The Strength of My Heart
I've found myself in another one of those in-between spaces lately. In fact, it started somewhat similarly to the last in-between space: alone in an emergency room. The circumstances this time were much different. For several weeks I've been trying to ignore a dull ache in my left arm. There were other subtle signs and symptoms, but always I could rationalize them away without too much effort. Last Friday, though, was different. When I woke in the morning my heart was racing. It didn't stop racing all day. By mid-morning, I felt dizzy, with pressure in my head and shortness of breath. Something felt off. I had my co-worker check my blood pressure, and discovered that it was quite high for me. Still reluctant to do anything but rationalize things away, I returned to work. I had had a full cardiac work-up two years ago because of a family history of aneurysm. Most of my findings had been normal, but they had discovered a pericardial cyst. It hadn't been concerning at the time, and it likely wasn't contributing to the symptoms on Friday either. But my co-workers were concerned and urged me to call my doctor. "You need to be seen today," was the nurse's advice. Since it was a Friday afternoon, she recommended going to the emergency room to be seen and have some testing done. The family (and personal) cardiac history was enough to justify a work-up.
So I found myself in the same room in the same emergency room as I did just over a year ago. I had peace--I really did. The God who had made my heart and all of my other organs still held them here. But those in-between spaces, those quiet moments alone with our deepest fears--those are the valleys that test our strength. I didn't want to be worried. I didn't want anyone else to be worried. None of this was, is, a big deal. And yet, whether the danger is real or not, those quiet moments alone make giants of our smallest fears. My mom was wise enough to recognize that truth, and came to sit with me despite my protests. I am so grateful for the quiet hours we've spent together in emergency rooms...
A work-up in the ER didn't show anything significant, so I was sent home to monitor my blood pressure and follow up with my doctor first thing Monday morning. My heart rate remained high. My blood pressure lowered through the weekend, but remained abnormal for me. And the dizzy spells and pain into my left arm continued. I saw my doctor on Monday morning, who was very thorough in her work-up. She had labs drawn to look at my liver and pancreas. Tomorrow morning I will have an ultrasound to evaluate my gallbladder. And she wants a follow-up MRI to evaluate my heart and the cyst, "because that was a significant finding."
So here I am in the hours in between, the waiting hours. The symptoms come and go. But each pang and dizzy spell brings, in spite of my best effort, my worst fears to mind. What if it is my heart? What if this is serious? What if I need surgery? What if something happens before then? What if? What if? What if?
In the quiet moments, this song has been running through my mind: "Lord, you have my heart and I will search for yours. Let me be to you a sacrifice."
The same God who made my heart holds it even now.
And yet sometimes we feel so alone in the moments of waiting. He is here, but so is the potential for real danger, real hurt. He is here, but so is the possibility that things won't turn out like we'd hoped this time.
I searched through my Bible tonight for the word "heart." I was desperate for some peace. Verse after verse talked about the wisdom he gives us, about a pure heart, about a heart that follows after him. And then I came to this: "My flesh and my heart may fail."
I recognized the words instantly. It was a passage I had memorized, and loved, years ago. But tonight the words had new life. My flesh and my heart may fail. They may. In the most literal sense possible. In fact, someday they will.
I backed up and read the words around it, words I knew so well. Tears welled in my eyes as I read. They were brand new tonight, and I could swear they were written for me:
"Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:23-26)
God is the strength of my heart. He is the strength I don't have. No matter how my heart may fail, he is the strength of my heart. He holds it steady. He holds it secure. Nothing is going to happen to me that is outside of his grasp. I am always with him. He holds me by my right hand. No matter what is in store for me, I do not walk alone. The God who shaped my heart and first taught it to beat sustains me still. How can I ever put into words what that means?
And so we walk through these in-between spaces again. We may have answers soon; we may not. We may have the outcome we hope for; we may not. But in all the unknowns and all the inevitable fears, one thing remains constant. My heart is in good hands.
So I found myself in the same room in the same emergency room as I did just over a year ago. I had peace--I really did. The God who had made my heart and all of my other organs still held them here. But those in-between spaces, those quiet moments alone with our deepest fears--those are the valleys that test our strength. I didn't want to be worried. I didn't want anyone else to be worried. None of this was, is, a big deal. And yet, whether the danger is real or not, those quiet moments alone make giants of our smallest fears. My mom was wise enough to recognize that truth, and came to sit with me despite my protests. I am so grateful for the quiet hours we've spent together in emergency rooms...
A work-up in the ER didn't show anything significant, so I was sent home to monitor my blood pressure and follow up with my doctor first thing Monday morning. My heart rate remained high. My blood pressure lowered through the weekend, but remained abnormal for me. And the dizzy spells and pain into my left arm continued. I saw my doctor on Monday morning, who was very thorough in her work-up. She had labs drawn to look at my liver and pancreas. Tomorrow morning I will have an ultrasound to evaluate my gallbladder. And she wants a follow-up MRI to evaluate my heart and the cyst, "because that was a significant finding."
So here I am in the hours in between, the waiting hours. The symptoms come and go. But each pang and dizzy spell brings, in spite of my best effort, my worst fears to mind. What if it is my heart? What if this is serious? What if I need surgery? What if something happens before then? What if? What if? What if?
In the quiet moments, this song has been running through my mind: "Lord, you have my heart and I will search for yours. Let me be to you a sacrifice."
The same God who made my heart holds it even now.
And yet sometimes we feel so alone in the moments of waiting. He is here, but so is the potential for real danger, real hurt. He is here, but so is the possibility that things won't turn out like we'd hoped this time.
I searched through my Bible tonight for the word "heart." I was desperate for some peace. Verse after verse talked about the wisdom he gives us, about a pure heart, about a heart that follows after him. And then I came to this: "My flesh and my heart may fail."
I recognized the words instantly. It was a passage I had memorized, and loved, years ago. But tonight the words had new life. My flesh and my heart may fail. They may. In the most literal sense possible. In fact, someday they will.
I backed up and read the words around it, words I knew so well. Tears welled in my eyes as I read. They were brand new tonight, and I could swear they were written for me:
"Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:23-26)
God is the strength of my heart. He is the strength I don't have. No matter how my heart may fail, he is the strength of my heart. He holds it steady. He holds it secure. Nothing is going to happen to me that is outside of his grasp. I am always with him. He holds me by my right hand. No matter what is in store for me, I do not walk alone. The God who shaped my heart and first taught it to beat sustains me still. How can I ever put into words what that means?
And so we walk through these in-between spaces again. We may have answers soon; we may not. We may have the outcome we hope for; we may not. But in all the unknowns and all the inevitable fears, one thing remains constant. My heart is in good hands.
