Dear Tumor

Dear Tumor,
This letter is long overdue, but today, I felt like I needed to tell you how I really feel. You entered my life sometime in the past, the exact date I'll probably never know, but you made your presence known that cold, March morning. I'll never forget the day I found you taking up residence inside my right breast...like an alien invader, you had planted yourself firmly and spread your tentacles deep inside.

Before we met, my life was good...no, it was more than good, it was blessed! I was happy, healthy, and whole. I was living my life to the fullest and enjoying every minute of it. I ate well, I played hard, I never expected you to come and disrupt my life, but you did. Before you came, I was the wife to an adoring husband, the mother to four very unique children, and the grandmother to seven wonderful blessings. I thought about the future and had so many plans...places to go, things to do, and people to love.

On June 5, at 4:25 p.m., I learned of your evil. The doctor's words, "it's probably nothing but a cyst" were untrue. When I heard your true name, "Cancer," I cringed. My whole world crumbled in an instant. I think my heart even skipped a beat, I'm almost sure of it. So many things changed in a split second and all because of you.

In July, I learned your name, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, such a big name for such a small tumor. But you were powerful. You had already grown and become stage 2B. I was determined to learn more about you and so, I Googled you. I read books about you. I asked questions about you. I came to know you well. When they said you were invasive, they weren't kidding! You invaded every part of my life. I was afraid of you and your potential. I just knew you were going to destroy every relationship I knew. How would my husband handle this? How would my children cope? Would my grandchildren understand? Suddenly, everything I knew became fragile. I cried myself to sleep at night. I whispered soft prayers asking God for healing.

Even after you were cut out of my body, I still felt your presence. You left your fingerprints everywhere. I tried so hard to erase you. I wanted to forget you. I wanted my life back. No matter how hard I tried, my life wasn't the same any more. It was different, and all because of you. But then I realized, you were a gift.

You taught me to live from moment to moment treasuring each one as an undiscovered blessing. You taught me that I had taken so much for granted before you came. You helped me learn to put things into perspective.

Before you came, I never considered my own mortality. Sure, I knew that one day I would die, but I didn't dwell on it. Thanks to you, I have been faced with my mortality daily. I understand that I am not promised tomorrow. You've given me the gift of learning Carpe Diem, to seize the day! Each morning I wake, I am thankful just for the gift of waking. I treasure things now that I didn't before, and I stopped placing value on things that shouldn't have it.

So today, tumor, I'd like to thank you for all you've done for me. You've completely changed me, both physically and mentally. You've left an indelible mark on my body and on my soul. I know you were chosen specifically for me by a loving God who planned to use you to teach me much. Yes, I am still learning and I know I will continue to learn in the days ahead. So thank you for the valuable lessons you've given me thus far.

My prayer, dear tumor, is that I will never see you again as long as I live. Hopefully, the radiation has killed every rogue cell that branched off of you and traveled through my body. Now, as I begin the healing process, I am still cognizant that you came to visit. While I'm thankful you came, I want you to know I wish I'd never met you. I wish there was a cure for you and others like you so none of my friends or loved ones would ever have to know you. Can I ask you a favor? Will you please promise to never touch the lives of our family again? Will you stay far away from those I love? Will you?

It has taken many months for me to be able to speak to you, tumor. It has taken me a long time to realize you were not just an evil invader, but a blessing in disguise. God has continued to whisper, "Trust Me," to my heart daily, and I do. I know that He is with me and even if you do come to pay me another visit, He has promised to never leave me.

I pray I never encounter you again, but I will offer you my humble gratitude. Without you, I would never have understood fully who I am in Christ. I would never have realized how much I took for granted. I would never have gained new insight and hope. So thank you, dear tumor, for blessing me. Though I will never know completely the reason you were chosen; I trusted God in your coming. He knows best what is necessary in our lives. All I can do is trust whatever method He chooses to teach me.

