Looking back over the last few days I am amazed at how quickly things can change. Steve wanted to take me away for my birthday. He couldn’t decide if we should rent a cabin in the mountains or take our little camper and go to the beach. Before he could make up his mind he was in the hospital.
We had anticipated being together and watching the sun set over the mountains, or perhaps watching the sun rise and cast its light on the waters. The last week of February had begun with questions about where to celebrate a birthday. That same week ended with my calling my son in Lithuania and telling him to come home because we didn’t know how long his father had to live.
During this month we have been in and out of the hospital, without answers but with the understanding that something terribly wrong was happening. This morning I was looking through the pages where I record my days. On Monday of one week I found the hopeful entry that a well-respected doctor had told me that at last we would get to the bottom of this mystery. On Friday of that same week I was told that Steve only had a short time to live.
At first I felt that one doctor had given me hope and the next doctor had taken it away. Then I paused, took a deep breath and remembered the first time that I had begun to understand hope. It was at a funeral. The preacher said, “ Hope is a confident expectation of good. Hope is based on the Person and promises God.”
My hope isn’t something that circumstances can give or take away, otherwise I would be at the mercy of the storm that we are in right now. Instead, my hope is an anchor that grips a solid rock. The storm is raging all around me. Life is changing so fast that sometimes it’s hard to breath. But I’m not at the mercies of the storm, and my confidence is in an Almighty God.
Thanks, Sarah.
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