Dear Friends, I had my last scan on Friday night for this trial drug program. I spent hours in another wretched waiting room. An incessant squeal chirped constantly from a faulty air duct system, and the TV blared the local news with saccharine urgency. The heating vent in the hallway provided the only, warm quiet place for me to think and read.
My week was worse than the waiting room. A nasty cold lodged deep in my chest waking me up every night; my wife’s minor knee surgery left her in bed with pain and a bad reaction to her medicine; I twisted my ankle playing basketball, and I wrestled all week with 1 Samuel chapter 13 trying to craft a Sunday sermon out of Saul’s miserable life choices.
As you can tell, I’m struggling with the drudgery of this gray planet, the grind of teaching, the fatigue settling at the core of my bones, the spiritual drain of juggling too many trials at once. I apologize about starting my recent letters from the quagmire of life’s frustrating details, but it streams unbidden onto my computer screen. I need to scurry back to the Psalms as I sit in this hospital room waiting to get stuck and scanned.
Psalm 139 snags my attention. Hospitals humble even the proudest of men. This hospital and this disease have humbled me, but my Lord is great and He cares for the humble (Psalm 139:6). This is the great chapter of God’s omnipresence, and I cherish that attribute of God now. God preceded me here, and he follows me through these waiting rooms, corridors and scanning chambers (Psalm 139:5). He lays his hand of blessing on my head (Psalm 139:5). Decades ago, He knitted me together in secret seclusion weaving me into be who I am today (Psalm 139:13) and who I will be in glory (2 Corinthians 5:1). I must not forget glory in all of this temporary inconvenience.
These moments of my life were planned long ago (Psalm 139:16). The moment my ankle twisted on the court was planned; the screeching heating duct- planned, my frustration with the long wait on a Friday night-planned, the pitiful woman sucking down oxygen and being wheeled into the waiting room- planned, the man with the face scarcely recognizable as human fiddling with the office scale- planned; your Spirit compelling me to pray for least of these- all planned.
Long ago, God mapped out this frustrated day of mine for a purpose (Psalm 139:16). This day tests me and forces me to see all my unbelieving thoughts and the hardened heart that offends you (Psalm 139:24). This day points out all my offenses, and they are many, against you- the complaining, doubting, second guessing, impatience, and careless words.
Lead me again in the path of everlasting life (Psalm 139:24). I lift my eyes, yet again, to you, O God, enthroned in heaven (Psalm 123:1). I will stop fixating on the evening news and its constant chatter about the economic meltdown. I will stop staring at the machine that may reveal more hidden cancer. I’ll stop glancing behind me at every setback, and I will lift my eyes. I see your hope, your future, your reality. I see your salvation. I see with spiritual eyes discerning spiritual realities. I see my God, Jesus, the bright morning star, clothed with light and beauty, enthroned above my future home (Revelation 22:16). I will lift my eyes.
God bless,
Tim
Dear friends, I started the experimental drug last Monday, and unfortunately, the effects are popping up early. I spent much of my weekend in bed with flu like symptoms or abdominal pain. Arthritis, painful hand and foot sores, skin rash, hair loss, fatigue, and muscle wasting wait for me in the coming months. The symptoms come upon me like a spell. My mind fogs up; pain and aches throb out of nowhere, and simple tasks become chores of mental focus.
