I recently had a bit of a health scare. After a yearly visit to my doctor, I got the dreaded call that I needed to come in for another mammogram and possibly an ultrasound. I got the news from the young doctor who replaced my doctor of over twenty years who just retired. She assured me that it was no big deal and encouraged me to wait for three weeks to get in with the group who already had my films, taken over the past ten years. I would know my results immediately.
I agreed. Did I mention that my mother is a breast cancer survivor? I should have known when I chose peace to be my one word to focus on this year, that I was in for a bumpy ride.
I Googled the few words I had from the report and learned that it was rarely cancer. Yet, I never throw much credence to percentages. At every turn with my mama’s cancer, we were told it was most likely nothing. Two failed lumpectomies and eventually a mastectomy, proved them all wrong.
Thankfully, Mama is well and feisty and doing just fine over ten years down the road. She’s happy and healthy and a light to all. God used her cancer for good and grew her faith immensely.
I kept all of that information along with my own diagnosis, mostly to myself for about two and a half weeks. I knew I would be okay either way. I didn’t really need to talk to anybody and I wasn’t going to bother anybody with a prayer request. There wasn’t even officially anything wrong.
But, the waiting wore me down and I hit a wall. The unknown became too much and I began to feel very anxious. I knew Jesus would walk with me whether I was sick or not. I didn’t have a crises of faith; I just couldn’t deal with the not knowing anymore and so I reached out to some select prayer warriors.
My hubby is a member of a men’s prayer group at our church and they prayed. My pastor pulled me aside on Sunday and he said a beautiful, comforting prayer with me. I could feel the Holy Spirit at work. When I got home, I sat on my porch in the sunshine and I texted an old friend and asked her for prayer just like she has asked me in the past. I messaged some of my prayer warriors from my mission trip.
I got immediate replies all around and I felt that peace that had been eluding me. The next day, I received several messages including a text from my pastor’s wife encouraging me and lifting me up and I thanked God for all of them.
When I went for my mammogram, it all took less than an hour. All was well and when the technician used the same exact words that my pastor had prayed, “We looked and there was nothing there,” I knew the Holy Spirit had been busy and I learned a valuable faith lesson that I should have already known.
I don’t know why I resist asking others to pray for me when I am so willing to pray for them. The asking doesn’t make me weak; it makes me supernaturally strong. I feel grateful, blessed and humbled all at once. I am reminded that the strength in a faith community comes not from a few strong ones doing all of the praying, but from everyone sharing their burdens and lifting each other up.
May I never forget. Perhaps you needed reminding too.
Have an awesome day!