Gratefully yours and Humbly His,
Bonnie Annis

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Patient in affliction

Oh how wonderful it was to sleep late this morning. Just knowing I didn't have to get up and get ready for radiation was a huge blessing. Finally my skin could begin to heal and I hoped it would hurry up, because it's really gotten bad over the last few weeks. The burns on my neck are much more painful right now than the ones on my chest. (Did you catch that...I just said, I hoped it would hurry up...)

As I started to get out of bed, I heard this scripture in my mind -

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

Romans 12:12

Be patient in affliction...patient. BE patient. BE PATIENT IN AFFLICTION. Okay, Lord. What are You telling me here? Have I not been patient over the last several months of treatment? Have I been impatient? As I continued to seek Him, He continued to impress upon my mind the need to be patient. 

As a believer, I know my life will be filled with various trials. In fact, it's a given. His Word tells me in the book of 1 Peter that I shouldn't be surprised when I face trials that come to test me. But my response to the affliction or trial is a clear indicator of the depth of my love for God. This was really disheartening to me to realize because my response to affliction, trials, and difficult days was not a response that often pleased the Lord. More often than not, I found myself complaining. When I was in pain, I didn't respond first with a calmness and a patient heart...I griped and complained. After all, isn't that our nature as humans? We want others to share in our suffering? We want them to know and understand the intensity of our pain? We moan and groan hoping for sympathy. That was not the epitome of patience. Patience is long suffering. Patience waits in surrender. Patience. Did I even have any?

As I thought about how I should respond to afflictions, my thoughts turned toward 2 men in the Old Testament.  Job, of course, immediately came into my thoughts.  He is known for his patience during unbelievable circumstances. I've written about him in my posts before. Whenever a Christian experiences suffering, 9 times out of 10, solace can be found by studying the book of Job. Job must have been an amazingly strong man of faith. He lost his children, his livestock, his health and yet he never cursed God.  Scripture tells us that Job was “blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil.”  He was not a bad person, he loved God and lived his life to God’s glory.  So when his life fell apart, if anyone had a reason to say, “I don’t deserve this, this is not fair!  It was Job.  But, he didn’t do that.  He knew that his God loved him deeply and even if he never gained back all that he'd lost, he would always love his God.  Do I love that deeply?  Can I be as patient as Job?  Can I say, “If you take it all away, I will still love you and live for you?"  I really can’t honestly answer that.  I would like to think that I could, but I don’t know.  I know that my family has lost things that we once thought were "great," but looking back, we realized they were not so "great."  So there was really no loss.  Job experienced great loss and yet he remained patient in his affliction and God restored all that he had lost and blessed him twice as much.

Next I began to think about Joseph, the 11th son of Jacob.  His brothers were very jealous of him as he held the favor of his father.  They sold him into slavery where he ended up in Egypt.  His father Jacob was a godly man.  Though his sons were not as upright as Jacob, God still used them to build Israel.  But God set Joseph apart from the rest in order to fulfill a very special plan.  After Joseph had been sold into slavery he was sent to be a servant in the house of the Captain of the guard.  This was a great start for Joseph, until Potiphar's wife decided she wanted him for herself.  She was a very deceptive woman and had the trust of her husband.  She lied to him saying that Joseph tried to take her to bed and Joseph was sent to prison.  He stayed there for 2 years.  Genesis 39:21 says, “while Joseph was in prison, the Lord showed him kindness and granted him favor in the eyes of the prison warden.”  It says over and over that the Lord was with Joseph…in prison. So, I began to think...if I were Joseph, I would just want out of there.  I would never want to remain in prison, even if I had a fantastic job. I don't think I would have exhibited any patience! I would want out! But, Joseph never asked God to get him out of prison even though he was there for 2 long years. He had a lot of time to think about himself and about God.  He was stuck in a pagan land and his God was all he had.  He could either believe that his God would deliver him, or he could lose all hope.  He could be patient in his affliction or he could try to figure things out himself.

The deeper my walk with Christ, the more aware I am of the reality that no matter the reason for the affliction, my patience and trust in the midst of it teaches me more about the greatness of God than anything else.  Learning to embrace my suffering rather than trying to run away from it brings me into a deeper understanding of the sovereignty of God. I am blessed when I am patient in my afflictions. I experience God in ways that I would not if I did not choose this response.  I am loved by the faithful God of Job and Joseph...the God who never left them, but prospered them because of their trust and love.

