The Memory Blanket

The small afghan lay folded across my lap while I tied off the last threads of yarn. Old friend, I thought, rubbing my hand across the delicate surface, it’s been quite a journey you and I have taken together. What started as a small project meant to keep idle hands busy and a mind filled with worry at peace, was finally at an end. When I stretched it out before me, my heart sank. The rectangle was distorted, imperfect. And the colors I’d used looked hideous to me. Where was the soft, warm blanket I’d worked lovingly on for so long?

When my father passed away a little over a year ago, and caregiving for Mom’s Alzheimer’s became the new normal, I had to have something to occupy my downtime in the evenings. I found several skeins of different colored yarn in my crocheting tote bag, ones that were bought for older projects that were already completed. A lap blanket would be a good project. I could make it for my mother.

The blanket became a quest of love. Mom was always chilly. It would be perfect to tuck around her as she sat on her favorite spot on the sofa. Or perhaps she would snuggle with it in bed. I hoped she would like the fact that it was made just for her and began to work on it every chance I could. During television time with my husband at night, during the many doctor appointments my mother had each week, the tote bag filled with colorful yarns, a small pair of scissors, and my favorite crocheting hook was always by my side. Somehow it was comforting that no matter where my mind wandered, no matter how confused Mom was becoming, or worse yet, the fact that her health began failing, at least my hands felt useful when I did not. 

Then the worst of it had happened last March. My heart felt as if it splintered into tiny shards. I’d taken my mother to a high school play of Beauty and the Beast. She’d sung along and laughed. She wanted a picture with the princess after the show. How could it have been that I found myself sitting in a rehab facility one week later wondering if she would ever recover? She seemed lost as if the dark recesses of her brain had begun to close some of its doors tightly. I wondered where her speech and smile had gone. I wondered why she slept so much. I wondered about the odd little phrases she uttered; things that made no sense at all.

We’d found out that Mom had several small strokes. They had affected her ability to communicate properly. Though she had no paralysis, it appeared Mom started to give up. She couldn’t dress herself any longer or even walk. Secretly I’d wondered if she was willing herself away somehow in an attempt to be reunited with Dad. She slept most of the time as I sat by her side. Then, more than ever, I’d needed my crocheting project. While my hands worked at the yarn, my mind worked at prayer. I could look up; watch my mother sleep without missing a stitch. Unable to do anything for Mom, it seemed that as long as my hands were busy, I felt useful somehow.

My mother would awaken and watch me crocheting. I talked of everything and anything in those moments to engage her, to find a spark of the life she once had. Several times I spoke of the little blanket.

I lost my mother in July of last year. I had so wanted to have that blanket done for her. Though I hadn’t been able to give it to her while she was living, I thought about laying her to rest with my final gift. It still wasn’t finished. 

Thinking back now, I’m glad the project wasn’t completed because I was the one who needed it. It gave me a chance to reflect on my visits with Mom. With every crocheted row, a new memory would pop up. The tears would flow, but they weren’t entirely tears of sadness. I knew my mother was reunited with Dad and at peace.

 The blanket, which had been such a big part of the close, quiet times I’d spent with my mother on her final journey, would always be a reminder to me of her very good life and all the moments with her during those last precious months.

As I looked again at the distorted shape and the un-matched colors of the finished lap afghan, I realized some important lessons. Life had been like that for my family in the last several years; not perfect, but certainly workable. Sometimes our journey had been ugly and the outcome, unclear much like the pattern I’d haphazardly seemed to crochet. The mismatched yarn in each row reminded me that there had been differences in our little family, and though colorful at times, it certainly was messy at others. But much like the soft fabric, I realized that my Heavenly Father had given me a softened heart toward my aging parents. And the warmth that even an imperfect blanket provided showed me that my own imperfections could be used for something good. No longer unattractive, the blanket has become a masterpiece, one that I will treasure forever.

Eulogy For Mom

I have never shared this with anyone except those who were at the grave site on my mother's funeral day. But today I would like for everyone to know just how much she meant to me, my family, and many many others.

