Last night, we cuddled and talked wistfully about more time.
He wants more time.
More time for making furniture;
More time for deepening friendships;
More time to enjoy our children and grandchildren;
More time for me.
“If I had more time, I’d…” and then he would fill it in with wonderful, worthwhile projects and people.
He’d love another summer at the lake.
He’d love to get down to San Antonio again.
He’d love to see our favorite college student get that degree.
He’d take his wife to Alaska; he’d buy that Ducati in Asheville.
He’d read through the Bible again.
He’d teach another class on saving your marriage.
He’d help several friends whose lives are messier than ours.
And his wife, who is NOT a big-muscled faith warrior, asked in my puny voice that our Father would give this man more time.
And a few tears were shed as we faced this morning’s doctor appointment.
Our hospital’s oncology department is filled with sunny, smiling people who refuse to greet the day with anything but enthusiasm. Their mission statement, written or not, is to insist on looking toward the future with a hopeful face.
Everyone greets Mike and tells him how good he looks. That’s true, of course. But looks are not what we’re after. We are waiting to hear the doctor tell us about whatever they found last week in his blood work and the CAT scan. Are the occasional tummy ache, the sore joints, the itchy eyebrow an evidence of tumor growth?
We sit in the little room. Blood pressure is good. Of course. He’s not going to die from a heart attack. His weight is good. Of course, he’s not going to die from obesity.
In breezes the doctor. Hand shakes to both of us. She sits. She flips open the file and reads, again. She raises her head.
“Well, your reports are great.”
“Blood work is normal. Tumor markers are normal. And the CAT…”
She flips to the multi-page report.
“Normal. Nothing to report.”
We have other things to chat about but my head begins to travel back to last night and that list.
I asked her what I should say to the people who are waiting for a report.
“Tell them REMISSION.”
So, I’m telling you.
Doctor says that it looks like that summer at the lake is going to happen. All those smiling faces, as we exit, are smiling even bigger. Each one shakes Mike’s hand and tell him, “Get out there and live.”
So we will. We will also have more time to ponder what a gracious God we serve. Praise HIM with us this day.