The Night Before

So, here it is.  The night before...or at least it was when I started writing.
Do you ever have trouble sleeping "the night before'?  The night before the first day on the job.  The night before the big game.  The night before vacation!  The night before Christmas.  The night before the important interview.  The night before the test.
That's the one.  For me tonight, it's the night before the test, exam, "procedure".  I'll be having a breast biopsy in 12 hours and I can't sleep.  There have been so many thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of me for the last week or two that I can't even see straight.  I'm not sure what to think or feel.   I'm having trouble getting to sleep.  I need to lay it all out here.
In July of 1991 I was in the same situation.  The night before the biopsy of my left femur at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota is a night I'm not likely to ever forget.  We hadn't called ahead for reservations so we found a little hotel room (or was it motel) just outside of Rochester.  My parents and I were crammed into a tiny room  with a king bed.  The front desk personnel hauled in a cot for me (which at just 5' 3" I was still too long for!) and my mom made it up for me.  This was not acceptable to me and I pitched a good fit about it. 
That night, showering before bed, something snapped or broke in me.  I wept, or wailed, or sobbed.  It came from the very depths of me and poured out of my eyes and was vocalized through my cries.  I was grieving and I could feel it at the very core of my being.  I've never felt anything quite like it before or since.  It was as though my spirit, my very soul knew the blow I would be dealt the following day and the difficult journey I was about to embark upon.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my mother was crying too.  She and my father prayed over me, spoke to me and comforted me as only loving parents can do and I did not sleep on the cot that night. 
Now, all is cancer talk, I want to be clear that I haven't been diagnosed with anything at this point.  The procedure that I will have tomorrow will identify the lump/mass/calcification that was discovered just over a month ago.  But as I'm facing a biopsy and "possible" diagnosis, it's no wonder that I'm reflecting on a previous biopsy and its results.
My world is quite different today in 2015.  I'm no longer a teenager, no longer in school.  I am married to a loving and generous man, and I have my four little boys that I miraculously birthed over the last 5 years.  Those boys are miracles because most of my chemotherapy drugs reported infertility as a side effect.  Praise God for His grace and gifts! 
Not only do I have a family of my own these days but I also have, what I consider to be, a successful career.  I work away from home part time which has afforded me the blessing of more time with my children.  (Time at home can be more stressful than being at the office or out visiting patients, but in the same respect that is time I wouldn't trade for anything!)  My office is the place where I see clients for counseling.  I enjoy my private practice and am passionate about the work I do there.
My "day job" is working for a home care agency as a medical social worker.  I don't work for just any home care agency, but for a member of the national Home Care Elite.  That means we are among the top 25% home care agencies in the whole US of A.  It is important work I do there and I have a great team to work with.  I am quite thankful for my employment opportunities.
It was actually just a year ago now that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I wrote my "POV" post on my Mediterranean Experiment blog (which has now been merged with this blog) to express how I was feeling at the time.  Let me just say that has been quite a journey in and of itself this last year.  This journey was made especially interesting since she chose to follow a holistic regimen rather than seek conventional treatment.  She's been doing very well and her cancer count is WAY down, almost at 0. 
And now it is me going through the process of trying to get some answers for myself with two unidentified lumps to be biopsied tomorrow.  I've been struggling with this so far since the last time I had a biopsy it was cancer...that doesn't inspire confidence. 
My friend Kristi was praying with me earlier this week about all of this and she used the phrase "girls grown tall" when stressing during her prayer just how much we need our heavenly Father in and for everything.  A vision of myself as a little girl with long hair and wearing a sundress was stuck in my mind.  I could see myself hugging our Father around the waist and looking up into His face which was as bright and warming as the sun.  In the same instant I saw myself as I am now, with all the weight of responsibility and knowledge, just as needy and vulnerable as my six year old self.  As I contemplated that image throughout the day I wrote a poem that I've shared on Facebook and will share here as well.  I could see my child AND adult self doing all of the things mentioned in the poem.  Ultimately what I realized  was that to our heavenly Father I am ALWAYS a little girl in need of His guidance and care-things he readily and steadily provides.  It was a very reassuring and comforting epiphany for me.  Funny that the realization of how vulnerable I am led to feelings of peace.  But it's only because of the awareness of our Father's constant presence, caring and provision that there is comfort and peace.

                     Little Girls Grown Tall by Sarah Fenlon Falk
We twirl and play, dance and sing, dream of a wedding and engagement ring.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
When we want to be heard we yell and shout, trying to get hard feelings out.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We cry out loud, throw ourselves on the bed, look for a strong shoulder on which to rest our head.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We stomp our feet when we want our way, for others to listen to what we say.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we've completed a job well-done, we hope to receive a bit of praise, not much but some.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we're afraid or feeling so small, we draw close to our Father who to us is so tall.
We wrap our arms around His waist, turn our eyes to look up at His face.
"Father, please help me," is all we can say, in our most helpless, vulnerable, little girl way.
His presence alone calms the nerviest nerve and His embrace overwhelms with love undeserved.
"My precious child," He says so gently, "I am always with you, I hear your every call. 
For you are my little girl, just grown tall after all."   

I wanted to write these things down for myself, my own encouragement and remembrance, but also in hopes that they might encourage others. 
During my cancer experience my theme Bible verse was from Jeremiah 29:11:
" 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you.  Plans for hope and a future.' "
At this point in my journey, with all that I am facing at this moment and whatever the future may hold the promise of His presence is now my theme.  Hebrews 13:5:
"...for He Himself said, 'I will never leave you, nor will I ever forsake you.' "
That amazing promise is on my heart and mind this "night before" and it is what I hold to.  Now, for some sleep...