Maybe you know this about me, maybe you don't. I have had three kidney transplants, the most recent coming three years ago. Three times in my life I have gone from the peace of the reality of good health to the reality of declining health accompanied by the myriad of complex and hard to explain emotional, spiritual and physical complexities. As I have written elsewhere, I am a better person for this all, though I never would have chosen this path, God's has deeply shaped me through these trials, for which I am deeply thankful, yet the pain of the process still lingers, still scares me from time to time. Like I said, it is complicated.
Every three months I get my blood tested, then a couple of days later visit the nephrologist. As the days approach, my mind starts to question my body, inventorying anything that might signify that something might be going bad; "Am I more tired than usual?" "I felt a little sick the other day." "My feet seem to be swelling" "Is my skin itching?" As the days approach, I think of reasons to cancel the appointment -- maybe it would be better not to know if something is going wrong, after all, you don't know what you don't know; ignorance sometimes seems bliss.
I got my blood taken last Thursday and went to the doctor today (we had to take my daughter to the airport today and I thought that might be a good reason to cancel the appointment -- we'd either have to come home and then back to Seattle, or find a way to kill 4 hours). I didn't cancel, I made my appointment.
I seem really cheery at my appointments, making small talk with the assistant as she takes my blood pressure (blood pressure can spike if your kidney is failing). Today she finished and said, "your blood pressure is good, 120/70, I'll go get the doctor." I had half expected her to look at the readout, scream and run for emergency help. So far so good. The doctor comes in, asks how things are, small talk, NCAA hoops, and then . . . the papers are in front of him, the papers with the results from Thursday's blood tests. The numbers tell the story now, what will they say? The time between him starting to peruse them and his speaking to me seeming to take forever. "Your Creatinine is 1.3." A simple sentence, the meaning of which most people would not know or care. But for me? He might as well have waved a magic wand over me and said "carefree." 1.3 - normal, 1.3 - healthy, 1.3 - a very well functioning kidney. Immediately I feel great. No tiredness, no itching, no anything. I feel great. I've been healed -- for three months.
Sometimes when somebody finds out about my health history, they say something like, "I can't imagine what it would be like to know that your kidney could fail." I love the discussions that ensue when I tell them the reality; "we are all day to day, I am just more aware of it than most people."
Life is too short, or more accurately, we have no idea how short or how long it will be. Jesus says "I have come that they may have life and have it to the fullest." Is that your experience? I find that when it is not, it is often because of living in fear. God does not want you to waste your life, God does not want you to be afraid. He wants you to trust him -- with everything, and in the process experience a peace that is completely unexplainable. Every day God is calling you into an amazing Kingdom partnership with him - and he offers you fearlessness, a spell cast as we trust him, which says "carefree." What is God is calling you to, but that you are afraid to do? You may not have tomorrow, we are all day to day.
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