You've Got to be Kidding!

Bernie and Cheryl, grateful for times with our grandchildren

“You’ve got to be kidding!” That’s the first thought that crossed my mind when I stepped on the scales at the doctor’s office and discovered I’d lost another two-and-a-half pounds since my previous visit two weeks earlier. I wasn’t happy with the news. In fact, my shoulders sagged with discouragement and tears welled up in my eyes—a really amazing reaction, considering that I’ve counted calories and worried about my weight all of my adult life.

Despite great diligence on my part, weight has always hounded me like ants drawn to the sticky sweetness left on a picnic table after a mid-summer watermelon feed. Born with a sweet tooth, I’ve been especially susceptible to chocolate, a delectable delight that has always lured me like a siren’s song. In fact, I’ve often quipped that I’d have to die in order to lose weight. That joke doesn’t seem so funny anymore—too close for comfort, I’m sure.

And besides, I’m quite alive and well, thank you very much. But, without much appetite and battling some digestion issues (side effects of the cancer drug I began in June), sometimes even the thought of food is enough to nauseate me. Needless to say, eating has become a chore—necessary, I know, but downright hard, nevertheless. Even ice cream and chocolate no longer have allure for me!

Off the scales, I entered the examination room, had my vitals checked, and then waited for the doctor. That he was only running fifteen minutes behind schedule wasn’t the only surprise I encountered there. Being told that my blood work showed I’m malnourished and that he wanted to prescribe an appetite-stimulating drug was far more shocking than either a mostly-on-time doctor or further weight loss.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I mumbled to myself, shaking my head in wonder. After all, I am familiar with appetite suppressors, have even tried some—without success, I might add. But appetite stimulants? They are as unknown to me as Russian or Arabic.

All of this is to say that the cancer journey continues to be one of new and unexpected experiences, only some of which I understand and none of which I control. I am reminded of the psalmist’s thoughts:

“Oh Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain” (Psalm 139:1-6).

And I am grateful that it is enough that God knows, even when—especially when—I don’t.

Lessons through My Grandson

Waiting for the apples to turn red

Being a top student was always important to me in my school years. If I wasn’t going to win awards for my athletic prowess, my musical abilities, or my inventive genius, at least I could stand tall when grades were handed out. And I did.

Which is why it’s such a surprise to me that I’m so slow in learning some of life’s most important lessons—not the ABCs, but far more valuable things like trust, patience, and perseverance. The Lord, using my two-and-a-half-year-old grandson, is determined that I have every opportunity to catch up where I’m behind in my lessons.

“Coco, how’re you feeling?” Little Ben asked me as he walked into my bedroom where I was sitting, exhausted, in a chair.

“Not so good,” I responded, adding, “That’s why Coco’s a little sad today—because I don’t feel good.”

Without missing a beat and with all the certainty of an experienced and learned elder, Benjamin continued, “Jesus will help you.”

Smiling at my grandson for reminding me of such a fundamental truth—no matter the pain, how could I have lost my focus?—I hugged him and said, “You’re absolutely right! Jesus will help Coco feel better so I don’t have to be sad.”

“That’s awesome!” Benjamin returned. I wanted to hug him again, but he giggled as he escaped my reach and ran out of the room. End of the lesson, but I was left with a warm glow that, I suddenly realized, had uplifted both my sad spirit and my tired body. I knew I’d been visited by the Lord himself to restore my trust in him and his unconditional love and perfect plan for my life.

A few days later, it was time for yet another lesson. Benjamin and I discovered an apple tree at the back of the apartment complex where our families are spending the summer—and it was loaded with fruit. Benjamin wanted to begin eating immediately, but I explained that since the apples were still mostly green, it was too soon to pick them.

“Well, let’s wait,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We can wait till the apples turn red.”

“But that happens a little bit by a little bit,” I protested. To which Benjamin responded without the slightest bit of frustration as he sat down on the concrete parking block in front of the tree, “Little bit by little bit. We can wait.”

How long will you wait? I wondered to myself as I sat down beside him, facing the apple tree and its not-going-to-be-red-for-a-long-time fruit. What patience! More than that, what trust! With little concept of time, Benjamin was willing to sit and wait expectantly simply because he believed me when I told him the apples will turn red little bit by little bit. No doubts in his mind that what I said was true—just because I said so.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,” we’re told in Hebrews 11:1. I think of God’s promises of healing and answers to prayer—for all of us, for me. I realize again that I need to sit quietly more often—even on a concrete parking block—and wait patiently for the Lord to fulfill his words. If a two-year-old can do it, why can’t I?