Beneath the Surface

“Basal Cell Carcinoma.”

Her words ricocheted off the back of my brain before my ears actually heard them. She went on, in a voice deemed too cheerful for the moment, to describe the upcoming 4-hour procedure that would take care of this. Most of that time would be spent waiting for test results. “We will keep testing the tissue until we get rid of the cancer,” she explained.

Skin cancer. Really?

Within an hour, I had a date scheduled for the surgery and a list of a hundred unanswered questions.  

So, as do most of my unanswered questions, I started with my God.

What does this mean?

Have I really had it for over three years and never suspected it?

Does it spread easily?

How do I tell the kids?

Will my face look different when we are done?

Is this as big of a deal as it feels?

How does this change my future?

Later that night, I walked for over an hour in the darkness as the moonlight followed my chosen path. My prayers drifted up to a starlit sky I thought would never answer. Tears fell as long as necessary to cleanse my soul from the natural responses of doubt and fear.

Research would later assure me that this type of rather common skin cancer is not known to spread easily; this procedure, quite effective. A pang of guilt swept over me with the reminder that many of my friends and loved ones have fought  mightily against cancer, the internal, hidden kind of monster that destroys from the inside out.

This was not that type of battle. It didn’t change my feelings, but did shape them into perspective.

A few months from now, this episode may be nothing more than a tiny blip on the radar screen of our family’s journey. An unexpected blip, but I guess that’s what blips are made of.  The unexpected.

Isn’t that what makes them stand out? Isn’t that what  causes us take notice, when life is cruising along in one direction, just like we planned it, then it changes course without warning?

Isn’t that what brings us to our knees? Or causes us to look to the sky for answers? Or ask God a few tough questions, even if we find the possible answers frightening?

I’m convinced God has a permanent seat in life’s waiting rooms, as we wait for test results for which we cannot control the outcome. It’s in those moments we come looking for Him.

He knows this. And He’s there, always waiting and ready.

He also shows up on tear-filled nighttime walks through a newly-discovered darkness.

My tears dried slowly, and our private time was nearing its end. And for all my hurling questions, they finally got answered as the whispering winds kissed my cheek.

It’s my skin.

But it’s just on the surface.

It may leave a deep scar on my face.

But it cannot harm my soul.

Because that’s where you’ll find my God.

 

Like the stars in the night sky that tease of the brightness of Heaven, my scars may just leave a little more room for the light to shine through. 

And for me, that is reason enough to share this story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Janet Morris Grimes

Janet Morris Grimes earliest childhood memories were spent creating fairy-tale stories of the father she never knew. That desire to connect with the mysterious man in a treasured photograph gave her a deep love for the endless possibilities of a healing and everlasting story. A wife of one, mother of three, and Tootsie to four, Janet currently writes from her quiet two-acre corner of the world near Elizabethtown, KY. She has spent the last few years preparing to introduce her novels and children’s stories to the world. Her debut novel, Solomon's Porch, was released in August of '21 and is now available on Amazon. For additional information on Janet, visit her website at http://janetmorrisgrimes.com.

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