Sweet Potato
By Jean Southworth November, 2002
Since I learned of my cyst a week ago, I've woken a
couple times in the middle of the night and thought the worst. Stuff
about my kids, mostly. You can guess. I must be doing a little better
these past couple days, as I'm moving onto other worries, like cooking. Late Wednesday evening, I lay awake, fretting about
food. "I won't be able to make my 7-up Salad and famous sweet
potato casserole if I have my laparoscopy the week of
Thanksgiving!" Then it hit me, like getting smacked upside the head by
a (plastic) baseball bat. "Haven't you seen my hand at work in the big issues
related to your cyst? "Yes, Lord," I answered. "Then why don't you think my hand is already at
work in the little issues?" "Oh yeah, sorry, Lord. Of course. Excellent
point." Never before had God spoken to me with such clarity. I
stopped worrying. Immediately, I fell fast asleep. UPDATE December 23, 2002 On Thanksgiving Day, my cousin, Jeanne, made the sweet
potato recipe for me. On December 19, I had major surgery, lots more than we'd
thought. Thankfully, they found no cancer. It was the greatest Christmas
gift I've ever received. I'm home now and recovering as well as can be expected.
My doctors say "no weight lifting for 3 months and no housework for
3 years." (The last part was a joke, but I liked it enough to pass
it on. Perhaps my family will believe it.) I will be largely out of
commission for about six weeks, but writing is something I still can do.
Eating and sleeping are a couple others. More skills should return in
coming weeks. I am ever grateful for good health, caring friends and
family, and a God who never budged from my side... A God who repeatedly manifested in human form. More
Christ in skin. I remember regaining consciousness post-operatively
following surgery. While I couldn't open my eyes or speak above a
whisper, my hearing was precise. I recognized voices. Two nurse friends quietly told me their names, but I
already knew. They said, "We're taking care of you, Jean. You are
among friends." What a tender God we have. Someday soon I'll tell
these women just who they really were that afternoon. The teenagers are still here. Actually, they've never
left. They were here the night before surgery, while I was hospitalized
(in droves, apparently) and when I got home. They even accompanied Zach
to the hospital to visit me. Our friend suggested, "You should clear these kids
out, at least until after the holidays!" But you know, that hospital was a pretty sad
place--gloomy, quiet, dispirited. The teenagers are noisy, upbeat and
joyful: they are LIFE. I think I'll keep them around. As long as I don't
have to clean up after them.
