stretched

 As I lay on the stretcher, my surgeon stopped by to say hello and give me a "here we go." A scrub cap was jauntily perched on his head, and his blue scrubs were partially covered by a bright yellow rubber apron. He held two bottles of Coke and showed off his way of using the two bottles against each other to pop the lids off. A cool spray hit my face from the fizz.

When we returned to Africa for a summer, emergency surgery was not in our plans. But here I was ... my appendix apparently was acting up. Since I needed a hysterectomy, I asked him to add that to the surgery. "Two for one, or something like that." Only one recovery. But definitely faith-stretching.

There is a whole lot more to this story that I won't go into, but top in my memory is the word "peace." I was not too sick to be fearful of surgery in a small African (city) clinic ... not knowing what to expect or how my recovery would go. We had knocked on the door of the American embassy late the night before and "dashed" someone a case of coke to type and cross match my blood so we could line up potential donors if I needed blood. An older nurse among our colleagues there was going to assist the surgeon, and watch out for me afterwards. We were as ready as we could be in a rush. To this day I remember so very clearly the peace that filled me as they wheeled me under the big lights in a sterile-looking "operating theatre." I had the greatest sense of my heavenly Father carrying me in His arms to my surgery. And staying the whole time.

This week marks 25 years since that momentous experience. Tears still come when I think about the peace I felt. I often share it with friends when they go for surgery. It was tangible. It was real. It was truth.