Sunday was the perfect Texas fall day. The temperature was in the mid-seventies with low humidity and there was barely a cloud in the sky. The nice weather and a growing case of cabin fever prompted us to take the girls to Hermann Park, a green expanse less than two miles from the apartment. Apparently everyone else in Houston had the same idea. We eventually found a parking spot and headed toward the playground.
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| Picture courtesy of http://www.arthursclipart.org |
Emmy loved it. She immediately immersed herself in the joys of being a kid: sliding, swinging, and running aimlessly among a hundred other children of all colors and creeds. “Daddy, watch!” She would yell dozens of times before the day was over. She delighted in showing me her playground skills and, of course, I delighted in watching her. She’s only four and a half, but sometimes she can seem so big. Other times, like this day, she is still a little girl, playing to her heart’s content, still learning and growing.
Then it hit me how much she still needs me. She needs me to protect her, to care for her, to teach her, and to comfort her. She needs the security that only a father can provide. I spent the next twenty minutes with a large lump in my throat and sunglasses hiding my watery eyes as I watched my little girl, smiling from ear to ear, without an understanding of her Daddy’s sickness and how precious this time is. This is the way it should be.
As I watched her and felt the weight of the moment, it struck me that the same is true of me. How much do I still need the security of my Father? How much do I need him to protect, teach, comfort, and care for me? More often than I admit, for sure. I need the peace that only He can give to me. Like today, when I learned that my bone marrow is still 18% leukemia cells. Not tragic news – it was 30% when I first got here –but I hoped for better. I start the expected second round of the clinical trial this afternoon.
And it’s not just me. It’s all of us. I sat in the leukemia clinic waiting room yesterday as I waited to learn the results of my blood work and last week’s lumbar puncture, which thankfully was negative. I had just finished the bone marrow biopsy, so both my backside and my ego were hurting. As I looked around the room, I saw patients and their loved ones, all of them hurting, all of them in need of a Father to care for them. Some were wearing masks to protect them since they have a weak immune system. Others were bald, the calling card of the chemotherapy that they are enduring. The telltale white patient bracelets give away those who look otherwise healthy. Old, young, frail, strong, recovering, relapsing. The common thread among them all is the need for a Savior, a Comforter, a Father to bring them hope and security amidst the chaos of their crashing world. Unlike my daughter, however, they know the implications of the battle being fought.
Sick or not, all of us need the love of our Father. To live as if we don’t is a lie that will be exposed sooner or later. Like our children, we were designed to be dependent on Him and thrive under His protection, casting our cares upon Him. This is the way it should be.
The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble? (Psalms 27:1b, NLT)
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7, NIV)