Eye of the Hurricane

by Donna Poole

She’s capricious; kind one day, the day next malevolent. We’re foolish to trust her, but year after year she captures us with her charms. Who can resist the reddening of bushes on the back roads, tiny leaves on lilacs, the cry of the red-wings, or evening magic of spring peepers? She gives us all these, but she sometimes slams us with ice storms or blizzards.

She’s Michigan March. She’s like the eye of a hurricane, tricking us into thinking the danger of winter storms is gone.

I have a writer friend with recurrent ovarian cancer. She calls her between-treatment times the eye of the hurricane.

I’m in the eye of the hurricane right now as I wait for the results of my fourth PET scan.

“Can’t you get it right this time?” I asked the PET scan tech. “You guys keep messing up, and I have to keep coming back for another one.”

He chuckled—once I explained I was joking.

As they fastened my head firmly between wedges and strapped me to the narrow scan table, I asked the two techs, “Can you help me find a friend I lost in here?”

I couldn’t move my head to see them, but I could feel the looks they were giving each other. Oh boy, here we go; she’s the crazy one of the day.

“Um, you lost a friend, ma’am? In here? In this room?”

“I sure did! His name is NED! Have either of you seen him?”

Long silence. I imagined their thoughts. Do we call psych before or after the scan? How well do we have her strapped down?

“You guys know NED! Lots of people have found him in this room, but I haven’t found him yet. He’s an acronym for No Evidence of Disease!

One tech laughed, relieved. “Oh! NED! I think he’s going to be my new best friend!”

“Mine too!” I said, as they slid me back into the machine.

Arms in an uncomfortable position over my head, I still managed to fall asleep. That’s my shining claim to fame, being able to sleep anywhere. Once I fell asleep on the phone talking to my daughter, Angie, and terrified her. When I didn’t answer her, she thought I’d had another stroke. I’ve fallen asleep in church. I know lots of people have done that, but how many of them are the pastor’s wife?

Not only did I fall asleep during the scan, I made a funny noise, woke up, and jumped. You aren’t supposed to move in those scans, but they said I hadn’t done any damage.

As I got ready to leave, I asked the poor tech if he’d found NED. It was unkind of me to ask; I knew they weren’t allowed to give any information to patients.

“I didn’t really see all your pictures….”

“It’s okay.” I smiled at him. “If you didn’t find NED this time, you can help me look for him next time.”

“That’s the spirit! If we didn’t find him today, we’ll help you find him next time.”

And now.

Now I wait for results. Did the cancer shrink or spread? Did they—glorious thought—did they find NED?

If NED is still winning at this hide and seek game, what comes next? So many questions, and only God knows the answers. He gives us hints in March.

I held my daughter Kimmee’s arm the other day and we walked around the yard looking for March’s signs of early spring. The lovely snow drop flowers always bloom first. We found rhubarb and tulips bravely forcing their way out of darkness into light. We saw trees full of birds singing loudly in a decibel competition. We felt the warm sunlight on our faces.

A bone-chilling blizzard might still come. An ice storm may make the birds wish they’d stayed south a bit longer, but spring, real spring will come. It always does.

The storms always return too, sometimes with a fierceness that freezes tears. What then? Which is true? Spring’s softness or her dangers? Both are true. How do we reconcile it; how do we understand?

What of life’s suffering; crushed hopes, unbearable pain, the death of kittens, and children, and young brides, and old grandparents, how do we understand that? We don’t.

We cling to God’s love and the fact that an eternal spring will win in the end.

The only thing that can thaw our frozen hearts when suffering and tragedy destroy hope is the cross. We don’t judge God’s love by how we feel or by circumstances we face; we can’t understand any of that. We evaluate God’s love by one thing only: Calvary.

I don’t know if softness or danger is coming to me, but meanwhile I’m resting in the eye of the hurricane and loving every bit of spring I find.

“God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this.

Let me straighten after pain as a tree straightens after the rain,

Shining and lovely again.

God, make me brave for life:

much braver than this.

As the blown grass lifts, let me rise

From sorrow with quiet eyes,

Knowing Thy way is wise.

God, make me brave, life brings

Such blinding things.

Help me to keep my sight;

Help me to see aright

That out of the dark comes light.” –Author unknown