Dear Shepherdess: This month I want to pass on some news from the people at the Sunshine Biscuit Company. They write, "At Sunshine, we take pride in what we bake and how we bake it. We use the finest ingredients available. You know how light-textured and deliriously flaky vegetable shortening makes baked goods. You know how important vegetable shortening is to your family these days. That's why we insist on using only 100 percent vegetable shortening in every cookie and cracker we bake. "
If you don't bake your own, then use those products made with vegetable oils or shortening. We need to read labels to give our families the very best foods.
With sickness increasing in this world, our hearts and minds need to be fastened on Jesus, the Great Physician, who gives peace and comfort. I appreciate Vera Groomer's faith and confidence as she writes of her hour of trial.
God bless us all with health, happiness, and trust in the One who ''doeth all things well.' ' With love, Kay.
Hope for cancer patients
by Vera Groomer
I think sometimes it would have been easier if someone had been with me, maybe my husband or a friend—anybody—to share that first awful announcement, "You have cancer." But there wasn't anybody.
I was home alone.
The telephone rang.
I walked from the kitchen sink where I was preparing vegetables for dinner. It was a nice day; the sun was reflecting off the white snow in the yard. The chirp of a red cardinal reminded me that winters don't last forever; brighter days were on the way. Cheerfully I answered the telephone; then suddenly I froze.
Dr. Dawson's voice sounded calm, as if he were about to tell me I had tonsillitis. But his words came out bluntly: "Yes, you have cancer. Please report to the hospital Thurs day afternoon. I have scheduled you for surgery at seven o'clock Friday morning."
The telephone clicked.
I placed the receiver back on the hook. The sky had turned dark. The red cardinal had flown off the tree limb. The vegetables in the sink had lost their appeal. I walked to the center of the room and realized that I was shaking. I wondered whether I should cry—but I was too shocked for that. I had known many people who had been told this same thing. Two close friends had gone to their final rest soon after they had heard those words.
For a long time I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared. I was motionless except for the short breaths and fast-beating heart. Thoughts chased through my mind.
How shall I tell Clyde? Thirty-six years we had been together, working side by side. It would be so hard to part now. Our five girls, what would they do? The youngest, at 13, needed me so much. How could I leave them?
After what seemed an eternity of trying to keep pace with such thoughts, I realized I hadn't even thought of talking over the problem with God. I knelt where I was in the middle of the kitchen. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, but I didn't say a word. What could I say? How could I expect God to spare my life and heal me when so many others wanted the same thing? Was I so different from them? Should I even ask God or plead with Him to heal me? For a long time I remained speechless on my knees. And then the words came not from my lips, but from my heart. Suddenly I realized as never before that God loves me. And with that assurance I knew that I love God. I knew I could put my hand in His and say, "Thank You, God, for loving me."
I opened my eyes. The vegetables were still waiting in the kitchen sink. I picked up the knife and hummed a song as I finished cleaning them.
When the girls arrived home from school and my husband from the office, those vegetables along with other food were ready. Why should I spoil a good meal and a pleasant evening revealing news that might upset them? There would be time enough, and now that I felt more than ever that God loved me, I knew His way would be best.
That night when my husband and I were alone in bed, I said as casually as possible, "I have to go to the hospital on Thursday to have surgery on Friday. I want you to promise me that whatever the doctor tells you, you will tell me the whole thing and not try to hold anything back.
I'm not afraid. I love God and I know He loves me. He will do what is best."
"Do you have cancer?" My husband's voice was choked.
I answered, "Yes."
He reached for my hand. For a long time we both were silent, each busy with his own thoughts.
Many times in the years he had served as a minister I had accompanied him to the hospital or to sickbeds at home; many times I had heard his strong voice ask God to send help to the suffering ones. Always his voice had been full of faith and confidence as he had pointed the sick to the One who is always waiting to help.
Where was that strong voice to night? Where was that faith and confidence he had so willingly shared with others?
