Just over a week ago, I received a scary letter.
The doctors who processed Talitha’s cord blood found an abnormal result in my own blood work taken at the hospital when she was born.
But because of HIPPA, their letter told me nothing more. “Abnormal… call your doctor… for more information… and treatment…”
{via}
Over the next few days, I went through a few different levels of anxiety. The worst was the first twenty or so hours after receiving the letter when my doctor’s office hadn’t received any paper work on me and no one could tell me what the “abnormal” result was. A quick Google search informed me I did NOT want any of the diseases they screen for during a donation, so those hours of not knowing anything were the very hardest. Then came the results. I might have a disease. A disease that would change my life forever. However, because false positives on these tests are common, I found myself flying down the freeway with both kids in the car on a Friday morning to have my blood re-tested at my OB’s. Then came the waiting. Our 4th of July weekend was fun, but in the back of my mind I was pleading with the Father… “Please let these next results be negative. Please tell me it was a false positive. Please protect me.” But also… “Please equip me and prepare me if the results turn out to be positive.”
I tried not to dwell too much on what positive test results would mean… Would we be able to have more kids? Would insurance cover treatment? Would we be able to move or could I start in a new job in the next year or two? These thoughts fluttered through my mind and I would try to squash them with faith. “Please, Lord, confirm it was a false positive.”
The test did, indeed, turn out to be a false positive. Two more in-depth screenings revealed that I didn’t have this disease. But all is grace… the scary letter on Thursday, the flying down the freeway on Friday, a holiday weekend sobered by the possibility of a life-altering illness, calls back and forth with my OB office all day Monday, and the kind nurse who called me after hours, at 5:18pm to be exact, with good news… all is grace.
Five days of living in the unknown made me cling to what I do know. In those days of waiting, in those moments of anxiety drenched in prayer and pleading with the Father, this is what I remembered:
Nothing can happen to me that hasn’t been sifted through God’s hands. My Father is working for my good, always. And if it’s his will, his goodness can be bestowed upon me in the form of a disease. He cares far more about the state of my heart than the wellness of my body. Brokenness in my body might be the way he leads me to experience more of his love and share that love with others,
We are never safe. Last week my sister-in-law left on an eleven month mission trip around the world. She will serving in some of the most broken, corrupt, and poor nations on earth. She will work with sex-trafficking victims, HIV patients, and people whose lives have been torn apart by disease, natural disaster, and poverty. Although she received a gamut of vaccines before she left, she knows she’s not truly safe. She could easily pick up a disease as she serves abroad. But this week, I remembered that I’m not safe either. Although Kayla’s chances of illness or injury or even death are higher as she travels, my little life at home is not safe either. Although my comfortable bubble of grad school and mothering and working mostly from home in a good community might make me feel safe, that is all illusion. I could die in a car accident at any moment. I could pick up a disease, even if it’s statistically unlikely. God never promised my safety. He said to lose my life for his sake. He said I would suffer, but he would uphold me. He said no matter what sickness and trial come on this earth, my future glory makes the troubles of this world light and momentary. I am not safe in this world, but I am loved and certain of an eternity with no sickness, pain, or tears.
I already have good news. All weekend long I prayed for good news. I wanted the follow-up test results to be negative. I wanted to hear that I did not have a disease. I prayed constantly and desperately for this. But then I realized something. I already have good news. The gospel of Jesus is all the good news I need in my life. I am sinner, hopelessly unable to make myself right and unworthy to stand before my Creator. But God, who is rich in mercy, sent his Son on my behalf. Jesus lived the perfect life, died in my place, and stands next to the Father advocating for me in heaven. That is good news. All I have to do is believe. That is good news. I am washed clean by Christ and my sins will never be counted against me. That is good news. Nothing and no one can separate me from the love of the Father secured for me by Christ Jesus. That is good news. I will live in the loving presence of God the Father and his holy Son for all eternity. That is good news. No test result can change that. No disease, no matter how crippling, can change the security of my soul. No trial on this earth can tarnish the treasure I have in heaven. I have all the good news I need.
But by God’s grace, he gave me an extra dose of good news when that sweet nurse called me on a Monday evening. I praise God for my health, and I praise him for giving me a few days to test my faith, to meditate on his promises, and to remember that no bad news can separate me from the love of Christ.
Goodness, Jen, thank God for re-tests and sweet medical professionals who will call you after hours. I'm so glad everything turned out well, I can't imagine living through those five uncertain days but praise God from whom all blessings flow! I don't know my future but I know He holds it. Sending big hugs to you, sweet friend. 🙂