I had heard enough about an MRI exam to be somewhat apprehensive when my doctor decided it would be a good diagnostic tool to give reason to the aches and pains I was having. The call from the scheduler definitely quieted some of that apprehension, not because she gave me an oh-don’t-worry-about-it, but because she spelled out some of the things patients do get apprehensive about, and just knowing what to expect helped to relieve some of the qualms of the unknown. Still, the morning of my exam had me praying from home to the MRI location. And the forty-five minute wait didn’t help either. And then, my name was called by a cheerful assistant. A few minutes in the dressing room preceded my being introduced to the MRI machine. It dominated the small room I was in, being much larger than I had expected, but that also meant the tunnel I was about to enter, had a far greater diameter than I had expected, and entering in a flat-on-my-back position, much like the position I was cozy in for an afternoon nap, I also entered feet first, so my head was the last part of my body being absorbed by what I then realized was a well lit enclosure. I had been told to be still, but I was also given a squeeze ball, in case for some reason, I needed to exit prematurely of the expected twenty minute exam.
I tried napping, and that helped to keep me still, but my thinking needed a place to focus because the nap wasn’t coming. I was praying again, just for a quietness to saturate my spirit. And then suddenly, the hymns of my childhood and the promises from the Gaither songs I had always loved, began to rehearse themselves in my thinking. I lay there, consumed with the goodness of my God, the God who promises His presence and His peace, even in an MRI tunnel. I was totally relaxed, and a buzzer interrupted one of the hymns to tell me my time was over. And it seemed, it all happened so quickly.
The next morning, my close friend sent me an online video of a song that was only vaguely familiar, but the words captured my time with God the previous day. I love You, Lord. Oh, Your mercy never fails me and all my days, I’ve been held in Your hands. ... You have been faithful ... You have been so, so good ... You have led me ... You were close like no other ... You are my provider and You lead me and guide me by Your Spirit and Your word. I have never walked alone. I knew my God had stayed with me in the tunnel and He had made His presence known, but I knew too, I have been in tunnels that were much, much darker, and much more threatening. I knew also that a few other friends were struggling in the reality of life – realities that were raw with grief, both already weighing them down with its pain, emptiness, and questioning doubt, and grief that was gnawing because it was still imminent, but it was dark with its imminence. Relationships were being stretched and responsibilities were outweighing available resources. In my MRI tunnel, I just wanted the reminder that my God never leaves and He always, always provides. Even in the middle of doubt and apprehension.. Even in the turmoil that far, far exceeds the MRI.
So, I forwarded the song that had encouraged and reminded me yet again, and I prayed that my friends would hear not only a song of warmth, but a song of promises. My God will never, never leave me. And He will always, always, make my impossible reality, possible.
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Psalm 139:1- 12; Psalm 23:1-6; Hebrews 13:5,6)
