Nine years ago a thirty-second phone call changed my life. I was hosting the annual Christmas luncheon for our staff when I slipped out to get the results from a recent blood test. The voice on the other end of the line announced, "Your PSA is 3.5." The blood drained from my head as a bowling ball dropped into my stomach. Usually any number below 4.0 is considered normal. But I had undergone a prostatectomy six weeks earlier. My PSA should have been zero. No one had anticipated this. Everybody, and I mean everybody, had told me I would be fine. After all, the cancer had been caught early and my numbers were relatively low. But a retest a few days later confirmed our fears. I had metastatic prostate cancer for which there is no cure. My wife, my family and I were devastated.
As I sought to absorb this disquieting news, I was troubled by how fearful and anxious I felt. When I reached into my spiritual satchel for consolation, all I found were pennies, lint and a bus token. As a pastor, I thought I would be able to face such a trial with peace and confidence in God. In their absence, I realized that my spirituality was a mile wide and an inch deep. Although I had observed daily devotions for decades, my prayer life, scripture study and overall discipleship were anemic at best.
We publiceren alleen reviews die voldoen aan de voorwaarden voor reviews. Bekijk onze voorwaarden voor reviews.