Monday, March 2


CT Scan this morning at 11:40 MST. (10:40 for you Pacific readers, and 1:40 for those of you on the other coast.)

It didn't really bother me this weekend, I lived life normally, and received a LOT of encouragement from various sources. Today I have been fairly calm, but the having to drink the oral contrast 2 hours ahead of time is a REALLY early reminder of what I am doing. I don't think it's the process (the contrast (oral and injected), the IV, the scan, etc) It's the waiting for results.

A very, very great part of me wants to be able to rejoice and celebrate about news that the scan is clear, and I have already dared to imagine what that might look like. If the scan doesn't come back clear though am I in any less of a position to rejoice and celebrate our God? He's in control either way, and I have made daily petitions to Him to heal me, and I am going to get some of that answer sometime this week.

I feel like I am at a fork in my future. I could continue to do what I have been doing with OC and learning to live here in Colorado Springs, or I could go back to all sorts of crazy medical stuff.

It's a rough line I am wandering right now mentally. If the tumors show up again it's pretty much par for the course for this sickness, and I guess I won't be overly surprised. But I have this hope in the Lord that He can do great things, and that He is the great healer and I have this feeling that He isn't done with me just yet.

But, as I said before, does any of that really get thrown out of the window if the scan doesn't come back clear? I am heavily trying to avoid the "I'll praise you and worship you Lord if the scan is clear." I think that is some of the battle that rages in me: Knowing that God is good and worthy to be praised. No matter what.


1 comment:

  1. "Only in God is my soul at rest"

    Thank you Ben for understanding in your mind where I believe the Lord wants you to be. I know the heart is scared and we have been thinking and will be praying for you.

    I was struck by the thought recently that sometimes the most comforting thing I can say is nothing. While that doesn't work well from 1,103 miles away over the internet hopefully it gives you some comfort to know that your friends are quieting their soul, searching for words, and the understanding is left only to God at this point.

    My hope is to rejoice with you in your continued remission.


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