The Cutting Fields

I'm not sure how much of my nose I'll have left when I'm 60. I'd prefer to keep all of it, but skin cancer seems to have a claim, and it's an opponent I have yet to conquer.

When I was a child, I was sometimes told I had a "pug" nose, so I added it to my list of "Those Things I Wish God Had Done Differently." But my thoughts changed when the doctor started cutting bits of it away. Suddenly my nose was most beautiful, and I desperately wanted to keep it. 

Even now, there's a cancer growing there. I've known about it for several months, buy I'm too chickenhearted to go under the knife again. My fear and vanity run deeper than this cancer. Those bright lights, the scalpel, the anesthesia wearing off before the cutting is done, the infection they tell you rarely happens (but it happened to you), the disfigurement, the tears, the sometimes months of healing--you don't forget them too soon, and the second time is only worse because now you know what to expect. 

And no doubt the fact that my last biopsy went a bit wrong has something to do with my denial and delay. It's not cool when the doctor misses a spot and cuts healthy tissue. But it happens.

Doctors misdiagnose. They prescribe the wrong medicine and misjudge the dosing. They cut more than is necessary just to be safe. They often guess at what's wrong with you. 

But how much good they do, too! I'm thankful for the skilled surgeon who has delivered my babies. I'm thankful for the skilled surgeon who put a bar in Ink's chest and then removed it years later. I'm thankful for the skilled surgeon who preserved Luke's eyesight. Yes. For all the mistakes, doctors do good, and we put ourselves under their care, knowing they're fallible.

In the flesh, my body is a cutting field. My back, my arm, my forehead, my nose--they've all seen the knife and there are scars to show it.

And my soul is one, too. 

God is that Master-Pruner. Everyday He's cutting away at those things that don't honor Him. It's painful, and He doesn't give me treatment options.

He doesn't need to. His cuts are perfect. The right spot. The right amount. The right timing. No guessing. No overdosing. No "oops, I'm so sorry. I needed to cut away at your unteachable spirit, but instead I hacked away at _______."

Perfect pruning.

And just like those surgeons who get the cutting right, God is doing me good. But the difference is that He is doing good all of the time.

Still, I fight it. I forget it. I resist His methods and His means--the difficult people, the interruptions in my day, the disappointments, the losses, the unkind words, disobedient children, rude drivers, broken appliances, the struggle to keep walking in His ways. And, I often tell Him with my murmuring and unsubmissive spirit what I'm saying when I refuse to deal with this cancer on my face--I'd rather stay this way. I'd rather have this cancer grow and require more cutting, and, "By the way, dear God, I'd rather you not make me more like Jesus."

Yep. I have trust issues. And pride issues.

But He'll also cut away at those, whether I want Him to or not. 

And He'll do it perfectly.

Thanks be to God.

With love,

Trisha