Randy and I have a phrase we like to use when we are talking (or texting) about something that intimidates us or makes us apprehensive. I wouldn’t call it an inside joke, exactly—it’s more like a code between the two of us.
We might be discussing a difficult conversation we’re about to have. A problem we can’t figure out. An assignment we don’t like. An appointment we’re dreading.
Whatever the specifics, the one who is nervous inevitably comes out with something like this (spoken in our favorite southern roughneck drawl):
“… But I don’t care, ‘cuz I ain’t scared. I ain’t scared of NUTHIN!”
This isn’t false bravado or a warning sign that our grammar skills have left the building. It’s our way of letting each other know that yeah, we actually might be a tiny bit (or a huge bit) anxious, but we’re not going to let that deter us. We’re going to grit our teeth and push forward. We’re going to do what we have to do, no matter how hard it might be.
I. Ain’t. Scared.
It seems like we’ve been using that phrase a lot lately, especially when it comes to what we’re doing this very morning.
Shortly after I post these words, Randy and I will be on our way to the heart lab at a local hospital. There, he will undergo a procedure that we hope will relieve him of a heartbeat problem he has been dealing with for more than three years—one that has affected his quality of life significantly and could start affecting even more than that if it’s not corrected.
I’m in a waiting room today. Not a metaphorical waiting room where I’m anticipating God’s movement in some area of my life. An actual waiting room, most likely one with a coffee station and chairs set up around the perimeter.
I sat in a waiting room with my mom when my dad had his hip replaced. I sat in a waiting room with my dad when my mom had a 90 percent blockage in her carotid artery removed.
But I’ve never sat in a waiting room with myself, waiting for something to be done to my husband.
Those earlier experiences were somewhat nerve wracking because the doctors were working on my elderly parents and, while you always hope for the best, you never know what might go wrong in surgeries like they were having.
But this? This is different. That’s my soul mate in there—my best friend, my life’s love, my rock. I’m guessing this is going to be the longest day in recorded history, at least for me.
Can I lay it all out on the table for a minute? My biggest concern about what’s going on today is not that it will end tragically. It’s that the procedure won’t work. That, after all of this, the problem will still be there, disrupting Randy’s life in ways that only he can fully understand.
I know what it’s like to be restored after years of feeling bad, and I want that for my husband. I want it so badly it almost hurts.
These past many months, I’ve prayed for healing more times than I can count—that the Great Physician would simply touch Randy’s heart and remove this ailment completely. He could do exactly that, I have no doubt.
So far, though, no such healing has occurred.
I’ve prayed other similar prayers in my lifetime, prayers that received a firm no, followed later by the unfolding of an answer far more wonderful than I could have imagined.
Remembering those results bolsters my faith in a loving Heavenly Father who knows what we need more than we do, a God who promises to go before us and be with us, a Savior who died so that we could fully live.
I don’t know how this is going to turn out today. Based on what Randy’s doctor has told him, I have hopes and expectations. But I’m trying to hold all of those loosely.
I’ve been praying, “Not my will, but yours be done,” with increasing frequency and urgency—not because I think God’s will is something different from mine necessarily, but because it’s the only way I know of to dispel the anxious thoughts and cast my cares upon the only One who can do anything about them.
And, as silly as it might sound, I’m still saying, “I ain’t scared—I ain’t scared of NUTHIN.” In some strange way, it really does relieve the pressure and lighten the load.
Last week when I was writing this post, all I wanted to do was fast-forward to Wednesday—the day after the procedure. I wanted it to be over, done with, finished, successful.
But it’s not Wednesday yet. It’s Tuesday, the same day of the week I always post my blog.
So today, I have a tiny favor to ask. If you happen to think of it throughout the day and on into the night, would you mind praying for Randy?
If you were to ask him how he’s feeling, he might tell you he “ain’t scared neither.” But he’d still sure appreciate your prayers. And so would I.