Not the Plan, but the Shepherd

 A few weeks ago, I received a text that my friend Judy, whom I met a year ago at my clinic in  Arizona, had gone to be with Jesus.

She arrived at the clinic one week before I did, and we both left Arizona on exactly the same day. The night before Jonathan and I set off from Arizona to Colorado, we went to see Judy and her family. They were packing their vehicle for the long trip home to their home state. We gave her a flower pot and we hugged goodbye.

We did not know that one week later, Judy would go on to be with the Lord. And that we would be buying more flowers--this time online for the funeral home to deliver to the visitation and funeral.

If anyone was believing for healing it was Judy and her family.

 

The only way I can look at it with peace is to understand that her passing into eternal life was a perfect healing.

That does give me peace.

Perfect peace. 

Maybe not perfect understanding, but perfect peace.

The snapshot below is something that meant a lot to me when I was asked very strongly by a new acquaintance what I was hearing from God about how to proceed with treatments for my own cancer.

 

Surely God was not saying chemo, for example! Chemo is horrible.

Chemo is toxic.

How can chemo be from God?

Well, I know it isn't from God anymore than cancer is from God or vitamins are from God or green juice is from God.  

I felt bad that I could not answer this person. 

How could I tell her that I was having a hard time hearing from God about what to do about my cancer?

I wanted to cry. 

Because, yes, where was God's voice? If I knew it, I would follow so quickly. 

I thought God wanted me to go natural--until it wasn't working.

Then I just tried to do my best--without any particular guidance from an inner Voice--but I felt God was with me all the way these last 13 months.

Now I am considering chemo, and just when I felt at peace about it in Colorado, the door seemed to slam in my face.

So now I am in South Dakota pursuing again, and just waiting.

Spending my time, as I wait for the soonest appointment possible, living as normally as possible--including canning pickles--knowing the cancer is growing, noting sharper and deeper pain when the jabs happen.

And feeling helpless.

Without a plan, 

but with a Good Shepherd.