She was once a little girl. A daughter, a child. She knew laughter and fun. She had hopes and dreams to play piano, sing…soar. She also knew hard times, worry and fears. She was born in an old fashioned era. She’s my mother Eileen and I’d like to tell you a little about her.

She married young, at nineteen, to my father Richard, a good man, a loving man, someone who stood by her during a difficult period of health issues. She came out on the other side stronger and better for it, with a heart so filled with compassion for others, that many lives would be touched by her.

A pregnancy would come in later years after Mom lost two other babies. A doctor warned her to terminate the baby due to health concerns. But this strong woman, my mother would say words that have stuck with me all my life: “I’ll have this baby or die trying.” And nine months later, my brother was born; a true blessing in our lives.

Mom ran several antique businesses through the years, enjoying the challenges they brought. But one of her biggest accomplishments to many of us was the small mom and pop grocery store she and my dad owned in our little town of Ambridge. The Eighth Street Dairy was a quick stop for kids after their long school days.  A place to play video games in the early 80’s and purchase bags full of penny candy. Nothing was more important to her, however, than her daily talks with the people and kids that walked through her door.

Some folks came daily for a newspaper and cup of coffee. They’d share stories with Mom of their lives and problems. Like a therapist, Mom would listen and occasionally give advice. And as for the children who came through the door after school hours, Mom would have a listening ear and show by example, kindness and patience to all; qualities they may not have seen in their own homes.

Years later, many of the young people, now grown would approach Mom if they’d see her somewhere. They told her just how much she meant to them in those early years, the time she spent talking with them.  A few have told how their lives changed from knowing her.

As for me, I think back to a lady who stood by me in one of the darkest times of my life; my spinal surgery for scoliosis as a teen. I don’t know how Mom was able to keep strong watching me go through such a difficult time in Children’s Hospital. How she kept my spirits up and told me it would pass.

My brother and I have gotten our hearts from our mother; our sense of humor. We’ve gotten the love of movies, books and imagination from her; a spirit of creativity. We’ve gotten a love of animals and underdogs of the world. We learned about faith and God from Mom.

I think our mother didn’t realize just how many lives she impacted. But the world became a better place because of her.

The other day, with legs that felt like iron weights and hands that shook so bad I had to hold them against myself, I walked into the emergency room not knowing what to expect. Once again Mom had taken a turn for the worst and I heard words from the doctor that I wasn’t quite prepared for. We recommend hospice care for your mother. She’s so frail now and perhaps it would be best for her to be just kept comfortable.

Every child of an aging parent asks themselves if they are doing the right thing. Are our decisions what our parents would want? Some of us are fortunate that our families have spoken freely about such things. Therefore when the time comes, we know immediately what must be done. 

Others of us have spoken in deeper terms though. We’ve had the distinct honor to talk of things on a more spiritual level. We know our loved ones are believers and even look forward to their next journey.

There is so much more than our eyes can see, so much more than we hear or feel. I learned that as Mom slipped further from us.

When my father was in the hospital last year, there were several odd, yet comforting things we heard from him. And a few days ago, I noticed that very thing with my mother. She appeared to be talking to people that we couldn’t see. She reached up once as if grasping someone by the hand and petted animals that weren’t there.

Our mother has gone to a better place. We are confident of this, for she visited there once before. She had felt a love surrounding her like no other during a cardiac arrest in her earlier years. 

Though our hearts are heavy, we now picture our mother free from her suffering, dancing with Dad, feeling God’s warmth and love, and reuniting with so many loved ones who have been gone for such a long time.

God, help us to see with the eyes of faith, not our limited vision. Help us to know just how wide and deep your love really is. Help us to be able to let go and give our all to you.

His Final Lesson

Recently, my brother shared a piece that he wrote about our dad. It is one of the most heartfelt, poignant things I've ever read. Beautiful, succinct, and touching, may you be blessed by this lovely writing:

His Final Lesson

“Rick, come here.” Typically, words and even commands spoken by him did not elicit a heightened reaction from me, but there was a specific tone that made this sound different, possibly more imperative. 

