What it says and What I hear...

Habakkuk 3:17-19 says: 

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
he enables me to go on the heights. 

What I hear:

Though the diagnosis wasn't what I had hoped for
and there are several rounds of healing therapy to be endured,
though my locs are gone and the rest of my hair will soon fall out,
though the strength slowly seeps from my body with each round,
though surgery will be followed by radiation,
though everything I thought I knew about my body,
about my health, about good nutrition and exercise
proved to be inadequate in keeping kanswer from invading my body,
I will YET praise God.
I will praise God still.

Though I feel profoundly alone and anxious at times,

though I sometimes scream out, "why me?"

though no clear or reasonable answers come my way,

though well-meaning friends try to come up with explanations

and end up insulting, belittling, and criticizing me and my faith,

though some of the people I thought I could rely on most withdraw

while offering weak excuses for their lack of involvement and support,

I will yet crawl into my Sweet Momma Jesus' lap

and be loved, caressed, and held closely by The One who Loves Me Most.

Though my tastebuds no longer function as they used to,
though deep and restorative sleep evades me most nights,
though dizziness and light-headedness deprive me of good balance,
though short walks feel like marathons,
though Christmas decoration and shopping, baking and cooking aren't getting done -
wait, I'm glad I don't have to do that stuff -
though much of what this time of year usually demands of me will be left undone,
I will yet praise him, The Long-Expected Jesus.
I will yet welcome the newborn king into the manger of my heart.
I don't have much else to offer this year,
but perhaps that should have been the goal all along.

The Lover of My Soul walks with me
to and through every treatment,
sits with me and holds my hand during every injection,
lies beside me, sings me lullibies, and embraces me every night,
gazes deeply into my tear-filled eyes,
never turns away from my pleas for mercy, rest, and strength,
and every time I am feel like I'm about to stumble and fall
he upholds me with his righteous right hand.


Together, Lord, we will travel this long journey,
this camino, this long and winding road,
together we will slowly make our way thru the valley,
through the woods, through the desert,
through the fire, the water, and the floods.
We will get to "the other side of through."
We will not remain in this dark and difficult place because,
as my uncle said back when Kristiana was in her own dark valley,
"This trial did not come to stay. This trial came to pass."

No matter what, no matter where, no matter how tough this way may be,
I will yet praise you,
My Rock, My Redeemer,
My Father, My Mother,
My Healer, My Deliverer,
My Constant Companion,
My Savior and My Friend.
I will praise you still.