Just a Little Talk with Jesus

Dedicated to all who are living in limbo

by Donna Poole

Lord, I’m tired; I’m grumpy, and I’m scared.

I’ve noticed. I know why; but do you?

I don’t know my own heart, and I don’t trust the parts of it I do understand. So no, I don’t know why I’m scared or grumpy. I do know why I’m tired.

Well, let’s start there. Tell me why you’re tired.

You know why! I’ve been fighting this cancer for nineteen months, and I’m tired of fighting, of treatments, of doctor visits, of tests. Most of all I’m tired of being in limbo. I know others suffer far worse and way longer, so I feel guilty even saying this, but I thought by now it would be over, one way or the other. I figured I’d be healed or in heaven. Now all I’m hearing is “no interval change” after every test!

So, you think maybe being tired of it all is what’s making you grumpy?

I don’t know! Maybe. Yes!

Did I say anything in my letter to you that can help with the tired and grumpy you?

Hundreds of things! You said to give thanks in everything. Come to think of it, I’m grateful for science. The modern technology of these tests is amazing! Did you know the CT and PET scans I’ve been getting every six weeks can look right inside and see if the cancer is growing or shrinking?

Yes, I think I did know that. I believe I gave Allan MacLeod Cormack, Edward J. Hoffman, and Michael E. Phelps the wisdom.

Who? Anyway, I’m grateful for my wonderful oncologist and nurses. They’re about the only people I get to talk to since they won’t let me go into public. I’m so tired of the isolation. I think I’m going to have to miss going to church forever!

No, you won’t. You’re being a bit melodramatic; don’t you think?

You made me this way! If I were a punctuation mark, I’d be the exclamation point!

Yes, I believe I’ve noticed that a time or two. So, now you know why you’re tired and grumpy. Can you leave your burdens with me as you’ve done so many times before? I see how heavy they are. You know I’ve offered to carry them. Why are you lugging them around yourself this time?

I can’t leave them with You this time. I really can’t. Because I’d have to say… you know. And I don’t want to say it.

You used to wake up every morning saying, “Lord, not my will but yours. Think through me, thoughts of God; love through me, love of God, and live through me, life of God.” What changed?

I guess maybe I’m a little angry with you. There were times I was so close to Home, ready for heaven, happy about coming—and thought you were ready and waiting to welcome me with open arms! This was my hope:

I’ve journeyed far; I’ve stumbled long—

But always hearing that distant song

Hummed in joy by heaven’s choir

Calling me to come up higher.

Softly I walk through cleansing snow

With chastened grace and faith aglow.

Hushed to silence the wind’s low moan,

I almost see the lights of Home!

But no! You weren’t ready for me to come Home. And now I don’t know how close the lights of Home are, and it’s dark here! I’m too tired! I don’t think I can do this anymore!

My child, have you uncovered the reason for your fear? Are you more afraid of living than of dying? You don’t want to say, “Not my will,” because you’re afraid the words I said in my letter might apply to you, “I shall live and not die and declare the works of the Lord”?

Yes! That’s it! It silly and ungrateful; I know life is a marvelous gift, and I have a wonderful life full of love and laughter; I have an amazing family and precious friends, but I’m just so tired. I want to come Home and rest. Living is hard. I’m afraid to stay here.

Did I say anything to you in my letter that helps with fear?

You said perfect love casts out fear. I know I should love you more. You are perfect, holy, lovely, forgiving, longsuffering, and have never given me a reason not to love you.

Stop. How about instead of trying to love me more, you think about how much I love you? I have loved you with an everlasting love. I’ve engraved your name on the palms of my hands. I notice every time you stand or sit. I care so much about your tears I save each one in a bottle. I love you in life as much as I will love you after death. Nothing can separate you from my love. I am infinitely more than sufficient for whatever you must face, living or dying, because I’ll never leave you. Whatever comes, I’ll love you through it.

Oh, my sweet Lord. How could I have doubted You? Not my will, my own selfish twisted will that wasn’t even thinking of others or You. I guess if You can give me dying grace You can give me living grace too until my work is done! Will you give me the strength to live in the joy of the Lord? And help me face the future with faith not fear?

I can do that.

But this being in limbo is really, really hard.

Please, my child, stop saying you’re living in limbo. You do have the prospect of moving to a better place.

When? Could give me just a hint about how long it will be before I see the lights of Home?

No.

-Sigh- That’s what I thought. Do you want to go for a walk with me that lasts the rest of today?

Always. Are you still tired, grumpy, and scared?

Not now, but I can’t promise about after lunch. Why are You laughing? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I love the sound of Your laughter. Lord, I love you. It’s far from perfect love, but I love you.

I know.