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Anticipation sounds like a good thing, but I am currently anticipating a terminal diagnosis.  This past week, I have experienced some extreme symptoms of a disease that runs in my family.  I know there is still a chance that I don’t have this, that my symptoms could be caused by something else, but I don’t feel much hope.

When I was young, I always imagined that I would die young.  Young meant before twenty, but this, if I die in my forties, is also young.  I wish I could say that I’m handling this very well, but I admit I’m wallowing a bit.  I’m not ready for this.  I don’t even know how to handle the everyday items that have come up this week.  Do I need to go to the dentist if I’m dying?  My teeth really don’t matter that much right now.  How about laundry?  I don’t care about wrinkles in my scrubs, because I’m going to die.

But some things seem to matter more than they did.  Tuesday, when the kids got out of school, we went to the park and played on the playground.  It was only around 30 degrees out, and we had runny noses and pink cheeks when we were done, but that seemed immensely important to do.  We played and laughed, and I raced my son up the slide.  I’ve always loved the way it feels to go high on the swings.

So for now, I’m clinging to my faith.  I know that God has a plan for me.  Every bible verse I read, every devotion, every teaching video has extreme significance.  I hear God talking to me, encouraging me, leading me on.  There are two songs on the radio right now about miracles.  I don’t know what kind of miracle God has for me, maybe my miracle looks like healing, or maybe it looks like supernatural peace and even joy through this difficult time.

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