I picked up my children from my parents’ house after my doctor’s appointment and told them the news. I could see my dad grow heavy. I pasted on a smile and made some jokes—everything’s okay. But when I got in the car, I just wanted to put my head on the steering wheel and cry. I’m too tired to fight this battle today.
It had started fifteen years ago with a bad case of strep that had ended up attacking the kidneys. Post-streptococcal minimal change glomerulonephritis, were words that the doctor threw around. I’m not even sure he knew quite what was going on. Basically, it was a fancy way of saying that things had gone a little funny.
For over 10 years, it would come and go. Four years ago, I believed with all my heart that God had healed me. But the tests this morning didn’t line up. Was I wrong? Or do I just need to fight harder?
Or maybe the tests were wrong? I’ll find out the rest of the results next week.
It was windy and cold when I finally left my parents’ house, and rain was turning into freezing rain. Winter’s last hurrah. Everything was gray. Except the trees. The trees shimmered with ice, delicate and fragile and beautiful.
It struck me then that there is beauty in rain. Always.
The beauty in my circumstance is that Jesus died once and for all—not only for my sin but also for my healing. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I can walk through anything with a smile because my God is bigger. As Joel Stockstill said, “Joy is not dependent on your present circumstance but on the finished work of the cross.”
And, always, the last gasp of winter makes us all the more appreciate the warmth of spring.
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