremiah 31:3
February is the month for romance. Popping up everywhere are red heart-shaped boxes of Godiva’s, surprise down-on-one-knee proposals and wedding receptions with towering angel-themed cakes.
This month also marks more than three decades since my stage III breast cancer diagnosis that was followed by chemo, radiation, surgery, sepsis (life-threatening blood infection) surgery and more surgery. I lost my hair, my femininity, my dignity. My heart broke when I saw fear in the eyes of a daughter in high school and another who wasn’t yet ten. Like the proverbial elephant in the room, no one vocalized the question of whether or not I – and our family – would remain unscathed. I was only forty-one years old.
Yet the Lover-of-my-soul took care of us in ways the best surgeons, oncologists, and radiologists could not. Through random acts of kindness, family and friends provided childcare, meals and cash to help pay medical bills. Volunteers drove me to doctors’ appointments, cleaned our house, and even loaded my car with bright helium-filled balloons to celebrate my last-of-35 radiation treatments. Daily, I was lifted in prayer and by words of encouragement from numerous people, some who I didn’t meet until years later.
With cancer, once you get past denial, acceptance and treatment, you must follow-up with annual tests. Nothing much had ever shown up in my prior exams – until now.
Because I’m familiar with medical terminology, I reviewed my report before my personal physician did. Vision blurry, heart pounding, I sped past the medical jargon to the last line: “Needs additional imaging evaluation.” A radiologist doesn’t ask you to come back if the results are normal.
Before I was able to schedule another appointment, I rode a harrowing roller coaster of faith and fear. I was either in the valley of “what if’s” and how to handle the possible tectonic shifts to our lives or I was shooting for the mountain top with confidence that my God wouldn’t allow the “Big C” to strike our lives again.
I shared my results with only my husband. If my follow-up was negative, we agreed we didn’t want to frighten, for no reason, our two daughters who had been shattered when I was diagnosed before, nor distress my fragile, 93-year-old Daddy. I also sensed the time between a potentially devastating diagnosis versus a good report should be spent in intimacy with Him. While we waited, I talked with the God who never sleeps. A lot.
As I was “busy working” my way through old magazines to save recipes in Pinterest, one scripture after another popped into my feed; words that encouraged, that reassured and reminded me of His promises. I’m aware the algorithm of any search engines gives you more examples of what you’ve previously selected; however, I chose to believe the Creator of the Universe was communing His love to me. Yet even with all that positive feedback, I vacillated between trust and terror during that endlessly-long, four-day wait between appointments.
God speaks to me, inspires me and reassures me, through music. On the day of my follow-up, He sent me one more promise of His faithfulness. As I drove into the hospital’s parking lot, K-Love radio was playing one of my favorite songs by Lauren Daigle:
“Hold on to me when it’s too dark to see You…
When I am sure I have reached the end…”
A little teary-eyed, I repented – again – and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.” As I took the stairs to the waiting area, I knew in my heart that even if I let go, He wouldn’t.
Another radiology exam, another waits, a nurse’s arm around my shoulders. Then…
Final diagnosis: “(The area) of concern…ENTIRELY RESOLVED on additional views.”
Why would Jehovah-Rapha do this for me, when I was such a doubting Thomas? Because He gave His Word in a love letter to me: “Since you are precious and honored in my sight and because I love you.” Isaiah 43:4.
by Elaine Hall
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