Please don’t believe that I am someone who is not reactive. My main priority in life shifted from one of being cared for to being the caregiver. I still wonder how I took that responsibility without being more overwhelmed or more mystified. Because it was me – the boy who could not go to school without fear of being away from his parents; the boy who crumbled at any potential illness – my own or theirs; the boy who could not stick to any activities such as Boy Scouts or band. Yet, when the time came, I gracefully accepted the role as the caregiver, the boy now who could be called man. Although I did not see it, I embraced it. His lesson was that of a teacher – quietly teaching valuable lessons of being a man without me even knowing that it was occurring.  

The response to my expected question “What’s wrong?” was one of unknown pain that was to eventually take him away from me. We started what would be our last phone call to 911 and subsequent collecting of the home items for another hospital stay. 

Despite my fears, years of concern based on the reality of mortality being a few steps away, possibly a few minutes away due to him not being in touch with his body or his needs associated with the plethora of health issues related to heart trouble, I always reacted with a calm nature and, in my heart, believed that it was not the end. Regardless of the severity of some of the hospital stays or diagnoses, I must admit that I never believed it would end. Naivety is not usually my forte. But with him, I always felt like there was another day, another month, another year. This was a testament to another lesson – the lesson was grace regardless of the surroundings and circumstances. 

The ensuing diagnosis, required surgery, and many ups and downs in his physical and mental health took a toll on all of us. It only lasted three weeks, but felt like many months had gone by. He was tired, frail, and, no doubt disappointed that his body was failing, but he never complained and never once did he say he was in pain. 

I was young and full of anxiety. My concerns ranged from my own physical health through the rest of the family being ill or diseased. He did not understand mental health issues such as this. He had dealt with others’ issues, but he never quite understood the “why” behind them. Yet, when I needed him to be there to tuck me back in at night or to pick me up from school when the worry was beyond normal, he was there. He never made me feel bad for the worry, or for being bullied, or for the irrational concerns about death, monsters, and such.  This lesson was to understand and accept, sometimes even if you don’t truly understand. 

I watched him in bed daily – some days intubated, some days awake and able to talk and listen. Reality of this being our final hospital stay became more and more tangible as the weakness grew and no interventions had a lasting effect. A doctor had called me and sternly said, “We have to be open and prepared if God is calling him” since some of their interventions were not having that magical effect we had come to expect. Still, the grace of handling this without falling apart had overtaken me. I cried, I begged to have it be different, I used up my bag of tricks that had always kept his quality of life high, but this time was to end in an unfamiliar way and I was letting that reality make me stronger. 

I had not been formally acquainted with death. I had heard stories of all of the loss that my family had handled, but most of this occurred before I was born. Distant relatives, friends of the family, and others that we had known were gone and the sting had been there, but it was a fleeting pain, yet all their memories would remain fond to me. His mother had died many years ago and I watched him handle it with quiet compassion and reverence for who she was to him and to others. His lesson was unending love and the value of legacy.

I received a call from the hospital that he denied intubation. He was still present, but the intubation would be necessary to continue life. I had no choice but to go and find out if this was truly the end. I cannot recall my thoughts on my way to this visit, probably an amalgam of potential outcomes at that point. I laid eyes upon him in his bed, the way that I had for these few weeks, and even hours prior, but I knew this held more weight than those other visits. Upon seeing me, I should have known that he could not lay eyes on me and say “okay, I give up”.

Each time that we had a “scare”, I suppose it was evident that I was giving every fiber of my being to positive outcomes, never once admitting that there were any options beyond continued life. And I lived that way from day to day, for many years. Regardless of how high he had gotten in age, there never was a day that I let on that he was aging. Regardless of how he was unable to do certain jobs or activities, I never let on that he was more limited. I was his biggest cheerleader. I had gone from being the frightened little boy to his champion in all ways that I could. There were ways that he adapted to still be functional and express his love, despite any limitations.  This could also be attributed to him – the lesson of adapting to your environment and accepting change. 

