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Night Song
“Mommy, you never smile anymore,” my young son commented. The whole family had begun to grow weary of my tears. I cried constantly.
While I was only in my mid-forties, my uterus had been invaded by an enormous fibroid tumor about the size of a cantaloupe. Because of its slow growth, this stealthy tumor had remained undetected. I hemorrhaged increasingly.
When I finally went to the emergency room, blood tests revealed that I had a red blood cell count of 7.5. (Normal is approximately 14.0.) The doctor wondered how I managed to walk into the hospital. I wondered too.
My own doctor thought I lacked the stamina needed for major surgery. After researching my options, I found a surgeon, who suggested a minor surgery to cut off the blood supply that fed the tumor. Desperate, I chose that option.
After surgery, the surgeon suggested that my recovery time would be about two weeks. However, I struggled to endure each day for the next two months. Although the blood loss diminished, I grew weaker.
The insatiable tumor sucked out my life. I was held hostage by my own body: depression consumed me. Loneliness stalked me all day; panic shadowed me at night. My prayers seemed to ricochet back off the ceiling. “Oh God,” I groaned, “Please don't turn your back on me.”
To escape my black thoughts, I kept a journal, where I recorded other's encouraging words. Daily, I reread it. I filled an entire spiral notebook. During one of my darkest moments, I copied my friend's piercing words, “Pamela, learn to press into Jesus.”
Her words captured my thoughts. I wasn't exactly sure how to press into Jesus, but I wanted to learn. So I asked Him to show me how. As I reread the words in my journal, devoured the words in my Bible, and tried to sing the words from the old hymns, my spirit was fortified.
After six months, tests revealed that the surgery hadn't shrunk the tumor. And I had gained very little strength. I languished.
Finally, a second surgeon suggested my last and final option: a hysterectomy. Fear paralyzed me. I barely made it through a minor surgery; the thought of a major one terrified me. Losing body parts was never part of my plan. Would I make it through?
Meanwhile, my blood tests revealed that my red cell count had increased. Finally, I surrendered to the inevitable—a full hysterectomy. A tiny spark of hope flickered.
Following the surgery, the veteran surgeon said he had never seen a tumor like mine. He described it as “grey, dead, and rotting.” In fact, he used it for show and tell with the younger surgeons.
After surgery, I celebrated a speedy recovery. Within days, my lips turned pink again, and my complexion regained its color. After a few weeks, full healing surged through my body. But this only occurred after I submitted to God's plan and relinquished my own.
Overwhelmed with God's love and mercy, I promised, “Jesus, I don't know why You spared my life and restored my health, but I promise to serve You with a new vitality as long as the blood still flows through my veins.”
Joy exploded from within me. My dark night erupted into song, and my heart danced with a new passion for Him. My young son even wrote in a letter to me, “Mommy is smiling again.”
“By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.”Psalm 42:8 (NIV)
Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society.
Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.
