"It's a good day!"

Nine years ago today...

From When You Can't See The Shepherd, Chapter 3, pp43-44

"October 28, 2013, was a cold, dark morning. Around 5 AM, we bundled Casey into the van, still in his pajamas, and made the trek to the Cardinal Bernardin Cancer Center at Loyola University in Maywood, IL. With great apprehension we sat with him, waiting for him to be taken back for a biopsy. Nervous laughter punctuated the tension as he began to humorously respond to the medicine they give before surgery. Finally, it was time to let him go.

While the biopsy only took about an hour, it seemed like days. Finally, we were taken to the consultation room to wait for the oncologist. The door opened, and my heart was in my throat. The oncologist walked in, still in his surgical scrubs and the mask still over his face. He removed the mask, and a big smile broke out on his face as he declared, “It’s a good day!” Overwhelmed with emotion, I wept with gratitude for God’s goodness.

The growth in his bone that had appeared to be a tumor turned out to be a benign fibrous dysplasia. Subsequent follow-ups over the years have showed no change, and as I write this, Casey is an amazing sixteen-year-old high school junior, terrorizing the roads with his learner’s permit.

To this day, I cannot even think about that moment in the consultation room, much less talk about it, without the tears beginning to flow again. Moments like these are why God told Israel to set up monuments and not remove them; their children could then look back, hear about, and see the faithfulness of God.

Trials hurt. The valley gets dark. Testing is never easy; but, if we look back, we will see that God has always brought us through and will continue to do so. If we don’t quit in the middle of the story, we too can come forth shining like gold."

 

Deer Stand Devotionals: His Eye is on the Sparrow

Momma robin feeding her fallen baby

Last night we tried to rescue a baby robin. It had fallen out of a nest earlier in the day. It couldn't fly, although it was desperately attempting to. All day I watched it alternate between resting and trying to flap its way back to the nest. I watched momma robin continue to feed it and chase away other birds. I listened to her frantic cries whenever we came within ten feet of her baby, even though we meant it no harm. We were simply checking on it. 

As dusk descended, we were faced with a decision. I knew the terrible fate that was lurking in the tree line.