You only get to live once, they say.
A brief roll of moments to fill the time.
A limited number of words to exhale.
Worry can put on clothes and attack.
Like a warrior with a shield and sword.
So why not strap on your armor too?
Speak truth out into the murky lies.
Breathe in hope and let it fill you up.
Sit next to her and just simply pray
I wrote that little poem while at my mom's appointment before her surgery. Before I prayed the crazy thing, that the cancer would just be gone, and before it just simply was. Gone.
That is no small thing. Have I truly taken in that joy, that belief, and let it change me though? Did I ever when I first encountered the Christ? Heavens if he doesn't change you then you haven't met him. That I know full well. How easy it is to snap back, like a rubberband, back to a place of believing in small things.
Waiting rooms can be such wretched places but I think back to that crazy-good news I just got in one a month ago. It hadn't occured to me that the doctors coming out to tell such and such to so and so might occasionally get to bring good news.
There is so much waiting that goes on in our existence. Like for all the world, this life itself is a waiting room. A small bit of time where our normal, full, lives are put on pause while some work is done. Only, surely like with real waiting rooms, all the news can't be bad. Some of it has to be good. The best news of all, that we truly can be with God and have a full life of love simply by believing he sent his son to die for us, for instance. That news is floating around. Waiting for us to take ahold of it and make it our own. Or we can go back to the small things. The shrunken, stalled view of a waiting room. We may not get to choose what life throws at us, but we do get to choose what we throw back at life. We do get to choose what to believe.