This visit lasted only about twenty-five minutes. He would allow them to place the ventilator back on. We had moments of communication, despite this final intubation. So many words were spoken before this point, yet it was down to a few final lessons. Though it was only a few short years ago, the memory of all words has faded a bit. However, significant words were spoken at that time. I told him that we would not torture him anymore after this attempt. I wanted him to know that he had fought hard, but I also wanted him to know that I, the one who had fought so hard to keep him alive for so many years, was giving him permission to no longer suffer or fight, when it was so clear that he was ready to let go.  Our last exchange was one in which I initiated my expression of love. In all of my years of life, the words had never left my mouth toward him and neither him for me. It was clear as day, though, that was how we felt. But, on this night, I felt that it was time. I knew it was the right time. And, he reciprocated. 

His last lesson was finding out if I could be not just a man, but the man; the man who could let him go despite giving so much to ensure that he lived; the man who could be strong enough to use words of love because the actions were no longer possible. This lesson was his most valuable, because we both needed it to move on; for him to move on past this life and for me to move on past him to a life which would have to garner new meaning and understanding and use the tools provided since childbirth to continue the cycle of love and kindness.  

Author: Matthew R. Mattia (Rick) 

Nonsense Language

Me, my brother and son have come up with a list of my father's imaginative language. Those of you who knew him best will understand.

We were called Toy, Toots, little Tenya. We were called Boy, Mattie, and Raymond. Others were called Fritzie, Nemon, Hage, Johnny Boy, and Rollo. There was Magruter, Ollie, Donelda, Cherley, Merdet and Peppay.

When you drank too much pop and left cans around you were a "Socack." When something came crashing down during rough play with your friends, you heard "Save the pieces!" When you wanted someone to leave because you were tired of them, you heard "Bid it!"

"Flutes" were little kids and not an instrument to be played. "The Serps" were my nieces as they ran around the house having fun. When you couldn't hear something you were called "Orville!" And when sneezes came in rapid succession, sounds like "Warf," and "Whoosk" were heard instead of Achoo!

If you spent too much money on a gift for my dad, he would call you "Mike Money" or "Andy Mellon." Of course this was always said with love because Dad enjoyed gifts so much.

Sometimes my father would ask me, "Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?" with his best Billy Burke impression from Wizard of Oz. Other times he would make fun of those of us who had a few computer skills and ask if we went on the "corn.cob" site (pronounced corn-dot-cob). Really....

When someone had big eyes, or was staring, we heard "Beadie Lajolla" or "Heady la Eyeball." It's a wonder we children grew up sane!

If you washed too much, you were a "Cleanso Smith." If you preferred to keep something a secret you were "Mystero." Even pets were not immune from fresh new names given to them. Penny, the Pomeranian was "Bluto,"  Mya the dog became "Myers." Lynxy the cat was "Torberious." And cats did not have whiskers, but they did have "weeyers." And if Dad wanted a cat or dog to leave him alone, he'd shout: "Boorelea!"

Restaurants that truckers frequented were called "Greasette Spoonette" and not Greasy Spoons. That was far too ordinary for our father. And when Dad saw me in shorts in the summer, he called them "wearing my diaper." He called winter coats "buffalo skins." There was no end to the wonderful world of madness.

I remember when my brother Rick was little and Dad wanted him to behave. He would always threaten that he was going to give his toys away to "Francie Blaho." Now Francie was not a real person, but Rick didn't know that, and he would "Straighten up and Fly Right" as Dad would say...

When any child annoyed dad, he said he was going to turn into "Thrasheto, the Thrashing Monster!" My goodness! Everyone behaved then. This seemed to be worse than Godzilla or Mothra or any of the old monster movies.

 My son has often said that the father in A Christmas Story played by actor Darren McGavin, reminded him so much of "Lamp," his grandfather, my dad. For there were a few nonsense words that Ralphie always referred to as his father said them. No wonder we laughed so much.

