eyes wide open

Monday, June 1, 2015

A different week found me yet again sitting next to my son giving him news that I didn't quite know how to explain to him. This time, however, it was the news that after his friend, the one diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, had surgery to remove a lymph node, the pathologist found no traces of lymphoma. At all. "So he doesn't have cancer?", he asked. I can clearly say no, yet I have no explanation why.

Was it an irresponsible doctor who tells parents willy-nilly that their middle-school-age son has cancer? I guess that's possible, although I'd like to believe doctors that work at fairly big children's hospitals do not operate that way.

Was it that blood tests and biopsies can be wrong? I suppose that's possible as well. I googled the likelihood of a false positive lymphoma test, and there's not a lot of them.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's that sometimes we pray for miracles, and God comes through in the way we're hoping. Maybe my prayers that God would show himself real to my son and to his friend and to their family were not just empty hopes. 

We don't live in an age where miracles of major caliber like that seem common. The things we call miracles are more often than not fortunate happenings. Not that God doesn't have a hand in happy coincidences and against-the-odds types of things, but most things can be explained away. This might be one of those things too, but I'd really like to believe that the God who cares about each little sparrow that gets smashed by my car because they won't fly out of the way (yep, that happened this week), cares even more about the hearts and minds and bodies of my son and his friends. 


So we continue on with baseball, with my son's friend on 1st base and the pitcher's mound game after game like we're used to. We carry on with the summer as if nothing happened and everything is fine. I'm just looking at things a little differently now. There are glimpses of heaven right there on the baseball field. God is there in the dust and grass, among the sweat and tears. (They're thirteen-year-old boys, so there's still some tears.) We can look back, and we can say just like Jacob of the Old Testament, "Surely God was in this place, and I didn't even know it." Walking with God is always a move forward, always a step towards having our eyes opened further. I want to live with eyes wide open, never forgetting that God is in this place too.


photo credit: IESA 321 via photopin (license)
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