I'm not always patient in my afflictions but I'm trying.   Lord forgive me for wanting instant relief from my pain. Help me in my weaknesses! Help me keep my heart searching for Your truth and Your hope. Oh how I long to be joyful in hope and patient in my affliction. Thank you for always loving me even when I struggle to be patient. Help me to remember you have a purpose for allowing me to suffer...that You have chosen to allow this for my own good. Father, thank you for always being strong when I am so very weak. Thank you for loving me through good times and through difficult times. You are so gracious and so merciful toward me even when I don't deserve it. Thank you, most of all, for sending your Son, Jesus, to suffer and die for me...just to partake in a tiny portion of His sufferings helps me understand the magnitude of the great sacrifice He made for me.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Zapping is a thing of the past!

This morning, I woke up early and jumped into the shower. I was so excited to know that this would be my very last day of radiation treatments. I dried off, got dress, and quickly blew my hair dry. It was going to be a great day! I donned my makeup and tiptoed into the living room. Laura, my daughter, and Heather, my granddaughter were still sleeping....or so I thought. I was surprised to see them already awake.

I made some waffles for Laura and I as she fed the baby her oatmeal. We enjoyed our breakfast and some light morning conversation before it was time for me to leave for the clinic. Happily, I waved goodbye and headed out.

As I was driving to the clinic, I was overcome with emotion. Yes, I was ecstatic that this was the last time I'd ever have to lie underneath that ugly, monstrous linear accelerator while it shot beams of radiation into my body but, I wasn't prepared for the next set of emotions that overtook me as I drove on. Suddenly, I felt fear. How was I going to deal with not having the routine of daily treatments? How was I going to feel without that "special attention" that the nurses and radiation therapist had been giving me for the past 7 weeks? They had become my new friends and now, I wasn't going to see them any longer. I wasn't going to have anyone to talk to during the day on a face to face basis. That was going to be an adjustment. Then I began to feel sad. I was sad to know that I'd be alone again. I was also feeling apprehensive. Now that radiation was over, I would move into the next phase of treatment which meant spending time with the oncologist. That would mean regular visits for blood work and PET scans. When would it ever end?

I arrived at the clinic and saw the daily newspaper laying on the coffee table in the waiting room. I picked it up and looked inside. There inside the front section was a huge article that had been written about me! I had talked with a journalist last week and he'd interviewed me for an article in the October community section of the paper. They were doing a series on breast cancer patients. After reading the article, I noticed several errors but it was too late to worry about those now that the article was in print. Taking the paper up to the receptionist's window, I checked in and asked if they'd seen the paper this morning. The receptionist and her coworker replied they had not seen the paper, so I handed it to them. I told them to look on page 6 and they'd see an article about me. It was fun to watch them as they read it.

When it was time for me to go back for my treatments, every single member of the staff congratulated me for this being my last treatment day. They were genuinely happy for me and each of them gave me a hug as I passed by. I felt like a celebrity!

Lying underneath the "big stink eye" as I liked to called the linear accelerator, I counted off the seconds for each section of my treatment. For some reason, the treatment seemed to go by faster than normal today and I was so happy! Before I knew it, the techs had come into the room and told me I was all done. Three sweet ladies told me they'd miss me and that they hoped I'd do well with the rest of my treatments. The nurse called me into a room and went over my aftercare instructions and set up a followup appointment. Then she handed me my "graduation" certificate.

As I walked out of the office, my heart was light. Finally, I'd finished this phase of my journey. Robotically, I got back into my car and drove home. As I drove, I created a mental check list: surgery, check. Recovery, check. Radiation, check. Healing...still working on it. Anti hormone therapy...still to come. Oncologist, 2 weeks. Radiation Oncologist 3 weeks. Breast Surgeon, 7 weeks...appointments, appointments, appointments. Test, and more test...when will this every truly be over??? I don't know. I would imagine I'll be following up with someone or other for the next year or so and then...what happens after that?

