Who among you fears the Lord and obeys the voice of his servant?
Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God.
Behold, all you who kindle a fire, who equip yourselves with burning torches!
Walk by the light of your fire, and by the torches that you have kindled!
This you have from my hand: you shall lie down in torment.
~ Isaiah 50:10-11 ESV
Here I am: Eve. Standing at the foot of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good & Evil. Reaching up for the fruit, believing open eyes are better than faith, knowledge is better than trust, power is better than rest. The age-old struggle that began when the world was barely turning on it's axis; the temptation that speaks deep in the heart of every woman, everywhere. For me, it is cancer that draws me closer to the tree, my hand stretched forth to pick the fruit. Like a moth to a flame, I run from the unknown into the closely clinging bony grip of Death, knowledge, power.
Ask any cancer patient which stage they would prefer to be in: the angst of not knowing, in those early stages of discovery, with no statistics to lean on and no answers to quote in the long, dark hours of the questioning night? I am in that place, standing next to my cancer in the midnight blackness of the diagnostic wait; nothing hurts, nothing is broken, and without the magic scalpel of medical imaging - body scans and ultrasounds - my cancer would still be nebulous and stealthy. I long to be in a place of knowledge, the treatment stage when people rush to cure and cut and clean up the mess of mortality that grows like an ink stain on linen, cancer spreading ugly fingers of stain into the snow white body of youth and health.
That is what I - as patient with cancer - long for. Yet I - the oncology nurse - know this is a foolish quest. I have seen the patients dragged down and sodden on their beds, racked by the treatment, the curing, the cutting, the cleaning up. I have seen their eyes call out from dark sockets for relief. I have held them, and caressed them, and mourned for their many small losses - hair, and strength, and the ability to eat or drink or speak or laugh. Why would I, knowing this, ask to be transported to that stage? Have I so quickly forgotten what it means to leave this blissful state of not knowing to be brought out into the stark, sterile light of a surgical suite, answers in hand and self torn away piece by piece? Better to close my eyes and walk in darkness, holding the steadfast hand of my Savior, then to beg for knowledge, light the torches handed to me by human hands and walk forth into the bitter truths armed only with mortal knowledge and power.
I can taste the fruit of Eve
I'm aware of sickness, death and disease
The results of our choices are vast
Eve was the first but she wasn't the last
And if I were honest with myself
Had I been standing at that tree
My mouth and my hands would
be covered with fruit
Things I shouldn't know and
things I shouldn't see
Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know
~ Generations, Sara Groves
3 comments:
I have read of many churches celebrating Christmas with Pageants that includean actual baby portraying the role of 'baby Jesus'. Our first
childRuth, was born December 12th, 1981 and was chosen to be 'baby Jesus' forour church's (Reba Place Fellowship) Christmas Eve service. Last year, ourgrandson, Charlie, born on Oct. 19th 2008, was chosen, also at Reba PlaceFellowship. But in prison no such ritual exists. I wasn't even thinking about babies being in Christmas plays back in 1972.This was yet another year in prison, the difference being this was my firstChristmas as a christian. The Christmas service held new meaning for me as wesang the traditional Christmas Carols bringing with it a hope for a new lifewith a redeemed future. Christian volunteers were a part of our service at theU. S. Medical Center for Prisoners in Springfield, Mo. As our service wound to completion a cry was heard. The faintwhimpering of a baby. My first thought was that I wasn't hearing what Ithought I had heard. I had been in prison for many years and had
never even seena baby inside of a prison (not counting my infrequent times in the visitingroom.) But there it was again, a baby crying. Someone, a volunteer, had broughttheir baby into the service wrapped in a blanket unnoticed by the guards. I thenthought, there was our 'babyJesus'. The parents of the yet unknown child were the children of an oldercouple (Lloyd and Nita Colbaugh) who had only a few years previously began theirministry to the prison. Even the great-grandmother, (Mom Carter) was a volunteerand had played a significant role in my own conversion, telling me that God hada plan for my life. Life would go on and the incident of 'baby Jesus' coming to prisonwould fade to a memory, until the baby grew up and now is known throughout manycountries far and wide as acclaimed Christiansinger/songwriter Sara Groves. I hope this story adds to your appreciation ofthe life of Sara and her
family.John C Thomson
Right on. Wait for His light, His timing, and run with what He gives TODAY. This moment, in fact.
Looking forward to babysitting tonight. Love you. anonymost
Hey Genevieve - Is this how I can get a hold of you, or is there a better way. I love your blog spot. I am sure it will be very encouraging to others. It was to me. Your personal stories and adventures are interesting, thoughtful, inspiring and some of them very funny. Thanx for sharing. Love - Rosie
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