Journal of a Living Lady #259
Nancy White Kelly
Where did the week go? The last few days are a blur. Thinking back, it has been a typical week. Routine chores: groceries, laundry, bill paying. Then there were the usual mid-week church activities. We visited a sick neighbor. Yesterday some friends invited Buddy and me for a spur-of –the moment pontoon boat ride, probably the last one of the season.
Today I have been studying and typing, preparing for a weekly Bible study that I teach. The subject has been The Case for Faith. As a class, we have examined ancient manuscripts, extra-biblical writings, and first-century eye-witness reports. PowerPoint slides illustrated scientific data that confirms Bible statements written centuries ago. Recent archaeological finds identify specific places, people, and events documented in the scriptures. The class has examined a few of the thousands of fulfilled biblical prophecies and is concluding with the best case for faith: Answered prayer.
Most regular readers are aware of my case, but wonder how this column came to be. My second diagnosis of cancer in the late 1990’s was considered terminal. On one of my good days, the publisher of this newspaper and I talked about death over lunch. We acknowledged it was a taboo subject that few people will discuss. Even fewer write about it. She wanted to know what it was like to know your life’s clock was winding down.
Our serious conversation was punctuated with more than a few laughs. Then the idea hit us both. Before dessert, I agreed to write a journal, chronicling a supposedly losing battle with cancer. It was to be objective but not maudlin. The column began as Journal of a Dying Lady, but eventually became the Journal of a Living Lady. The rest is history.
Quite often I am introduced as a local celebrity. That thought is amusing to me and was never a goal. Yet, being on Oprah, publishing a book about this cancer journey and having national TV cameras in town has brought notoriety. Frankly, it has been a hoot of a ride in spite of my dogged battle with the big C.
Even when in the hospital, tied to IV’s laced with Morphine, I wrote on scraps of yellow-lined paper that became my next column. My parents must have done something right. I grew up with a high regard for dependability and punctuality. While my older brother models tenacity, my spiritual faith is a tribute to a godly grandmother.
Which brings me back to the subject of faith. I am a believer. With all my heart I revere the Bible. I defend its authenticity from cover to cover and even believe the cover because its says “Holy.” Some scoffing sophisticates suggest that you park your intellect at the door of the church before you enter. I respectfully disagree. Everything I have studied, past and present, supports intelligent design. It takes far more faith to accept something like the Big Bang theory than to trust what is written in the scriptures.
There is a vacuum within all of us that only God can fill. The Bible says, “Seek and ye shall find.” When I teach, I look around the classroom and notice the judges, professors, attorneys, and doctors seeking to know more about the Bible. The only losers are those who don’t open their minds and hearts to the sovereign, omnipotent Creator who hung the moon and the stars.
I believe in miracles. I am one.