We Choose Faith: Inches

The morning light is soft, buffered by a blanket of snow covering lawns, rooftops and tree branches. I try to gauge the accumulation by the snow precariously balanced on the needles of the evergreen bush outside. It's a good day to be warm and cozy inside. . .

Harold’s been out of the hospital a week. The time has passed gently. We expected this recovery to be hard since Harold is essentially healing from three separate craniotomy incisions. Instead it’s continued smoothly with very little pain and almost no cognitive fog. This is in part because he's been able to take steroids to control swelling. Harold does tire easily so we’re taking things slow.

We ventured out to attend church on Sunday. Harold was a bit self conscious about his incisions but decided he wanted to be there anyway. “You’d think by now they could just put in a zipper, ” a friend quipped as we entered the building. So much for sneaking in unnoticed.

Yes, our surgeon has been rather busy the last few weeks cutting holes in Harold’s head; and as much as we are grateful for his skills, we hope he’s done for a while.

I've paused again to look out the window. The sun is breaking through and it appears the snow has stopped. How much did we get? Three inches? Four? I take my ruler to find out, then begin to wonder . . . How will we measure this cancer experience?

How do you measure the chance to feel protected and loved by our Heavenly Father? How do you calculate the price our Savior has paid to feel our pain, to lift, to heal? How do you measure peace?