Life doesn’t get any better than this–even though the babies had croup, were teething, and cried pretty much the whole time.
Crying and mayhem didn’t matter because we were together, enjoying REAL Face Time.
But on December 30, I was lying on my back in the neurology unit of our local hospital, awaiting surgery.
My diagnosis: glioma–a nickel-sized tumor surrounding my brain and producing swelling.
My neuro surgeon had calmly explained the risks and realities of what my MRIs had shown. The mass was in an inoperable location. They would be able to take only half of it through a craniotomy procedure in an effort to biopsy a sample. Little had a I realized when I walked into my doctor’s office several days before Christmas for pain and tingling in my face that I would be facing brain surgery and a life-challenging diagnosis. What have in learned in these past several weeks?
1. Life is fragile–handle with gratitude.
That FIRST trip to see my grandchildren suddenly came into focus. It could well have been my ONLY opportunity to see my children and grandchildren together. Had I invested those moments well? Would I have gone back and done anything differently?
2. Reconcile, and do it today.
Holding an offense against someone? Don’t wait for them to make the first move–do it today. We’re called to a ministry of reconciliation as Christians. No ifs, ands, or buts.
3. Look and talk like Jesus.
The world pretty much despises Christians because we can be so busy judging the world, that we forget to love the world. And to love them the way Jesus loved them–sacrificially, and always in ways that would glorify God. He tells us that we can’t claim to love him if we’re not loving others. Even our enemies. My enemies–those people who have treated me unjustly and the people I love unjustly. I’m supposed to love them. (Which doesn’t mean giving them a free pass on the consequences of their actions, by the way). But it means releasing my bitterness and anger and praying God’s best in their lives.
I was blessed with five days between my diagnosis and brain surgery. I wrote some letters. Made some calls. Humbled my heart. I’m learning every day what these three lessons mean, and they’re HARD, but they’re sweet.
What about YOU? What would your priorities become if you were suddenly told you had inoperable brain cancer?