There were many other wonderful, amazing nonsense phrases. Some we never found the origins, and just hold dear to our hearts: Cutasecalea, Feenstra Mageech, Baby Mosie, Muscala Majona, Boosskach, Guya Kibbee, Zoomba, Broofisk,Henna, Sasha good little dog. All words from the vocabulary of one of the sweetest, funniest men I've ever known or ever hope to know.

I miss Dad's zany words and the silly faces he made. I miss him mimicking my son, driving him crazy until Matt would shout, "Lamp!" (Which was his own made up nickname for my dad.)

My father lived simply in a quiet place within himself. He could be known as shy in many ways, and preferred family around him to friends and tons of company. He prayed quietly with a small prayer book he was given by someone years ago and never made show of his beliefs, but you knew he had a heart for God.

Dad  was one-of-a-kind and though he's gone from this earth, which hurts my heart to admit, there are his soft, quiet ways, crazy language, and strength from the good man that he was which we all hope to carry on.

To Share an Amazing Story

I want to shout to the rooftops to anyone who will listen! I want you to share this story, read it over and over again. It is my hope that anyone who needs it, will hear it. It is my prayer that you, too, will find this kind of amazing, powerful prayer as a testimony in your own life.

This is a true, recent story about my dear friend, Paula who had gone through what I refer to as Job-sized trials:

          I have a powerful story to share; one that started about thirteen years ago when I moved away from my family and friends to a strange, new place.

           I’d been crying again. It hadn’t been easy leaving behind my elderly parents, grown-up son, brother, and friends. I’d put in a three months notice at the job I’d come to love for twenty-seven years. As dental assistant and office manager in a small town dental office, I knew my patients well—knew their stories, heartbreaks, and triumphs. I had been so fond of the dentist that we felt more like family.

          I sat at the kitchen counter in my new house—the house that belonged to my husband of only a month. He was working, and I scoured the want ads for a job in the dental field with my crumpled tissue in hand. I’d gotten off the phone with my parents, telling them again how much I missed them, but heck, I was only an hour away. Though I knew the visits would be often, it didn’t ease my sadness.

         There weren’t too many jobs in the surrounding area, so I decided to call some of the local offices to see if they might be hiring. The first office I called and explained my situation to a really sweet lady, I felt comforted and at ease immediately. This fast-paced town might not be anything like where I’d grown up, but this woman was genuine and kind. Perhaps there were good people and hopefully a few new friendships to be made at some point.

         The lady, who’d answered the phone at the office I called, said that they might be looking for someone part-time. We chatted for quite a bit, and I found that I really liked this person with the soft voice and calm manner. Though I found a good job shortly after, I tucked the other office into the back of my mind, hoping that perhaps someday I would be able to work with someone who I’d bonded with instantly.

         One day at my new dental job, I had to place a call to a specialist’s office. Imagine my surprise when I heard a familiar voice. The soft-spoken woman I’d talked with answered the phone, and I hadn’t realized it was the office where I’d thought about working.

         It seemed humorous at the time, but we both realized that we had spoken before, and it became a joy to place calls to this other office from time to time to chat with the lady whose name was Paula.

        I grew to like her even more, and when several years went by and our office began to undergo some staff changes, this time Paula was looking for other employment. I immediately put in a good word to our dentist, and we hired her almost instantly.

         I’ve had several amazing friendships in my life. Some of them have been since I was a little girl. Others, I met a little later in my journey. And it would be Paula who ended up becoming almost like a sister to me in my later years. We were so much alike with our talks about faith, family, values, and life. We encouraged one another and laughed about silly things. Work became a pleasure, even on difficult days.

         When several years went by and my parent’s health was failing, Paula became my rock and strength. She listened as I vented, cried, or worried. Because she’d gone through several losses in her life, she had an understanding of the kind of faith that sustains during the darkest times. And when I lost my parents within two years of one another, it was this type of faith that carried me through in a major way.

         About a month ago, Paula began feeling poorly. Her gait became unsteady; she had difficulty catching her breath. She became so concerned one day that she took herself to the emergency room.

Through many tests, the doctors began giving my friend some unsettling news. They discovered a heart valve issue, and scarier still, arteries in her brain that were extremely narrow.