I was making my brain tired so I had to stop thinking. Let's back up and just take one moment at a time...that's about all I can handle well at this juncture anyway. So, I looked down at my feet and realized that I was in the car on my way home. That was a good place to be...going somewhere I knew well...the place where I was most loved...home...where I could feel safe and cared for...home. That's when I realized that old saying, "there's no place like home" is so very true...and I could hardly wait to get there! And that's when Matthew 6:34 popped into my head "So don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today." Yep. Just focus on today...right now...right where I am. That's enough, yep...that's plenty.


©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Cancer cards?

Waiting for my prescriptions to be filled, I browsed the greeting cards. I was looking at the various categories and wondering if there were any cards geared specifically toward cancer patients. Most of the cards I'd received in the mail, since being diagnosed,  were the standard "get well" cards and I remembered how I felt when I received the first one. Of course, the sender was just trying to convey her love and concern, but a "get well" card seemed kind of trite at the onset of my disease. Some of my friends had taken time to make cards with heartfelt sentiments enclosed and those were among my most treasured ones. The more I looked, I realized there were no cards specifically for cancer patients...what a shame!

I thought perhaps someone should make a line of cards primarily for breast cancer patients, but if they did, what would they say? Humor would probably be the best route to take when approaching such a serious subject. But even so, how would one begin? "Hair today, gone tomorrow?" That would be appropriate for a chemo patient or what about "bald is beautiful?" The more I thought about it, the more I realized it would be difficult to come up with a line of cards that was caring, kind, and appropriate. 

If I were to write a line of cards, I would write from a personal perspective. Since I've actually experienced breast cancer, I think I could do a pretty good job. For a newly diagnosed patient, I would make a card that said something like "I know you never expected to hear you have cancer, and no one but you can understand exactly how your life changed the moment you heard those dreaded words; but on days when you feel bad, when the cancer treatments make you sick and tired, when you feel like you can't cope, I want you to close your eyes and imagine I'm there with you, giving you a hug, then I want you to call and tell me what's going on. I'm your friend. I'm listening. I want to help." Now that would be a card that I would have liked to have received myself! One that really came from the heart. Maybe it would be better to keep it a little lighter and to the point..."Don't wait for the storm to pass, just dance in the rain..." or how about really short and to the point..."CANCER SUCKS!"

Card writing is certainly not my forte, but I do believe there is a need for a line of cancer cards. Since I love to write, maybe I'll put on my thinking cap and start coming up with my own line of greeting cards. I'm sure they wouldn't sell in major department stores, but I could always make them one by one and send them out to people as the need arises. Scrapbooking and papercrafting are among many of my favorite hobbies!

The final card in my new series would be one picturing a glamorous couple as they are ballroom dancing. On the back of the man's tux would be block letters N.E.D. The title for the card would be "Dancing with NED." Do you know what N.E.D. stands for...no evidence of disease! That's one dance that all breast cancer patients want to take! Those words, "you're dancing with N.E.D." are prized words that every breast cancer patient wants to hear come from their doctor's mouth. N.E.D. is like a "get out of jail free card" but instead of it being in the game of "Monopoly," it's in the real game of "LIFE." On the inside of the card, I would have to put "CONGRATULATIONS! in big bold letters. I don't know when I'll receive that card myself, but I'm hoping it will be very soon. If someone doesn't send me one in the mail when I am diagnosed as N.E.D. I'll just make a card and send it to myself :) Greeting card sentiments need to be full of positivity and hope and that would would definitely fit the bill.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Weapons of mass destruction

When I was a child, I loved going to Vacation Bible School every summer. It was a time when our church reached out to the neighborhood spreading the gospel of Christ to children who may never have heard the good news before. It was a fun time with games and crafts. It was also a time for memorizing Scripture and hiding God's Word in our hearts. Those dedicated men and women who volunteered their time to teach us will always have a special place in my heart. This morning, one of the songs from VBS popped into my mind:

I'm in the Lord's Army  (sung to the tune of the Old Gray Mare She Ain't what she used to be)
I may never march in the infantry
Ride in the cavalry
Shoot the artillery
I may never fly o'er the enemy
But I'm in the Lord's army!
Yes Sir!
I'm in the Lord's army!
Yes sir!
I'm in the Lord's army!
Yes sir!
I may never march in the infantry
Ride in the cavalry
Shoot the artillery
I may never fly o'er the enemy
But I'm in the Lord's army!
Yes sir!

