Tuesday I lay on a narrow strip of  table inside a PET Scan machine.  In I slid.   I was in this tube because last week the dermatologist’s nurse phoned with my biopsy result:  “Malignant melanoma”.

Not what I wanted to hear. I’ve had a spot on my bald head for years.  A decade and a-half ago, another dermatologist told me it was an “age spot”.  In the last month, a small bump formed. The dermatologist removed it for biopsy.  Melanoma.

Besides the extent of cancer (which we won’t know until Monday), the PET Scan tested my endurance.  Ninety minutes.  In a tube with my nose almost touching the top.  Lying still.  Every five minutes the table slid out–six inches.  I counted minutes.  Prayed.  Tried to sleep (nope).  Fantasized about food (only 2 eggs at six a.m. and it was noon).  Thankfully I was in feet-first, so my head escaped first.  Then came a brief (thankfully) CT Scan.

The PET Scan will show the cancer’s extent.  At this point, to me, all outcomes seem bad.  Only if the test shows nothing (because the Lord drove out the caner), will it be good.

But, why was I on that table  at all?  I’m a child of the King!

Honestly?  Some days I feel like I’m left to suffer like an orphan.

To make matters worse, “cancer” has suddenly shown up everywhere–in books, on TV shows, on the Internet and in conversations.  For example, among the books I’m reading is, Same Kind of Different as Me. It’s  an entertaining read until the husband’s wife dies of cancer at a young age.  After the funeral and burial, he writes . . .

“My fear gave way to anger, and I had plenty to go around.  But as I fired arrows of blame—at the doctors, the pharmaceutical industry, cancer researchers–clearly the bull’s eye was God.  It was he who ripped a gaping and irreparable hole in my heart. Without a gun or mask he robbed me of my wife and stole my children’s mother and my grandchildren’s grandmother.  I had trusted him, and he failed me.

“How do you forgive that?” (p. 203).

I identified.  I’ve found anger rising in me.   After all, isn’t Primary Lateral Sclerosis, with all its rotten symptoms, enough?  Now melanoma.  Like husband, Ron, “I had trusted [God], and he failed me.”  Angry?  I’m ashamed to admit it.

Some say it’s a sin, like John Piper . . .

“ . . . being angry at God is never right. It is wrong – always wrong – to disapprove of God for what he does and permits. “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). It is arrogant for finite, sinful creatures to disapprove of God for what he does and permits. We may weep over the pain. We may be angry at sin and Satan. But God does only what is right. “Yes, O Lord God, the Almighty, true and righteous are Your judgments” (Revelation 16:7).

I add to that Paul’s rebuke quoted in my last blog . . .

“But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? ‘Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?'” {20 Isaiah 29:16; 45:9}

Okay.  Disapproving of “what God does and permits “, “talking back to God”,  is arrogant.  But what about my feelings?  Should I pretend I’m content when I’m shaking my fist?  And what about the psalmists?  I always assumed their “why” questions came from desperation.  But, couldn’t they be expressing anger?

“Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1).

“How long, O LORD? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long will my enemy be exalted over me?” (Psalm 13:1,2).

“Awake, O Lord! Why do you sleep? Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever. Why do you hide your face and forget our misery and oppression?” (Psalm 44:23,24).

“Why have you rejected us forever, O God? Why does your anger smolder against the sheep of your pasture?” (Psalm 74:1).

“Why, O LORD, do you reject me and hide your face from me?” (Psalm 88:14).

Maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe the psalmists are  just despondent.  Maybe the psalms’ contexts rule out anger.  It’s still hard for me to think that, when  boldly expressing emotions in suffering,  these psalmists don’t have a bit of anger mixed in.

In any case, there are days when my anger rises.  Piper tells me what to do with it . . .

“But if we do experience the sinful emotion of anger at God, what then? Shall we add the sin of hypocrisy to the sin of anger? No. If we feel it, we should confess it to God. He knows it anyway. He sees our hearts. If anger at God is in our heart, we may as well tell him so, and then tell him we are sorry, and ask him to help us put it away by faith in his goodness and wisdom.”

So:  that’s what I’ve got to do.  Tell God I’m angry at him for allowing another affliction.  Then tell him I’m sorry and ask his help to get rid of anger by faith in his goodness and wisdom

By the way, Tuesday, for this old body, was a wearying one.  But I had my beautiful wife and daughter, Missy, with me.  They brought smiles and laughter and support.  They helped get me into and out of our truck, out of my wheelchair and onto the narrow PET Scan table, off that and back into my wheelchair,  out onto the CT Scan table and back  into my wheelchair, and finally out of the chair and into the house!  A herculean task when I have no strength in my legs!

And the Holy Spirit’s presence surrounded me though it all.

Plus, my stomach outweighed (no pun intended) my weariness:  after the test ordeal, we stopped at Cracker Barrel for a meal I long-wanted–“Momma’s French Toast Breakfast.”  We often stopped at a Cracker Barrel on vacation trips; so it brought back warm memories (and momentarily alleviated my anger).  But this prayer is still needed . . .

“Lord, cancer is too much on top of PLS.  How could you allow it?  I confess I’m angry..  And I’m sorry for it.  Please help me get rid of it by faith in your goodness and wisdom, which has always blessed my life.  Amen.”

 

 

 

 

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