I have been trying to discern what God has been saying to me in the last few weeks.

 You see, as if 2020 has not been challenging enough with a global pandemic that has befallen us, plus the death of two very good friends, both to the ravages of cancer and each dying without a natural way to grieve and give them honor, but several weeks ago now it was discovered that my heart was not getting enough blood. I don’t feel like it’s important to go through all the details, but suffice it to say that two out of the three main arteries that are suppling my heart are not OK. One is completely blocked, and another is mostly blocked. In technical language, that’s really bad. The upshot? I will be undergoing multiple bypass surgery this coming Monday. Yikes.

 I guess it goes without saying that I am not super pumped about this. I mean, who wants to get their chest cracked open like a crab? The reality is, however, this is grave enough that if I do not yield to this procedure, my life will not continue for long. Shit, even writing that sentence felt like a bee sting in my brain. I find myself, and I’m trying not to be overly dramatic here, and I know they do a lot of these procedures successfully every year, face-to-face with my mortality.

 People have asked me over and over how I’m doing with all of this, and my answer is usually a cocktail of emotions… I’m afraid, I am anxious, sometimes hopeful, and occasionally I’ll tell people that I am trusting God. In other words, I’m all over the map.

 So, back to what I sense God has been trying to show me.

Robi shared a mental picture the other day with me that came to her while doing an exercise in a training she participated in. She was asked to imagine a safe place which led her mind to her floating in calm water and being held afloat while there. In so many ways, her imagined idea is what I’m sensing from Jesus. I am floating, suspended in open water, and sensing that Jesus is holding me. Yet, and this is from Robi as well, when I look down at his hands, all I see are other people’s hands, literally thousands of others. They are holding me safe without any fear of danger. Those hands represent the physical Body of Jesus, the church, in real-time in the picture. These hands create safety and embrace and certainty of one thing: I am loved, I am the beloved.

 Those hands, the hands of Jesus, were and always will be my Rock to stand on (another metaphor) and my fortress to protect me. The same hands that held me before I received any news of having a fragile heart are the same ones that will be thereafter, regardless of outcome…for me and my children.

 I have had literally hundreds of people write or call me to confirm their love for me and express their commitment to pray for me. So many that I’ve even become a bit weary of typing the two words, “thank you,” even though my heart erupts with that sentiment.

 Jesus’ message to me is: you are loved with an everlasting, long-suffering, ever-present, affectionate love. You are my son, in whom I take great pleasure. I am with you… Look at the hands and you will see.

The Gospel.