Wasn't God just as interested, just as strong, now? Why should it be any different when the pain touched the one who was part of you? And then the same love and assurance that had come to me in the middle of the kitchen came again as we lay quietly in our bed. Clyde said, "Let's pray."
Hesitatingly, choked with emotion, but full of faith, he prayed, thanking our Father for His love and leaving all things in His hands. We slept.
The word spread, it seemed, by the wind. Phone calls came from loved ones and friends from coast to coast, telling how saddened they were by the news. We were delighted that they cared so much. Many spoke with emotion in their voices that told of tears in their eyes. We were touched. But how much we wanted to tell them that God loved us; He was in control.
There were times, like the time I left for the hospital, when I wondered, Would it be long? When I returned home, would I know it would be only for a short time? Would I always have to spend the rest of my life worrying over every new pain? I told Clyde good night at the hospital, knowing I would be too medicated the next morning to have a clear mind; but before that good night kiss, his strong voice prayed again with me, full of trust and confidence in our heavenly Father's love.
When the nurse came with my medication I whispered softly, "The Lord is my shepherd."
Through the painful days and nights that followed, only half alert as a result of medication, I repeated again and again, "The Lord is my shepherd." Although I lay on white sheets, with a glass of water and a drinking straw beside me and a uni formed nurse hovering near, I visualized a green pasture, a stream of water, and a loving Shepherd. They brought the quiet assurance that "the Lord is my shepherd." His love was my confidence and strength.
I knew that medical science had done all it could for me, but that malignant cells might yet grow again.
I couldn't know. I couldn't again be sure of life. But could anybody? Because a person has never had cancer or any other possibly fatal disease, does that give him an edge on life? Couldn't he in some way lose his life even faster than I might—perhaps in an automobile accident or with a heart attack?
I could pray now as never before, "Thank You, God, for being my shepherd. I don't know how many stormy paths lie ahead. I don't know the hills I must climb or how thirsty I may become. But I do know You are my shepherd, and that's all I need to know."
As a footnote to this article Vera Groomer writes:
"Three beautiful years have been given me since my surgery for cancer. Each time I go for my physical check-up I trust that my Good Shepherd is still leading, and there has been no sign that cancer has returned as yet. My life is a busy one. Besides caring for my home and family, I work full time and also help my husband in his work. This is demanding physically. But what a joy each day to say, 'Lord, lead me today. Give me strength for today's task.'
"Tomorrow is uncertain. No promise has been given to any of us, well or ill, that there will be a tomorrow. But God's strong arm has been promised for every need. All we need to do is take hold and say, 'Thank You, heavenly Father.'
Prayers from the parsonage
by Cherry B. Habenicht
Nothing about this call appeals to her. She doesn't want to move two thousand miles from her grown children and relatives, and there seems to be no opportunity in this new area for her own training to be effectively used.
With a heavy heart she packs, sells furniture, and distributes her plants. It is a test of devotion and love. For her husband the move is right, but the fact that everyone expects her to be rejoicing at his good fortune only increases her discouragement.
"I believe God led us here and gave me the chance to prepare for my job. What of my contacts and my influence? Aren't my interests and goals important?" she asked me, her voice unsteady.
Those questions echoed my own conflicting thoughts as I've faced some decisions. You remember, Lord, my bitter disappointment when, diploma in hand and eager to teach, I was told it would be impossible to hold a regular job during Dick's first year as a ministerial in tern. Yet that year of freedom from the pressures of school gave me new experiences in service. I waited for the time we'd be settled.
Our first assignment seemed the ultimate frustration of my teaching dreams. Not even the county high schools offered courses in my major field. But in that isolated rural area You helped me find a better job than I could have imagined.
I shared these proofs of Your leading with Claire, but she must learn her own lessons. Give her confidence that You will not let her talents be neglected. Reassure her that You direct her paths, too, that her satisfaction and self-worth are as relevant to You as are her husband's. May this move hold some thing so good that Claire will dis cover new dimensions of faith.
