When What You Experience, Isn’t What You Expected

Eight years ago I received an unexpected call, altering the trajectory of my life forever. I wasn’t expecting the news that I had a massive brain tumor. I didn’t prepare in advance, and yet the unexpected arrived without my preparation. I had no choice but to make changes in my schedule to accommodate doctors’ appointments, high doses of medication, brain surgery, and the associated recovery. However, along with unexpected news came unexpected blessings. Friends new and old swooped in to care for and love my family. A team of doctors skillfully removed a baseball-sized tumor from my brain. Thankfully by the end of December 2012, I was on the road to a full recovery.

God showed up in ways beyond anything I could have ever planned or imagined. I’ve written several previous posts about those moments and will likely write more in the future. Today I just want to acknowledge that I had no expectations prior to receiving that life-changing phone call. I didn’t compare my circumstances to  previous years of health. My goal was simple. Survive. I took one step at a time, trusting the One who was carrying me through the unexpected. Subsequently, God showed me that goodness can come even during my darkest nights.

Each year as I prepare for my annual follow-up MRI, I am drawn back to the memories of 2012. Memories, good and bad, flood my mind as I reflect on the reason for my annual exams. Anxiety surfaces long enough for memories of God’s provision to blanket them with hope. I thank God each time I receive the “all clear” for His grace and provision. With each passing year my anticipation of bad news preceding these appointments diminishes. However, this year was different.

In March of 2020, our country received its own unexpected trajectory shift. We never could have imagined in February where we would be or what we would have lost now ten months later. Yet quickly many of us, myself included, tried to place expectations and parameters on this pandemic. Surely it would only be a few months. Surely we could still play soccer, visit family, and travel by Christmas. Surely I won’t be personally affected. Stamping each of these expectations on our new reality, the unexpected quickly became something we tried to control. One thing I learned for sure after my 2012 diagnosis is that I am not in control, but 2020 has taught me I still want to be.

This year my anxiety lingered silencing any hope of a positive MRI outcome. I had no reason to believe the scan would be different than each one previous, but somehow I expected it would be.

The year has been wrought with unexpected news, and not typically the good kind. A phone call or text from a loved one announces a recent diagnosis or loss. The media floods our homes with fear and division. The cloud of COVID blankets our heads and hearts as we attempt to make decisions among constantly changing circumstances. Why shouldn’t the results of my MRI, also, be different? If I was going to get a bad scan, this would be the year. I mean, it is 2020.

I don’t normally take this posture, but today I did. As I prepared to go to the hospital, I conversed with God about how together we would handle the possible bad news. My faith remained in the Father, but my expectations of outcome shifted. I expected the worst.

Thankfully, I was wrong. The “all clear” from my doctor came only hours after my MRI. If that wasn’t good enough news, I experienced no allergic reaction to the intravenous dye which is utilized at each of my scans. Typically, I have a very severe reaction including vomiting and hives despite pre-medication prevention. Today I didn’t. This was a direct answer to prayer – another unexpected gift not consistent with my doomsday thinking.   

Looking at my response to my MRI, I wonder if somehow my own expectations (good or bad) cause me to miss what God is doing in the now?

In the early days of the pandemic, I had no choice but to take one day at a time, trusting the unchanging Father to reveal the next step. As time goes by and I grasp for control, I can quickly find myself focusing on all that I’ve lost instead of all of the blessings God has revealed along the way. Like during my MRI, I begin to expect bad news. When I take my eyes off the One leading my steps, I begin to feel the fatigue, fear, and frustration surrounding 2020. I begin to expect more loss, instead of seeing the beauty and hope around me. Maybe you can relate?

However, today as I received good news from my scan, I was reminded that my eyes were focused on lies. I believed the “must be 2020” lie that categorized all difficult things as “to be expected” this year. The lie that all hope was lost. However, I learned from my original brain tumor diagnosis in 2012 that even when life takes a turn for the worse, my unchanging Father never leaves me stranded. He walked with me through the hardest season of my life, and if/when I ever receive another unwanted diagnosis, He will hold me even then. God hasn’t changed. The calendar date may change. Our circumstances may change, but our Heavenly Father does not. He is still in control. His unshakeable arms hold us even now.

The answer isn’t a life free from expectation, but a life expecting hope.

We can find hope in moments filled with hurt. We can cling to faith through overwhelming fear and frustration. We can fix are eyes on the Savior that came to dwell among us, a child, Emmanuel, regardless of our circumstances.  He promises to carry us through the dark days and rejoice with us on our best. When we lay down our control and pre-conceived expectations, we open our eyes to His hope.

Hope comes in the shape of encouragement from a stranger, friend, or family member. It comes in peppermint milkshakes, dance parties, and extra snuggles around a fire. It comes in the changing colors of leaves, icicle covered trees on the way to the hospital, and the beauty of God’s creation unfolding regardless of the season. It comes with a slower pace of life to enjoy long walks with loved ones and time to cherish the important things in life. Hope comes in quiet moments alone with the Heavenly Father and soaking up words of truth from His written Word.

But most importantly, hope came in the form of a baby, lying in a manger, who came to save the world and forever dwell with us.

Hope helps us walk through hardship.  Hope is to remember the unchanging faithfulness of our loving Father.

Hope can be expected.

So whether I am waiting on the results of an MRI or walking through a pandemic, I can have Hope, and you can too!

“but those that hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Isaiah 40:31