Since my last post and as of right now, I still have no news. I keep getting told that no news is good news. And honestly, that might be true. Some have told me that if it was malignant then they would have told me right away. I’m not so worried about it being malignant as much as I’m worried it’s going to be inconclusive. Because then I’ll still not know and we’ll have to go digging to find out. Literally.
Right now, for some reason, my mind keeps going back to the Russian Orthodox churches I visited in both Grand Rapids, MI and the Ukraine. There was something about them that struck me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading Phil Yancey’s Reaching for the Invisible God recently. A book about faith and God’s holiness.
I’m not sure.
But I’ve been thinking of God’s holiness. The one thing I remember about visiting mass at the Russian Orthodox Church years ago was the holiness. The father would enter into the sanctuary from behind curtains in front of the sanctuary. He entered in with a ball of incense singing scripture (The father was singing scripture, not the ball of incense). There was something holy about that moment. God wasn’t the God of the praise songs I knew and loved. He wasn’t that happy buddy Christ. He was different. He was not of this world. He was special and revered and respected.
I’ve been wondering why I’ve been reflecting on the Russian Orthodox Church. It boggles my mind, I think of a holy God, a wholly other. One who is, was, and always will be. One who is outside of time itself, the one who is always. One who the very entering into our world creates miracles and changes in nature.
I keep thinking of a God who is so wholly other and yet so personal. Not the buddy Christ, the smiling, slap you on the back type of God, but one who is so personal that He allows you to beat against His chest in anger, yelling and screaming at him. And at the same time allows you to cry in His arms, being sung songs of deliverance. And the same God who does this also cries and mourns with you. And yet he is outside of it all. He knows the beginning and the end because he created them both.
He’s also given me the freedom I need to decide if I want to cry in his arms or be a three year-old child who throws a pitty party when I don’t get what I want. In His holiness, I have that choice.
And so I prepare myself for the good news, waiting to rejoice. Knowing that I’ll still need surgery in the next few months, but rejoicing that it isn’t something so scary. I’ll be a scared but in a different way. And if it is malignant, I will beat against His chest in anger and I will cry in His arms. Why? Because I can and I’ll want to.
Either way, I’m not alone. And I will conquer the mountain, God helping me.