         I visited her one day in the hospital. She had to lie in a darkened room because her head hurt so badly. The doctors had done many tests and she felt worse. But though I sat near her with worry creasing my forehead, Paula piped up, “I will trust God when times are good, and I will trust Him when times are bad.”

         During a series of further testing, when all looked gloomy and it was decided that she might need surgery to place stents, Paula never gave up hope, nor ever stopped praying and believing. She enlisted the prayers of many others, and spoke positively when negativity surrounded her.

         Paula was transferred to another hospital where the findings were quite different. No surgery needed and no serious issues; benign heart valve condition, and blood flow just fine in her arteries.

It was a time of great joy for those of us who loved her. I praised God that miracles occurred. It took a little time, but she began to feel better. None of us questioned the fact that we’d witnessed God’s hand in a mighty way.

         Until Paula had one more test done. She received a call back from a routine mammogram. Any woman who has gone through this knows the sinking feeling, but also the hope that it may be nothing. But when Paula was told that there were findings and a biopsy was next, my heart sank.

God, I prayed. You brought her through so much recently. Why does she have to go through this now?

         Earlier in her life, she’d lost several family members within a short period of time. One of her sisters had breast cancer. Never once through this next chapter unfolding did I see Paula’s demeanor change. Though she said fear challenged her at first, faith stepped in almost immediately. She began speaking out loud that she was healed. She spoke only of her faith in God and believed wholeheartedly that everything would be fine.

          Once again, a few of us who knew about this test began a vigil of prayer. My husband and I prayed out loud every morning for her. I send healing thoughts and pictured her body whole and well. I agreed in prayer with my friend.

         I couldn’t help though that I found myself angry with God a few times. She has twelve-year-old twin boys, Lord. They need her. She has so much to do in this world. Grant her a healing, Lord.

I prayed continually, anytime I thought about her which was quite often as my faith began to increase. 

         And Paula’s faith abounded. I never heard anything but how much she loved God, how she trusted completely in Him, and that she had no fear of bad news.

         Paula said that during the time of waiting for the biopsy, and then waiting for the results, many instances of God’s blessing surrounded her. Several Bible passages spoke directly to her, confirming what she already knew. Never in my life have I met someone with such a beautiful, sincere faith.

Yesterday at work, Paula mentioned that the doctor’s office might call with her results. I must confess that I was a wreck as I tried keeping conversation light, and still kept praying.

Around one o’clock, her cell phone rang, and she picked it up and walked away with it. 

         This is it, I thought. A life changing moment.

         There is nothing more difficult than waiting for news from someone you care about. The seconds tick by into what feels like hours. And when you see that person, you look directly into their face, knowing that the answer will be there.

         Paula walked back into the room with the biggest smile plastered on her face. “I got good news,” she said. “It’s benign.”

         Seven words that felt lighter than air. I immediately hugged her, as we both began crying, laughing, and praising God together. I felt that a weight had been lifted, and I wanted to tell everyone I knew about this miracle woman!

         Has life always been pretty and fair to my friend? No, it certainly hasn’t. There have been times that tested her soul, but even in the darkest times, God’s beacon of light and hope have always been there to carry her through the darkness.

         This writing is to give testimony to the One who matters: Our Heavenly Father. All glory and honor to Him.

         What follows is Paula's direct testimony edited for space:

I know you have all been waiting for an UPDATE so here it is....

So after 8 days in the hospital and going through so many tests, needles, medications, and scares, the doctors there could not come up with a diagnosis that explained all of my symptoms. They therefore were unable to provide a course of treatment that could really help. As a natural girl I hated being in the hospital and taking pharmaceutical drugs of any kind. I also shuttered at the thought of stents being placed in my brain and ultimately the doctors agreed that I did not need them at this time.

 It is one month tomorrow that I was admitted to the hospital and I just have to share with you all that I am feeling great! I still have some issues but they are improving every day.

