As I walked in the door, I noticed my answering machine blinking. I pushed the button, expecting the standard "Call me back" kind of message. Instead I heard my dad's voice.
"The doctor called and said there were cancer cells in the fluid they drained off my lungs. I've got an appointment with the oncologist. Do you want to go along so we make sure we hear everything right?"
My breath stuck in my throat. What would we be facing?
“Faith saith not ‘It is good for me, so God must have sent it’,
but ‘God sent it, so it must be good for me.’”
As tears filled my eyes, I exhaled.
Okay, God, I thought, one day at a time. Get us through.
The journey was difficult and ended in the worst way possible in my father's death, but I have to believe it was for my good. Those short months gave me much time with my dad, cultivating discussions we'd never had before, helping us come to an understanding we'd never had of each other. It forced us to say things we were to chicken to say before.
And Dad. . .he got to go to a better place--definitely for his good!
We don't have to like it. We don't have to understand. We only have to trust. If God is not good, how do we survive life on earth?
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