My husband and I had just touched down in the airport from a little get-away trip, just the two of us, to escape the winter doldrums. A day or so before we left, I had just had my annual mammogram. This was my third or fourth year of having that done and I know the drill; you go and experience one day of pain (ok, more like 15 minutes) then you get a follow up letter in the mail the next week saying you’re in the clear for another year. Except this year, as soon as we touched down on U.S. soil and my phone spoke the language again, I noticed I had a missed call and had a voice mail message from the nurse at the radiology group waiting for me. They had found an abnormality in my scan and wanted me to come back immediately. My heart sank. It was late on a Friday night and I couldn’t do anything about this until Monday morning. Welcome home to reality.
Just moments before I’d retrieved that message, we’d indulged in some Southern Style Beef Brisket at the Carolina Pit BBQ kiosk. It was delicious! As we went through the line, the cheerful African American Southern gal behind the counter said, “I got ‘ya!”when I asked for the BBQ sauce on the side and she laughed heartily and showed her huge grin when she asked if I wanted corn bread with my supper I replied, “Is there another way?.” But when my hubby came through the line behind me, he gave her a little grief for her hot-potato two step dance she was doing behind the counter. She told him she had just dropped some hot meat on her foot. But instead of yelping or screaming out some expletive instead she said “Oh My Jesus!” really loudly. Not “Oh my toe!” or anything else but “Oh my Jesus!” It struck me that they are one enough that she exclaimed “Oh My Jesus!” when she hurts.
That image is still fresh in my mind as my thoughts are now swirling about the uncertainties of my recent scan and the impending doom to which I’m returning home. I started praying the moment I got the voice mail message but I prayed differently, having just seen this Southern Soul Sister call out to “our Jesus” in such an intimate, real way. It wasn’t just a “Help me Jesus!” flippant kind of prayer, but a reflection of their intimacy- if I hurt, He hurts, reciprocal kind of prayer – like He was a part of her, an extension of her.
So I tried it. Not that praying is a new thing for me, I’ve long believed that I could call out to the Lord and he hears my prayers and I’ve even felt his responses. But this time, I tried my Southern Soul Sister’s method of prayer. Not just calling out to the historic Jesus I’ve read about in the Bible in a distant, formal, “In Jesus’ Name” kind of way but, instead, I prayed in a way as if I could reach out to MY Jesus and touch him, I could call upon MY Jesus and He’d hear me, and I would know that when I hurt, He hurts and he feels things as intimately as I do kind of way. The same Jesus who called Peter out of the boat to walk with him on the waters, the same Jesus who knew everything about the woman at the well. The same Jesus who called out to his Heavenly Father to let this cup pass from him in the garden. He’s the one I know I can call out to and He’s right there with me, holding me, keeping me from sinking, knowing my every thought before I even say them out loud – My Jesus. So I prayed that “we” wouldn’t have to walk this path together, that “we” would be spared this journey.
And I practiced another discipline I’ve learned from reading and absorbing the daily “Jesus Calling” devotions: Anytime anxious thoughts would creep to mind or steal my faith I’d try to exhale, “I trust you, Jesus.”
When we got home I also called in some back-up reinforcement calling upon some prayer warrior friends of mine among my group of Soul Sisters. Just knowing that others were lifting me up in prayer helped give me peace to get through the long wait of the weekend.
Late Sunday night, I carved out some time to sit and be still and had my Bible in hand when I accidentally dropped it on the floor. It feel face down and I carefully lifted it up to the open page, knowing that God would most likely reveal a nugget of wisdom for me from that page, I was just praying it was good news!
And then I read the words that were previously underlined in my Bible on that page from Exodus 9:16:
“But I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.”
I wasn’t too sure how to interpret that verse. I was actually a bit nervous reading them, again, calling out to “My Jesus” that this cup could please pass over me and that my having to face cancer wouldn’t be the purpose for me or the way He might be proclaimed. More anxious thoughts were brewing. But then one overriding reassuring thought swept over me: that I’d just have to wait until tomorrow for the test to confirm what God already knew. So in this present moment I could trust Him and continue trusting him, regardless of the results.
I was able to get one of the first available appointments Monday and had a dear friend willingly step up to watch my kiddos so I could attend at that time. I’m so thankful to report that the Lord graciously allowed this cup to pass from me and the re-scans confirmed that the abnormality was non-cancerous and non-worrysome (at least to the professionals!). Tears stung in my eyes as the doctor sat down and calmly reassured me this was just a precaution and they really were not concerned.
“Thank you, MY Jesus!” my heart called out as I skipped out of there, hopefully, until next year.
But that verse from Exodus still hung curiously in my mind. “For what purpose?,” I kept wondering. A few weeks later, during a sermon at our church, as we’re going through the book of Romans, that same verse from Exodus came up again. In Romans 9:17 it is re-quoted “For the Scripture says to Pharaoh: “I raised you up for this very purpose, that I might be proclaimed in all the earth.” and it goes on to say in verse Romans 9:18 “Therefore God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy and he hardens whom he wants to harden.” Which, I learned, is a reference to a verse in Exodus 33:19 when Moses has asked to see God’s glory. And the Lord said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one can see me and live.”
Now, much of this is too complex for this feeble mind to comprehend, but our minister explains it in a way that begins to open my mind and I feel I have a glimpse of the meaning. (Comprehension and re-telling it are two different stories! But I’ll try…) I took it to mean that in these verses in Exodus, God was revealing himself – his glory – to Moses. But not just physically allowing his goodness to pass by Moses, but also proclaiming his identity. This was God, Yahweh, the “I AM” of the Bible, proclaiming that another facet of his identity is He is the One who can choose to have mercy on whom He chooses and the One who can choose to have compassion on whom He chooses to have compassion. And that this same God is the one who is MY Jesus and who hurts when I hurt.
It’s been three weeks now since my negative test results (negative equals positive in this scenario) and again, hearing this verse, tears stung in my eyes. So grateful that the Lord choose to give me compassion and mercy this time – and so many times previously. He has allowed his ‘goodness to pass in front of me’ in so many undeniable ways.
I can’t begin to comprehend how? Or why? And why not me? Or why others don’t get passed over? Or don’t receive what we would consider His compassion and mercy? All I can say is “Thank you, My Jesus!” and I keep clinging to Him regardless.