Between the second mammogram and the biopsy, I went for a walk with my Daddy (my God) and Shelby (my dog). We talked. I told Him I couldn’t pray for healing because I’m not currently broken. I just kept telling Him that I trust Him. Whatever comes or doesn’t come. I trust Him. I can fall backwards into His arms and know He’ll catch me. I know how much He cares about and loves me and I trust Him fully. After all my rambling about how much I trust Him, He said, “I am trustworthy.” Oh the peace and joy that washed over me! That’s all I needed.
I believed everything about trusting my Daddy. I believed it would be ok. I believed that I would make it, but all that belief didn’t change reality. All that belief didn’t take away the concern and fear lurking beneath the surface.
I felt like I was holding my breath. The weight of the unknown was so heavy. I felt pressed down by it. I felt like I needed to remember to breathe, breathe slowly to control the fast beating of my heart.
I tried to keep my mind busy, but it kept going back to forbidden thoughts. I had an unsettling dream about the surgery. I woke feeling as though I had been in a wrestling match.
My stomach was in so many knots, it was difficult to want to eat.
I could cry in a second, but I willed myself out of it. I had become stone. If I let go, I may not get myself back.
What if I travel so far down this path I can’t find my way back? I was simply holding on.
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