Humbled

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I selected my music, classic 70’s.  The MRI was only going to be 30 minutes, shorter than previous MRI’s I’ve had.  The technician positioned the arm to be imaged just so and within a few brief moments I knew this was not going to be any ole’ standard MRI.  I had never experienced pain with any tests prior to this one.  The tech asked if I was going to need a sand bag on top of my arm to prevent me from moving it.  I told him, “it was probably going to be a good idea because I was already feeling pain.”

About three songs into the process I asked the Lord for help.  Like the wind, unseen and in this case, unwelcome, the pain was becoming more than I could bear; it felt as if it was wrapping my arm in a blanket of nails.  Lord help me, please help me make it through this struggle, take this pain from me.  How many more songs before the half hour is up?  My prayer went unanswered; He did not take the pain from me.  The pain as ruthless as a band of wild horses trampling on a rose.  Relief as inapproachable as the evening star.

The loud clanging of the machine, more of an annoyance than a distraction, is interrupted by the technician’s voice; “Deb, we’re almost done, stay real still, you’re doing a great job.”  Yay me, I think to myself.  If he only knew how badly I wanted to stop, but to stop would render the test no good.  I said the Lord’s Prayers, tried mindful breathing, hoping to find peace and distraction, but the pain only escalated.  I was then reminded how humbling this event  was.  This compares not to the suffering of Christ.  I get it, and I am grateful He gave His life for me.  I am overwhelmed with tears when I think of His suffering, realizing my suffering does not come close.  The next interruption from the technician arrived; three more  minutes.  Thank you Jesus!  Three more minutes is doable.  I was as frightened as a child and as furious as an eagle, but before I could fall into the dark well of sorrow and pain the machine stopped.  My arm was released and I was able to eventually breathe like a sea at rest.

I am humbled.  Thank you Jesus for giving me the strength to endure.

198

Deb Correia 1/9/2017 ©

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