I looked at the message, and although I didn't recognize the sender, I wasn't all that shocked at the content. It felt...almost oddly expected.
I glanced over at Steven and told him that a preacher was going to be coming to visit us. It was August and our world was starting to spin faster and faster the closer we found ourselves to September 6th, the date Steven would be returning to St. Louis for his second transplant. Steven asked if we knew him and I said that we didn't, and even that didn't faze us. It was welcomed and not intrusive.
We would take anything anyone had to offer: words of wisdom, words of prayer...words of encouragement.
I'm not sure if we were looking for hope. Maybe we were. Maybe Steven was. But me? Well, I had been knocked down time and time again as I had felt hope handed to me and then taken away too many times. I really wasn't sure that hope was for me anyway. It felt better to expect the worst. Then, at best, you would be pleasantly surprised.
Hope is sneaky, you know...it always seems to find its way in, but if left to my own devices, I would just stay on my knees. After all, it made for a much shorter fall.
As I saw the car coming up the drive, I let Steven know that our visitor had arrived. The kids were at school and we had to be leaving to get them in a little over an hour. I was a little nervous and more than a little anxious to hear what this unknown preacher had to say to people he had never met. One of which who was (gasp!) catholic!
I met him at the door and neither one of us was struck by lightening which I took as a good sign. I immediately was taken in by his unassuming, calm demeanor, and we all began talking as if among friends. He shared that he had heard of Steven and his plight when he was first diagnosed in September and admitted that he had just kind of let the whole situation slip off his radar. However, when he was approached again after Steven had relapsed his heart had been convicted in a different way. He said he felt that he was supposed to come to us and let us know that Steven would be healed. This conviction alone brought him his own set of unsettled feelings.
He admitted to us that he felt odd about reaching out to people he did not know to tell them something that he could not prove. What if he was wrong? He confessed that he had pushed aside contacting us in hopes that the conviction would pass. It didn't.
So he obeyed what he felt God was asking him to do and he found himself inside of the living room of two people he had never laid eyes on and was telling them that he felt that the leukemia that was threatening to take the life of one would not succeed.
Sounds crazy, doesn't it?
I started to cry and I said, "you aren't going to believe this but this isn't the first thing like this that has happened..."
(To be continued)