Hospital prayer

Lord, yeah, we do get sick and tired of being sick.

We get fed up with the nausea and keeping nothing down.
We get shell shocked by the cancer at every turn, the chronic that wears us down to acute agony, the hospitals and doctors and appointments; the waiting rooms that have us wildly waiting on You,
mad with the waiting for You to show up and do something, heal someone, free everyone now.

And You cup our faces; come so close we can feel the warmth of You on our weariness and You breathe relief upon us: "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made *perfect* in weakness...
Your present sufferings; hard times are not one drop compared to the Niagara of glory and good times I've got coming for you *forever*...

Instead of trusting on your own strength or wits in the midst of all this, come trust on Me totally—which is a good idea since I'm the God *who raises the dead!"

The warmth of God is closer to us in sickness than in health.

The comfort of God heals our soul... regardless of our health.
And the grace of God touches us with the heat of the healthiest love --a love that death can't touch, that will enflame us through life without end, forever and ever; into eternal living, Amen.

In the name of the only One who loved us to death and back to the real *forever* life,
Amen. 

 -Ann Voskamp

It's day eight since my treatment began.  My alarm went off at 6 am. I couldn't make my body move.  At 6:20 am I rolled out of bed and brushed my teeth.  My dad pulled up in the driveway.  I made conversation and sipped my coffee.  (I think the splenda packet was actually floating in my cup.) 

Parents, grown children who are sick don't want to seem vulnerable in front of you.  We worry about you getting up to drive us.  We worry about messing up your already busy schedule.  We worry about the other burdens you are bearing.  We always thought we would be the child who started to taking care of you. There is an unspoken tension in the air about how much this sucks for us both. The daddy ache wanting his daughter to be okay.  The daughter ache wanting to be okay for others even more than for herself.  It's soul sapping to always be the one in need.  

My head hurts so bad I want someone to drill a hole to relieve the pressure.  I'm shaky and weak.  My entire body aches with a bone pain.  I don't know how I'm doing this.  I often think every hard thing brings you to the moment by moment ability to keep moving when every possible law of gravity and science and human nature would stop you in your tracks.  This is Grace that is sufficient.  This is power made perfect in weakness.  Without God I wouldn't have made it this morning. I would have rolled over and quit. Oh how I want to crawl back in bed and quit.  

Having this treatment out patient has been good, but it has been hard.  My husband and girls move around me, not sure if I'm okay but too afraid to ask.  I do not have the benefit of rest like I did in the hospital. I unpack backpacks, practice verses, lay out clothes, make rice krispie treats. Twix steals an ear bud from Delaney's room and little legos from Danica's room.  I try to get them from under the couch and my cath throbs and oozes.  I'm face down in our carpet and feel like I can't make my body get back up.  I realize how badly my carpet needs vacuumed.  The beds have to be made.  I have to wipe the sinks.  Oh, and that trash can needs emptied.  What if the form for the field trip doesn't get signed?  This is good, right?  I'm here to take care of all this.  This proves I'm needed and I'm pulling some weight in this thing called family.

Even as I'm sitting here for the three or more hours between testing and treatment I am thinking of who needs prayer.  What notes could I write to encourage?  What list of things that need done when I'm feeling better can I make?  Delaney's birthday is Friday.  Danica's birthday is in a few weeks.  I am ALWAYS recovering from some kind of surgery, treatment or flare for their days.  Money is always tight.  We have a cake at my parent's house.  Delaney has a friend over sometimes.  Danica is still dreaming of a "friend" party, but I'm too afraid to send out invites, because even worse than not planning a party is planning one and having to cancel.

Dan and I are like two bodies whose souls never touch.  I can't remember what it's like to feel completely married.  There is no tension or arguments about anything.  We are so surrendered we float.  Still, when I left this morning there were no words of "You Can do this!  Last one, Monki!"  My feelings aren't hurt.  My cath freaks him out.  He's afraid to touch me because it might hurt me.  I know no one can keep this up for this long without going silent.  We are two people doing what needs to be done but with no energy to talk about it.  We need to go away together.  Not for a hotel room before a test or appointment or surgery.  We need to sit somewhere in the sun and remember who we are together.

I'm the red faced blubbering girl in the corner of the atrium with her laptop, a pile of snotty tissues, a stack of notes to write and some big girl britches that need pulled up.  I promise I'm digging deep to "SEE" God in this.  Who will I meet today that needs a light?  Am I able to shine anything in this mess?  Back to the hospital prayer. This is where He shows up best.  Just crumple into His arms.  He will carry you, Monica. This is where He shines brightest and you fade away into the background.  My good.  His glory.  Forever.