I remember  that song so well! We would march up and down the aisles of the church singing at the top of our lungs. Little soldiers proud to be part of the army of the Lord. Little did I know that more than 48 years later, I'd still think about that song. As an 8 year old child back then, I was a new Christian and I was just learning how to prepare myself for spiritual battles that would come my way in the future. I'm a very visual person and as we sang our little song, I imagined myself suited up in battle gear...a metal helmet upon my head, a rifle stock in my hand, and heavy leather boots upon my feet. I was ready for action...or so I thought. Childhood games, what fun they were to play back then.

Today, I'm still a visual person. As I lay under the linear accelerator, receiving one of my last 3 doses of radiation, I began to hum "I'm in the Lord's Army." I began thinking, as the beams of radiation were being carefully aimed at my body, about the recent war I'd been engaged in and how my surgery had removed the immediate threat of Cancer when the tumor was taken out. Although the initial threat had been removed, there were surely rogue enemy Cancer cells lurking in my body. The battle raged on but this time, we'd pulled out weapons of mass destruction....radiation that would find those hiding warriors and wipe them out. As I hummed the chorus of the song, I found myself getting louder as I visualized the radiation zapping each and every single Cancer cell that remained in my body.

The radiation tech came in to adjust the machine and she'd walked so softly, I hadn't been aware that she was there. She made a comment about the song I was humming and I had to laugh to myself. She commented that she had never heard someone humming while going through treatment before and that I must be in a really good mood. I told her that I was and that I was just visualizing the radiation doing its work. I found that the more I visualized the radiation obliterating the Cancer, the more positive my thoughts became. Instead of focusing on the negative, the radiation burns, the fatigue, and the pain, I was focusing on how wonderful it was to know that the Cancer was being destroyed.

I couldn't help but think about Vacation Bible School again, but this time, I was remembering the story of David and Goliath. David was a young boy who loved his slingshot. He had practiced shooting it over and over again and had gotten to be pretty good with it. I imagine he used it to kill small birds or knock stacks of rocks over in fun but one day, his good aim took down a huge Philistine giant. Even though David took out the biggest threat, just like my initial cancerous tumor, the rest of the army still had to be dealt with...and that's where the radiation came into play.

Sure, I've had an occasional thought about the possibility of one rogue cell digging in and finding the perfect hiding place only to appear at a later date...but that is just fear taunting me. I remember once reading an acrostic for the word fear and this is what it said:
False
Evidence
Appearing
Real
Even though at times fear can seem to be very real, it has no power over me. My weapons begin in my mind when I hold every thought captive. If I can remember that my mind is where the battle begins, I'll have begun to win the fight even before it gets into full swing. Only 2 more radiation treatments to go...as I buckle up my boots and prepare to march, I know God's already got those radiation beams aimed exactly where they need to go and those nasty stragglers are going to be forced out of hiding and into the light where they can be zapped to kingdom come!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

"He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world" (1 John 4:4).

"The LORD is my light and my salvation— whom will I fear? The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom will I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1

He's the glue

Earlier this year we decided to put our house up for sale, the one we'd loved and lived in for over 21 years. It was time. Time to downsize...time to prepare for retirement...time to move on. In preparation for the sale, I began going through the house, room by room, looking for things that needed to be repaired or replaced. Living in a house that long, you don't notice the doors that creak, the floorboards that are loose, and the wallpaper that has yellowed...you just live there day in and day out because it's comfortable, it feels like home. So I decided to go out the front door and walk back into the house with "new eyes"...eyes of a guest...what would I see, where would I look, if I was someone else, what would I criticize?

