Several months ago I wrote a goodbye note here. I was weary. Worn out. Busying myself with finishing college and beginning a new chapter of my life as a teacher. I was a little lost and unsure of this writing life.

How many times in my thirty-six years have I quit something, when I should have merely paused to breathe?

The last six months have been a whirlwind of exciting, challenging days spent as a new third grade teacher. I finally completed my lifelong goal of becoming an educator. Then suddenly, Jesus pulled the brakes and everything slowed to a screeching halt in a matter of days.

One afternoon at school, I became instantly overwhelmed with intense pain, nauseau, and overwhelming feeling that I was on the verge of fainting. I managed to make it to the end of that day. However, by the time I got home from school, I could barely walk.

A trip to urgent care ended with me in the E.R. After a series of tests, I was told I had cysts on both ovaries and would need to schedule an appointment with my gynocologist. I immediately did so, and was sent for more tests and lab work.

The day after Christmas I sat in the doctor’s office and heard the words, “Your lab work does not look good. You’ll need surgery but I’m not the one to do it. I’m referring you to a specialist. In the event this is cancer you’ll want to be under the care of someone who specializes in this.”

And there it was. The one word that changes so many people’s lives. Cancer.

Just breathe.

The doctor waited. Watching me, as though she thought I might fall apart. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It hadn’t fully sunk in. All I could think was about how young I am. And how young my children are. And then, finally, Okay, I can do this. If God gives me this, I know He will be with me through it. No matter what.

In the one moment when I had every reason to be scared witless and worried senseless, I wasn’t. I think some of my family and friends who know what a chronic worrier I am wondered if I was hiding fear. But I truly wasn’t.

I saw the specialist the following day, who talked me through my options. Because there was no way of knowing whether it was cancer until having surgery, I decided that I didn’t want to take any chances. I opted for a total hysterectomy. At that point, it became a waiting game. If the cysts appeared cancerous upon removal, more biopsies would be done, then further options for treatment would be discussed post-surgery, if necessary.

On Monday, January 14, I was admitted into the hospital. My mind at total peace. My soul ready to meet my Maker, if that be the case. I even made the remark to my sister and husband that morning that I was nervous because I wasn’t worried. Silly, yes.

He’s got the whole world in His hands…

Several hours later, piercing pain. And then the report we’d waited the last three weeks for.

No cancer. All is well.

I’m told the doctor was amazed that I haven’t been in extreme pain and for a longer amount of time. Endometriosis had overtaken my body and was more severe than the doctors originally had thought.

I can’t help but smile. This is how my God works. In mysterious ways.

Five days later, I sit in this worn, brown recliner at home. Recovering. Thankful. Tossing over and again in my mind how I quit this call to writing when I’d grown weary. Tucked it away, thinking it as worn-out as I.

Then Jesus reminds me how He gave me this talent. And that He requires more from those to whom much is given. I can choose to bury this God-gift or use it for His glory.

So I heed the call. This call to something more. Because He is worthy of all glory and honor.