21. Standing Still

On Monday I prayed to God for helping me understand what to do. Where is my place at this time in this world? Is it with my children back home in Germany? Or is it with Scott in ICU in France? What else can I do here to help him? Is there another leap of faith required of me at this time? 

Tuesday was the first day ever that I stayed away from the hospital, at least in the morning. I needed to wrestle my Goliath of a fear and renew my resolution to fight to the end. I was a little anxious getting off my bus way before it had a chance to wheel me off to the L'Archet-2. I headed straight to the beach. Hesitating, I took off my dress, feeling smaller after my crazy summer diet. I hurried down to the water to hide my pale body. 

It was a memorable feeling. As if nature, in her goodness, held me in her gentle embrace. A surge of energy flowed through my pores and into my whole being releasing me of my grief, allowing me to pour out my pain in tears, washing off my despair and promising me strength. It was probably the first time that I felt like smiling and rejoicing in unison with happy playful squeals of laughter coming from children who were teasing the Mediterranean. 

When the waves threw me ashore I walked back to my towel trembling from physical exhaustion and dried in the sun feeling every pebble under my ribs. I could never understand looking at Nice pebbles how they can be enjoyable. Now I know. It reminded me of a Thai Hot Stone massage. My body soon fell into the curves of the hot surface which warmed my flesh and soul. It was good. I laid there among hundreds of people but nothing bothered me. Physically, I felt sweet surrender to the God's creation. Spiritually, I was making an effort to do the same. Namely, to give in to God and to stop wrestling him. I wanted to be at peace. I wanted His grace to be an answer to my quest. I needed to admit that at this point the battle was His and I need not fear. 

I went swimming two more times, repeating my invisible conversation with the Lord while soaking up the sun. A drifted into a sweet slumber when the phone rang. It was Fred Lafitte. He said I needed to come home. He and Karen will take me to the hospital and translate because Scott needs to be transported to Marseille.

The battle is on after all. Yes, scary, but, yes, I can do it! It feels calmer, almost as if I am a bit detached from the situation. This is the time to handle the matter to the Lord. This is the time to stand still and see "this great thing, which the Lord will do before [my] eyes." (1 Samuel 12:16) I am glad to report that my Goliath was knocked out. At least, for a while. 

We saw Scott at the hospital, his numbers dropping. The only thing that gave hope to the doctors was his amazingly strong heart. The nursers were busy, preparing Scott for transfer. In the midst of this agitation, Karen went in with me to see Scott one more time. With Karen there it did not feel like it was a matter of life and death. 


When the Marseille team arrived, with tons of people and  equipment, I actually felt hopeful. There was after all one more chance. I did not even feel like crying when they told me to come and say good-bye to Scott before they would close the doors and start prepping him for this procedure. My heart started beating faster though when the nurse came out with the plastic bag of Scott's toiletries, cd's, and kid's pictures... She also handed me the cd player. I looked at it mournfully thinking what if he is not coming back from Marseille. 

But you know what? I read this little story in the book Karen gave me and it stuck with me:

"Fear knocked at the door."

"Faith answered."

"Nobody was there."

Hugging, hoping, smiling, talking, even with bits of careful humor, Fred, Karen and I headed home. No hyperventilating, no weeping, no fearing.  

I received my answer. Tomorrow I will go home to Germany.