This place that I'm sitting right now? This suspension between hope and dread that makes me catch my breath, makes me hold my breath, makes my heart seize? yeah, I can hardly sit in this space. I haven't counted the # of scans because I don't want to. This last moment of hope before having hopes dashed is the worst. I've gone into every single scan with hope. But if I'm completely honest right now, I'm just mad at hope. Mad at the promise that doesn't deliver. If you want to be critical of that, be my guest. Come sit in my seat.
This past week I served on a jury. It was weighty. It's not an easy seat to sit in, listening, weighing facts, deliberating justice, rendering a verdict. As the 12 of us discussed and re-hashed the facts of the case and the unspoken impressions of the case I was thinking of the defendant out there waiting to hear our verdict. Sitting in that seat, knowing his future was in here with us.
At the end of the day, I am grateful that I can leave the verdict of this scan tomorrow in God's hands. I know at my core that if the word tomorrow is terrible, shattering and on it's face feels like complete cruelty, the one who yielded that verdict is trustworthy, loving and sovereign. He sees what I cannot see and therefore often allows what I would never. God renders pure justice, not the frail, uninformed justice of men. So I leave tomorrows verdict with him, and yes, I still hope.
