Life is Like a Box of Chocolates…

We have friends and family scattered hither and yon (Hither, South Carolina and Yon, Kentucky) and we have about a dozen different ways that we stay connected with them all.  Between the phone and the computer, we usually stay informed and keep everyone apprised of the latest. Since my dad’s surgery this past December, we’ve been so very grateful for CaringBridge, a website that helps us keep family and friends informed about the most recent news about my dad’s condition. I don’t talk about a lot of his medical stuff  here because when I talk it about it, I do it there. But we have talked about it here and you have been so faithful to pray for my dad and my family. When I realized that some of my blog friends didn’t know the very latest news, I thought I’d give you a quick update here.

I communicate with several of you via several different avenues so some of you have already received this information at least twice today (some of you more). I apologize for repeating myself.

My dad had an MRI last Thursday and he received the results today. I was sure that everything would be fine. I’m generally an optimistic person, but I consider myself an optimistic realist. There’s a difference. I think some people who call themselves optimists are simply in denial. It’s easy to look on the bright side of things if you don’t even acknowledge there’s a dark side. It’s much more difficult to have all of the facts but to still choose to be hopeful about the outcome. (For more riveting semantics analysis, ask me why I feel that I possess dry wit but am NOT sarcastic. But don’t ask me today. I’m not going there with you today.) That said, I also tend to have spot-on intuition. My husband calls it my Spidey sense and he’s learned to trust it because I’m rarely wrong about my “hunches.” And going into today, I really truly felt like we were going to get a good report. I just knew it. I don’t know what will be happening six months from now, but I was sure that Dad’s MRI today would be good news.

It wasn’t.

The MRI showed growth in the spot where Dad had his resection. And new spots can be seen near the place of  the old spot. Didn’t see that coming.

So how am I? I’m not doing well and overwhelmingly fine at the very same time. Numb and in shock? Probably. But also I know that I know that I know that I know that God DID see that report coming. It didn’t catch Him off guard for even a second. He’s not working on Plan B. He’s already finished the last chapter of this story. Will I read it here or in heaven? I don’t know and He’s not saying. God’s got my back. And my front. And my sides. He goes before me and behind me, so yeah, I’m okay.

But I’m not doing well. At prayer time tonight my baby boy told me that he was going to pray for Papa twice tonight so that God would doubly make Papa better. And  that’s just what he prayed. And I felt like screaming, “God, how can you not do what my precious baby asks you to do?” Tonight they prayed earnestly for their Papa and I just had to say “Ditto” in my heart because my prayers are jumbled right now. Nights like tonight make me grateful for an Intercessor who can interpret what I’m trying to say to the only One who really needs to hear it. “What he just said, Lord. Please help Papa. Please help Papa. Just do what he said, please.”  

K took the kids to swim lessons and I sat and listened to some songs that speak for my heart right now. That’s what I do when I’m just not ready to pray on my own yet. The words for my own prayers will come. I’m not worried about that. They’ll probably come when I put my head on the pillow tonight. Until then I’ll let the music do my talking and praying. 

K’s having a sleep study done tonight so he’s not here. I’m hoping they find out what makes him sound like he’s being sucked into a gigantic vortex every night the minute his head hits the pillow. He’s pretty sure I have a sleep disorder. I’m pretty sure he’s my sleep disorder. But I’m okay being alone tonight. I know it seems weird, but I rather like the silence for now.

So tomorrow is a new day. With new mercies. Another chance. Like I just emailed a friend, “I’m just going to do the stuff I do on a daily basis and deal with what I’m feeling as I’m feeling it, I guess. Lately I’ve seen that God doesn’t usually let my feelings go places without His guidance and supervision, so I’m guessing I’m where I need to be now and I’ll go where I need to go when the time is right.”  So tomorrow, I’ll get up and “do the next thing” and trust my God and the plan He has for me and my family.

That’s the plan, and I’m sticking to it.



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15 responses to “Life is Like a Box of Chocolates…

  1. I am so sorry for the bad news today. Jesus is so close to you tonight, and I know that you know that. Trusting Him is the best and only thing you can do, and you are doing it well.

  2. Amen, girl! You just said it!

    God will always meet us where we’re at!

    I’ll be praying for you and your family, my friend!!

  3. This post reminds me of Pslam 139:5–

    “You hem me in, behind and before; You have laid your hand upon me.”

    What an awesome God is He who can promise to keep us close to Him, even when our feelings say otherwise…

    Hang in there friend…

  4. You are in my prayers…

  5. Praying.

    And knowing that our Jesus is the Author of Peace. And Comfort. And Mercy.

    Love you, sweet friend.

  6. Good plan, indeed.

    My husband’s sleep apnea has been a boon to our marriage in ways…for he is now q.u.i.e.t. due to his c-pap machine.


  7. carpoolqueen


    And Yon.

    Wherever you need me to be.

  8. I love what Susan wrote(above).

    I love the wisdom that you are sharing as you journey down this road that you are on. You are one amazing woman.

    Praying for you and Papa.

  9. “When someone we love suffers, we suffer with that person, and we would not have it otherwise, because the suffering and the love are one, just as it is with God’s love for us.” Frederick Buechner

    Loving and praying, friend.

  10. I’m sorry that you didn’t get good news today. I will continue to keep your family in my prayers. I know that it has to be very hard, but you also show such godly wisdom in your walk through this time.

    I like what you said about your husband being your sleep disorder…I think that is the case at my house too! I can hear Corey snoring in our upstairs bedroom from all the way downstairs! 🙂

  11. Totally crying (in starbux, no less) for two reasons, one, for compassion for your situation. I’m sad to see you passing through this valley and am praying that you will quickly find the other end of it…

    the other reason is that you can have no.possible.idea. of how much this post ministered to me right this minute. you can’t even know.

  12. So sorry, Amy, that your heart hurts. Praying for you.

  13. Amy, I’m just so sorry. And so right there with you, friend. Hang in there…

  14. So sorry for the bad news. Keep praying. Even when the words won’t form on your lips He knows your heart. And He is good, all the time.

    Praying for you.

  15. I’m so thankful that we do have other communication avenues and I’m not just now reading this for the first time.

    But, I had to just remind you again, that I love you and I’m praying for you for many things…your perspective is so encouraging to me through all of this.

    Lastly, my goodness, what would we do w/o those songs to get us through those moments??!!! So, thankful for them…hang in there SnoodleLove.

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