CHAPTER THREE: LEARNING PATIENCE

The Creator God has a manner of preparing certain individuals for His service or for situations in life. He saw what was ahead and allowed circumstances in my life to prepare me.

Following a visit to the doctor, my husband, Royce, tells me some shocking news. “The doctor says I have prostate cancer. We have several options, each with its own risk,” he continued.

Rather than “let it be and take a risk of it growing,” [quoting the doctor] we chose to have surgery. Our lives would change drastically, but we were willing to sacrifice those things for a chance of being cancer free.

In November 1995, Royce had surgery to remove his prostate. His eight-month recovery period was the first stepping stone to my learning patience.

Journal Entry— January 1996
The past few months have been hard following Royce’s surgery. He has problems with his left hand be-cause of a misplaced, or leaking, IV. The hand therapy exercises are painful, but he continues taking them. Be-fore he is totally healed and released to return to work, he injures himself while rummaging in our garage.

He bumped against something and made a large ab-rasion on his left chin. This injury turned into blood poisoning and put him back in the hospital. In addition, his right hand has lost all functions. It is almost impossi-ble for him to hold objects, and he can’t close his hand.
Somewhere through all of this, whether for my hus-band or me, there is a lesson.

While standing in the cold, antiseptic hospital room, I am told, “Your husband has a severe blood poisoning. We have not been able to identify the bacteria.”

The wound on his leg worsens and fear of losing his leg—or life—enters the picture. Finally, the doctors are able to detect the rare bacteria and treatment begins.

“We are dismissing him in three days. You will have to continue giving him the antibiotic IV,” said one of his three doctors.

“What do you mean? I have no training in such things. Why can’t he stay here until he is well?” My mixed emotions run unbridled with the thought of accidentally doing something to cause his death.

Isn’t it bad enough that I have to learn how to drive in Houston's traffic? Now…now I have to be a nurse!

Once again, I am being trained for the future and learning patience.

Journal Entry—April, 1996
Please give me a servant’s heart and a sweet disposi-tion. Having him in my face 24/7 is smothering me. There are times I feel I’m a prisoner in my own home. “Please, Lord, help me to spend a quiet time daily with You, to receive strength to make it through this trial.”

I’m so grateful for the privilege of attending a local Bible Institute, so I can learn how to observe, interpret, and apply Your word in my life.
I Thessalonians 5:16-18 tells me: “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”

Thank You for bringing this scripture to light…help me to practice it one day at a time.

Needing to get away for a little while, I treated myself to some me time by going to a Christian bookstore. I bought a CD by Andy Griffith that contained old hymns—hymns that ministered to my frayed soul.

Before returning home, I parked the car underneath a shade tree in the parking lot of a Senior Retirement Center. I spent time in prayer, crying, worship, crying, writing in my journal, and crying some more. Feeling such a presence of my Heavenly Father and His working in my life, I wept.

God’s Spirit whispered to my inner soul saying, “You need to make things right with your husband.”

“Oh, no, not that, Lord,” I said underneath my breath. However, I knew what I had to do when I got home—no matter how uncomfortable it would be.

It is now two o’clock in the evening; I’ve been gone since ten-thirty this morning. I suppose I will have to return home eventually, before Royce has a search party out looking for me.

Upon my arrival at home, I found Royce in the clut-tered garage, repairing the leg on a chair. I stood in si-lence...watching him for five to ten minutes before finding courage to tap his elbow.

“I have something I want to say to you. It's difficult because I’m not good at saying I’m sorry, but…I am sor-ry for my anger, my attitude, and my sharp tongue. Please forgive me.”

In reality, he should have apologized to me because three days prior he had hurt my feelings by answering sharply. That had put a barrier between us and a chill in the air.

He cleared his throat. The words awkwardly tumbled from his lips, “I…I’m…uh…not the easiest to live with, and…uh...I tend to be stubborn.”

What an understatement…if you only knew how stubborn you can be. I suppose I can blame his German-Swede background for this.

Journal Entry—July 3, 1996
Thank you for the precious gift of my mother and the special gifts of hers she blessed me with. I ask you continue to bless her with good health.

Just to see what she [Virginia] would say and needing to be stroked, I asked, “Mama, what are my special gifts?”

We are standing in the kitchen's warm atmosphere in the ranch-style home of my teen years. She stopped for a moment and said, “Oh, Lord. You have so many.” With a smile on her face she continues, “…crafts, preaching, singing, and fixing hair,” she said. I caught the glimpse of a twinkle in her almond-shaped, hazel-green eyes.

This was encouragement I needed after the eight-month training session I had gone through. Praise goes a long way in soothing a weary soul—especially from a mother.

Four days later, a happy Royce returned to work, thankful for many things. Topping the list would be that we didn’t kill each other during that time. Admittedly, with his German temperament and my Irish stubborn-ness, we got under each other’s skin—especially when he started feeling better and wanted to return to work without a doctor’s release.

I can honestly say that during that period I learned patience. I wonder what the next stepping stone, or boulder, will be? 

~Vada