I walked through the house into the entryway...nothing out of the ordinary there, except maybe a few touch ups of paint for the walls after our photographs were taken down. Those little nail holes would be nothing to fill in and paint over. Moving up the stairs, toward the bedrooms, I noticed more minor cosmetic flaws that would be easily taken care of by a little paint or glue. When I walked into the master bedroom, there was nothing that needed attention except the wallpaper I'd foolishly put up around the vanity area. I'd put up a more modern print to cover the 70s paper the past owners had used. Ten years or more had gone by since I'd glued and hung that first strip of paper. I examined it closely. At the seams, there had been some loosening. Wallpaper upon wallpaper...I had never been taught the proper way to hang it, so I'd done the best I could. I thought I'd done a fine job, but I noticed that the places where the seams overlapped had some gaps. The glue hadn't held well where the paper didn't meet the wall properly. Vinyl upon vinyl didn't hold together well. As I looked closer, I tried to decide whether I need to just add more glue or if I needed to take down the entire area. The perfectionist in me decided to remove all of it. The vanity area wasn't very large, in fact, it was probably only a 12 foot by 12 foot area. The wallpaper covered 2 entire walls and then partially covered the area around my husband's closet and the alcove. It shouldn't be too bad to tackle...maybe a day's worth of work.

Picking at a loose seam, I tore at the wallpaper thinking an entire sheet would easily come off in my hands. Instead of a large sheet of wallpaper, all I got was a tiny sliver...the glue held tightly. This wasn't going to be as easy as I thought, so I went to the hardware store and bought some wallpaper remover, a couple of large sponges, and a scraper. When I got home with my supplies, I spread a plastic drop cloth out over the carpet. I knew this was going to be a messy job. Donning my rubber gloves, I dipped the large sponge into the huge bucket of wallpaper remover and slapped it against the wall. Rubbing in large circles, I spread the remover around to cover a large section, as the instructions explained, and waited. The wallpaper remover had to soak through not only the vinyl wallpaper, but through paper backing and into the glue beneath. There were many layers and they did not want to let go easily!

When the wallpaper looked wet enough and ready to peel off, I took the scraper and pushed against the seam. Gently, I worked for fear of gouging the wall underneath. The vinyl paper and the paper backing came off fairly easily, but the glue did not want to let go at all. It took another application of the remover to loosen it to the point of being able to scrape it away completely.

What started out as a partial day's job, turned into a week's worth of work. Diligently, I applied wallpaper removed, waited, scraped, and reapplied it. It was soggy and messy and wet. Stips of wallpaper and gobs of wet glue lay splattered all over the drop cloth and on me. No matter how neat I tried to be with the project, it was insanely messy. I hated wallpaper and I vowed never to put it up again in my life.

Finally, after days and days of work, I had removed every tiny piece of that wallpaper. I stood back and looked at the naked walls. They were smooth and clean, ready for a coat of new paint. I envisioned the buyers remarking at how perfect the walls were and how they loved the paint color I'd chosen.

I waited a few days to make sure the walls were completely dry before applying a coat of primer and then the 2 coats of paint. When I completed the job, I stood back and looked closely. It was difficult to tell there had ever been wallpaper on these walls. If I had not known it was there, I would have thought these walls had only held paint for all these years.

Today I was reminded of those wallpapered walls. As I applied the Silvadene to my radiation burns. Instead of taking off, I was putting on. I glopped the thick, white cream on top of my burns in an effort to soothe the burning and itching. Layer upon layer, I applied the cream, waiting for it to sink in deep and do its healing work. The scars from the burns are deep and have made permanent marks upon my skin. I'm wondering if they'll fade way over time. Maybe when the radiation treatments are over, my skin will heal again, completely hiding the fact that I ever was burned. I'm hoping that over time my skin will look new again...fresh and rejuvenated, just like the walls with the fresh coat of paint.

