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My silver chalice was dry, the golden nectar of hope nonexistent; sleepless nights ensued. Seventy pounds of unintentional weight loss, esophagus cancer removal surgery, then, before I recovered, an emergency colon cancer removal had siphoned hope.
A leak where the esophagus was reattached to the reformed stomach called for a feeding tube. No food or liquid entered my mouth for two months.
"My hope is in the Lord who gave himself for me," the song writer penned. I knew that, but. . . .
Calling each of our children, I shared my frustration and sense of utter hopelessness.
Later, I returned to the University of Wisconsin's Cancer Clinic in Madison on one of my many visits. My surgeon opened a bottle, poured a mouthful of liquid into a cup, then handed it to me.
"Take a sip," she said, while she watched the clear plastic tube that exited the incision in my neck.
Gingerly, I tucked in my chin and turned my head to the right. A wonderful feeling as fluid flowed down where nothing had been for a long while. She poured a second serving somewhat larger. This time I managed to keep any of it from entering my wind-pipe. She smiled her approval.
"Great! no leaks!" she said. Her words, like apples of gold, returned hope.
I read the label on the bottle she had poured from: Motts Apple Juice.
That bottle was as good as a silver chalice.
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(C) 2009 by William E. Peterson
Used by Permission
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About the Author. . .
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William Elof Peterson is the author of BILL, a full color children's book, and also three poetry books -- IMAGINATION PAINT, CALCULATOR and THE GIVING PLACE, each containing forty poems.
He joined the Writing Academy in 1993 and has completed most of the series the Academy offers. He received the second place award for his story BECAUSE GOD LOVED STORIES at the Writing Academy seminar held in Minneapolis, in July, 2003. His prize for winning first place in the Bridge For Peace Contest, "Who Do You Say I Am," was a week stay for two in an upstate New York villa.
Bill and his wife of sixty three years have six children, nineteen grandchildren and twelve great grandchildren. Bill was a builder on Chicago's north shore. He holds a commercial pilot's license, and recently sold his stained glass studio where he did commissions and taught intermediate glass for twenty-three years since he retired.
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