A couple weeks before I went into the hospital, I had had a mammogram that revealed two small areas of concern. I had to go back for an additional mammogram and ultrasound. At this second visit, I was told that what they were seeing was “suspicious of cancer” and I needed to have biopsies. When I first left there, I admit I had a mini meltdown as fear tried to take over. I have lost three siblings and one of them was to breast cancer. This was getting to be too much for me with all that I had just been through. My meltdown only lasted a few minutes and I regained my composure and my usual positive outlook. the next thing I did was claim healing in the name of Jesus. Daily I spoke out loud the scriptures regarding healing. 

Over the next week before my appointment for the biopsies, God gave me peace and I knew that I did not have cancer. I had told only three very close people about what the report from the ultrasound was and I told all three of them. “Don’t worry. I’m just fine. It’s not cancer. I know it”. How did I know? You ask. Well I’ll tell you. A few days after the ultrasound, I went to church and gathered three prayer warriors and told them what was going on and ask for them to pray over me. As the three of them laid hands on me and prayed, I felt the Holy Spirit and knew our prayers were being heard. Inside the sanctuary, the praise and worship team sang through our prayers “Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
He healed my body
He touched my mind
He saved me it was just in time
I'm gonna praise His name
Each day He's just the same
Come on and praise Him
Look what the Lord has done”. I felt at that exact moment this was significant. 

The next day I met someone for the first time. He shared with me some testimony of how God saved his life. He mentioned that his favorite book is “Jesus Calling”. I knew I had a copy of this book but hadn’t seen it in a couple of years. I went home and dug it out. I opened it up to a page that I had previously book marked. My eyes grew wide when I read...
“He does not fear bad news, he is steadfast, trusting in the Lord.”
psalm 112:7

Wow. I knew this was no coincidence. That scripture was just for me at just the right time. The daily devotional from my church the evening before my biopsy was more confirmation. It was about the lepers receiving healing and then regarding healing today. The gist was that after one receives healing they should then go and have it confirmed by a doctor. This way they can be a living testimony to what God has done. 

So the morning of my biopsy appointment I opened up “Jesus Calling” once again and turned to that day’s entry. Once again it was a message specifically for me on what could have been a very emotional morning.
John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you. Peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be trouble and do not be afraid. “

My sister picked me up and drove me to my appointment. I chatted light heartedly on the ride there telling her that I was fine. 

I sat in my gown in the little room waiting to be taken across the hall for the procedure. I recited out loud the scriptures that I believed were presented to me to assure me and to give me peace. I worried more about the procedure itself than I did about the results. In only a few minutes they were ready for me. As they prepped me for the procedure I said to the doctor “I hope you don’t mind if I hum.” He smiled and said “go right ahead.” 

The procedure took awhile but I did hum through most of it. “Look what the Lord has done. He healed my body. He touched my mind...”

When the samples had been collected, and instructions given, I walked out of that place smiling and believing with my whole heart that there was no cancer in my body. I believed that I have work to do here and I have testimony to give.
It only took two days to get the call. I was with my dear friend Karen when my mobile phone rang and I knew it was the call I was waiting for. I excused myself and took the call in private. On the other end I heard the nurse tell me
“It’s benign. You don’t have cancer.”

After thanking her and telling her I already knew it, I laughed and cried at the same time. I thanked God for His goodness and for using strangers and scriptures to let me know even before the procedure was done that I was fine. I then returned to where Karen waited to hear too. I didn’t have to say a thing because the ear to ear grin on my face said it all. But I said it anyway “ I don’t have cancer!” She hugged me and wept because she loves me like a sister. She had been praying without ceasing since this all began. 

As I am writing this I am both laughing and crying once more. I am nobody special. I am a sinner. I fall short a lot. But I do know my God rescued me. I still get to be a momma, a friend, a wife, a sister. I do not have cancer! I am well!! I am a living testimony to the goodness of my Heavenly Father and I can’t wait to tell the world what He has done for me!!

If you are not a believer, and this story has touched you in some way, I pray that you will ask Jesus into your heart from this moment on. He is real, and He is so in love with you.