Cancer has been messy. It has stripped away my dignity. It has robbed me of my femininity...but it has also revealed layer upon layer of deep seated emotions. As I peel back one at a time,  I learn something more about myself. The glue that has been holding me together has been my faith. Instead of wanting to strip away the glue, as I needed to do with the wallpaper removal, I don't want one tiny smidgen of my faith glue to be removed...in fact, I want more to be added!

There are layers of hurt and pain that have needed to be removed and I am thankful that Cancer has brought those to light. Without the experience of this deep level of physical suffering, those layers may have remained unexposed for years and years....but now I am able to peel them back one at a time, process them and move on. When all the layers, the protective layers that I've put up over the years, have been stripped away, all that will be left is my faith...the glue that holds everything together.

The buyers will never know the walls of their new house were recently covered in hideous, ugly wallpaper. All they will see is clean, nicely painted, smooth walls. And just like the vanity area, only I know all the hard work that went into peeling off layer after layer. Only I know the hard work that was involved in stripping it all away and it's the same way with this Cancer...only I know how it's changing me...stripping me bare and revealing weak spots that need a healing work...no, that's not entirely true...Jesus knows too because you see, He's the glue!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

A bird with a broken wing

As a child, I remember bringing a bird with a broken wing to my mother. With tear filled eyes, I'd gently scooped him up and carried him tenderly inside hoping for the best. As I laid the tiny creature on a soft, folded towel inside an empty shoe box, my mother showed me how to care for it. She reminded me that even though I'd brought this wounded bird inside, that he was still a wild creature at heart. He was not tame and would never be. She reminded me not to expect miracles but it was okay to pray for them. I listened carefully as she told me that God cared about this little animal, afterall, it was one of His creatures. Had He seen it fall from the nest, high in the tree...yes, He had. Did He know I would find it and take it to safety? Indeed, He did. I learned to love the wounded and broken, and to this day, my heart still aches for them.

I find myself feeling wounded and broken lately. It feels as if I'm falling. I am the wounded bird with the broken wing and I wonder, will I ever fly again? I see myself struggling on the cold, hard, ground...flapping around in circles, beating my one good wing as hard and as fast as I can, but going nowhere. I long to be scooped up and carried to safety, laid gently upon a soft place where it's quiet and peaceful so I can heal. Time ticks away, day by day, and I wait. My brokenness is painful. I feel alone and out of place. I wonder, did that little bird feel the same way when I took it from the ground where the air was fresh? Did its little heart beat faster as I carried it inside? Was it terrified as I lowered the top of the box casting it into total darkness?

There in the dark, the little bird rested. It was quiet and calm and peaceful. There was no stress. The broken wing could mend. Daily, I checked on him, offering water and food but without any luck. And then one day, I heard a scratching noise coming from inside the box...movement. Slowly lifting the lid, I saw the bird struggling for freedom, but the time had not come...the wing was still mending.

Many days passed by. I was afraid the little bird would die for lack of food, but he did not. The movement inside the box increased. Soon my mother said it was time to set him free. "But will he fly again?" I said. "We'll have to watch and wait and see," said my mother, and so we did. I carried the box outside, into the front yard, and as I lifted the lid to the box, the bird flew to his freedom. He never looked back in thanks, he just keep moving...soaring overhead as he knew to do. I watched silently from the ground below with a thankful heart.

I am like that little bird in so many ways. Through circumstances beyond my control, I've become broken and bruised...damaged. It is in my nature to want to be whole again, to be healed and well. On Wednesday, I'll finish radiation treatments. My body will need time to recover from the burns. I'll need to rest and let my cells rejuvenate. I'll need a quiet, restful place. It will take time and I must be patient. I long to fly but it's not time just yet. Will I fly again? Will I be okay? I want to think I will. I'm praying for strength to get through this and I know God hears my prayers. I know He wants me to be whole again...He wants to see me restored, but I'll be changed. I won't be the same again...I'll be different.

Does God have a heart for the broken and wounded too? I know He does. He holds them close to His heart and loves them into wholeness. I may not feel like I'll fly again today, but there will come a day when I will fly again...in fact, I'll not only fly; I'll soar. I just have to give myself time.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18