Conscious of Being in God's Hands

The more I live, the more I realize how much I appreciate the moments and events, big and small, that make me aware of the Lord's presence. It reminds me of a quote by Sarah Edwards that our pastor gave today, which paraphrased since it's not right in front of me, is about being conscious of God's nearness to me, and my dearness to Him. I really melted when I heard that . It was the perfect meditation for my heart. (It's especially comforting because I will be without my parents at this time. They are at a leadership conference in Florida. I know they need the refreshment, but I was really sad when I heard that their absence coincided with my recovery week. My mom's a nurse and my dad's a pastor. Can you get a better duo than that?)

The second point Jim made that spoke comfort to me was this: The Apostle Paul says, "may the God of peace be with you." Not the peace of God. (Though that's a fine expression, it's not the way the apostle put it.)


The past few days have offered such moments of being aware of God's nearness to me and my dearness to Him as I've been preparing mentally, spiritually, and practically for surgery tomorrow.

Mentally I have been aware just how little I understand about the human body, but am glad others do. Doctors and nurses who devote their lives to studying anatomy and physiology so that others can have a better life deserve our commendation.

Spiritually I realize that, for all the wonderful treatment I have been given medically, I have a tendency to rehearse the errors. I think that one such error occurred when Joel was born, and I have had to forgive that doctor and just accept the fact that, in addition to receiving a beautiful baby boy who was the answer to ten years of prayer, I also received less than perfect medical intervention the hour he was born. But the experience has taught me much, mainly that doctors are human, just like me. I have always believed the OB made a mistake by not listening to me when I said, "If I push, I think I'm gonna pop." I think I should have had a C-section, but what happened happened, and it has taken nearly six years for me to realize that I can't reverse it, but am thankful that surgery can improve my lifestyle. I pray, I pray with all my heart, that this operation will do what I expect it will.

Practically, I have tried to prepare the house. Christmas decorations are put away, tree is out decomposing in the woods behind us. Everything on the first level has been vacuumed and dusted. Laundry is never caught up , but I'm working on the most needed first. Paul was gracious to go grocery shopping even though I offered to do it after my manicure. (There's something about having smooth, pretty nails when you're being poked with needles and such, right, ladies?) I procured homeschool books at the library--the subject matter being insects for this week in the curriculum. (Not my favorite topic, but staying on track here after a 2-week Christmas break.) My little care group is bringing four meals, bless their hearts. The moms I carpool with for school have been very understanding that I'll not be able to do my share of it for a couple weeks or more.

And, last but not least, I've tuned into comedy. Laughter is the best medicine, after all. I love "Bananas," the Christian stand-up comedy show. Tonight I heard a ventriloquist (can't remember his name) do a joke with Aunt Tilly, his 94-year-old "friend" (dummy).

He: How've you been?
She: Well....all right. Had a cough, though.
He: What did you do for it?
She: Went to the doctor. He gave me a laxative.
He: A laxative for a cold? How does that help?
She: Makes me afraid to cough.
He: I guess so.
She: A laxative and Prozac.
He: Really?!
She: Uh huh. I go to the jon a lot, but I feel good about it.
He: Oh, okay. But do we have to talk about this in public?
She: Uh huh. I have to tell you , I'm regular now. Every morning at 7 o'clock---
He: Well, that's good.
She: No, it's not. I don't get up till 8.