Why eating poorly is sometimes a good thing

Three years ago today, on November 2, 2012, I had the biopsy on my left breast, the one that tried to kill me. Four days later, I got the worst news of my life: kanswer.

Blah blah blah.
Chemotherapy.
Hair lost.
Surgery.
Other body parts lost.

I find it hard to believe that nearly three years have passed since my diagnosis.

Anyway, I went to the doctor this morning - the oncologist. I go see him every six months to prove to him that it is possible to live well after kanswer. To be healthier than ever.

Because I hate getting weighed at the doctor's office (why are the scales at doctors' offices always meaner than the ones we have at home?!?), I didn't eat breakfast before my appointment in a foolhardy effort to weigh four ounces less than I would have weighed if I had eaten a bowl of oatmeal and had a cup of green tea.

As soon as I got the all clear from him and made an appointment go back in six months, I headed across the road for a bagel sandwich.

Dare I confess it fully? I ordered a rosemary olive oil bagel with butter, an egg, and turkey sausage. And I washed it down with a cup of dark roast coffee.

Eating poorly is sometimes a good thing - it certainly tasted good going down.

As I stood at the counter waiting for my bagel sandwich to be constructed, I looked over towards the cash register and saw a local television personality, a weatherman from one of the nearby affiliates. He also happened to be a former pastor at a former church of mine. I remembered his high energy and sense of humor and couldn't suppress the smile that floated across my face.

I got my food and sat down to eat and read about the Crusades (seminary reading at its finest). He sat a few tables away with his computer open, two notebooks open, a phone on the table, and pens nearby. He was lost in his work.

Every few moments, I felt an urge to speak to him. To thank him for his service at the church. But I kept resisting the impulse; after all, he left the church between eight and ten years ago. And he was clearly engaged in important work at the moment. Typing and writing. Writing and typing.

I got up from my table to dispose of my tray, and after doing so, I stopped at his table.

"Although I know you are on television now, and I appreciate the work you do there, I just wanted you to know that I still remember you as one of the most energetic pastors ever at _________ Church."

He threw his hands up in the air, literally both hands, as though as I had pulled a gun on him, and nearly shouted his response. "What? Oh my goodness. I can't believe you remember that. That was so long ago."

He pointed to the spiral notebook on the table and said, "I was just writing in my morning devotional journal about how discouraged and disheartened and stupid I feel. I had just asked God to encourage me in the eternal."

He read directly from the page his journal was open to.
Then he looked up at me and asked, "What is your name?"

"Gail."

He picked up his pen, wrote a few words, and then read them to me:
"Gail is the answer to my prayer."
Then he added, "This is such a God moment."
I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "I love God moments."

A few minutes later, after saying farewell to my new friend, when I got into my car to head up to church for a meeting, I chuckled to myself as I thought: "If I hadn't made the decision to hold off on breakfast at home, if I hadn't decided to eat that fatty, buttery, delicious bagel sandwich this morning and sip that hot sweet coffee, if I didn't have the three year follow up appointment to the worst news I ever received in my life, I would never have been the answer to that man's prayer this morning."

That, my friends, is why eating poorly is sometimes a good thing.