11.01.07 A Peak At The Donkey On The Wall
I was reading some Anne Lamott today on the plane to Tulsa. She was remembering what it was like to be a little girl playing a birthday party game. Remember being blindfolded, spun around and then pointed in the general direction of a donkey on the wall? Remember being afraid to take that first step? We didn’t know then if it was a step away or toward the donkey. That wall has become Jesus for her she said.
I closed the book and thought about what the blindfold could be, and the step, and the spins.
Lately, I’ve felt blind. Temporarily. I’ve felt as if my prayers are made of lead. No sadness. No despair. No panic. Just silence on the other end. I’ve felt like a child whose parents are away on a long planned trip. I miss God but I know He’ll be back soon. It also feels a little like maybe I’m walking straight for the birthday cake and the wall is off in another direction.
After sound check this afternoon, Brian, traveling with me today, looked up from his phone and asked, “Have you talked to Becky today?”
“Yea, when we got here, why?”
“Did she tell you about Judy?” he asked.
Weeks ago a friend of Becky’s, Judy, was told she had cancer throughout her body and that even with radical surgery and chemotherapy she would probably not last the year. We prayed and you prayed as Judy deteriorated slowly. Spiritually she seemed to grow though. Acceptance and peace seemed to be filling up the spaces that fear and anger had flooded in those first days. All this is conjecture on my part. I’ve never spoken to Judy. I hear from Becky who hears from Judy or Judy’s close friends like Redneck Neighbor’s wife, those who see her almost daily and care for her relentlessly.
Yesterday Judy went to the doctor and was told the chemotherapy had stopped the cancer from spreading further but had not forced it to retreat at all. Time is short, she was told, she might last till the end of the year.
Today the doctor told a different story. The cancer that had once filled her body is now only in her esophagus. He’s forecasting at least another year of life.
Being out here on the road I’m not privy to the whole story. I don’t know if the first scan was a mistake. I don’t know much at all, and so my inner realist is talking to my inner skeptic and they’re pretty convinced there’s a logical explanation we just haven’t heard yet and that there’s still a good chance Judy will lose her fight with cancer.
And I say, maybe. Maybe so. Or maybe this is a peak through the blindfold meant to make the next step for all of us a little easier to trust. Maybe this is a peak at the donkey on the wall. Maybe this is the kind of hopeful moment leaked from heaven to still our spun flesh and bone and whisper through their disbelieving thickness to our spirits: I’m here. I’m right here. Keep stepping.
Maybe.
RevJeff said:
Six years ago I lost a friend/youth sponsor to esoph cancer. We spent the last year of his life seeking God and praying honestly together… Many of those prayers lacked what could be called reverence, but none of them went unanswered. What God taught me (us) was similar to what you just posted… it (prayer) is SO much more about getting glimpses of WHO God is than it is about what I am asking for…
annie said:
(Geez, you write so beautifully...)
I’ll join you in prayer for Judy, whole-heartedly believing that He works in mysterious and awesome ways. We have no idea what He’s up to.
said:
My husband got an “extra” month of life. He was rushed to the hospital one day and the doctors told us both he wouldn’t make it through the night. Mike believed the doctors and was ready to go that night. I really don’t know why, but I didn’t believe he’d die that night, and I told the doctors so, out of Mike’s hearing.
Four men who were close to us, our spiritual leaders who were also great prayer warriors, joined me in the ICU waiting room for late night prayer. They didn’t pray for Mike to survive; they asked God for His will to be accomplished, for Mike to be at peace. I was the one who prayed specifically for Mike to keep going a little longer. I didn’t want him to linger in pain, but I was just compelled to pray that prayer. After the men left, I went and talked to the nurses about Mike and about our faith and stopped back in Mike’s ICU room. His heart rate and breathing had improved and when I told him that, he said “Oh, I just needed someone to tell me that.” And then he improved a little more.
To the doctors’ surprise, Mike made it through that night and lived another month. It was an unspeakably horrible month in terms of Mike’s suffering. Holding on to Christ though, he was braver than anyone I’ve ever known.
During that “gift” month, Mike had me invite in hospital staff, pastor and ministry leader freinds, Mike’s family and old friends, coworkers, gang kids, Sunday school and youth group kids--so they could get a little time with him, say the things they’d all wanted to say to each other and hear from Mike’s lips about the hope in Christ that he had, even there in bed, in pain and full of IVs. During that last month, Mike and I also got to resolve some hurts that had lingered between us in our marriage.
I’ve seen God give a number of gravely ill people a reprieve time--months or even years. That’s gift time for mothers to arrange things for the children they won’t get to see grow up; or husbands to make peace with their wives and their lives; or sick kids to comfort their parents. It’s a time for friends and family to get to say the “I love yous” that they’d choked on during healthier times.
I’m praying for Judy’s “gift” time. May it last 40 years! And even if it doesn’t, may all of you who know and love her breathe in the rich fragrance of hope as you spend time with her. May you all see the gratitude, wisdom and peace that can come when a person knows that she is a recipient of grace in an amazing sort of way.
Cali Amy said:
Shaun--what a writer you are. You really have a gift with words.
I so relate to that skeptical bit in my life, was the first scan correct? Or is this really a miracle? But in the end, I realize that either way it is still a gift from God.
I am praying for Judy and her family and friends
Jen said:
God is incredible isn’t He? And yet, I bet that even if He hadn’t healed Judy, she still would have given Him all the praise, honor and glory He deserves. You know, I just talked about this on my blog a couple of days ago. I call it a “Waabaam!” moment. You meet someone like Judy and you know you’ll never be the same again.
Thanks for sharing.
Jen said:
Sorry, I just saw the date of this post…