I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. I’m nervous about it. The last time I went to the doctor regularly was for a series of blissfully normal prenatal checkups. 12 weeks, normal… 20 weeks, it’s a girl! oh, placenta’s a little low… 28 weeks, the placenta’s in fine position… 40 weeks, any day now.

Now I have a medical history. When we go through that little family checklist, I will have to check ovarian cancer. I don’t even know what to check for my dad. Is there a box for “heart something-or-other”? It wasn’t a heart attack. He had some blockages but there are people walking around more clogged than he was. What did happen? One version of the story is, his heart just skipped a beat and stopped. People have arrythmias all the time, but this was the arrhythmia to end all arrythmia. Literally, I guess.

[It’s dark, and I want to whistle, but I don’t know how to whistle.]

When people around here ask, I say I’m going to the doctor because I haven’t had a generic physical in quite a while (except ob/gyn exams, which are like clockwork). But I will tell you, gentle reader, that occasionally I have low-blood sugar episodes. And sometimes, I can feel a little fluttery-thumpety in my chest, especially in the midst of stress. And does anyone in my family actually have good cholesterol? That would be a big negatory.

[I’m not kidding, I really can’t whistle! My husband has tried to teach me. I’m genetically incapable. Must be related to the high-cholesterol gene.]

So, I’m going to get checked out, blood tested, and face the HDL, LDL and triglyceride triumvirate. I’m going to stare down the fear and take control. Well, I’m going to take control of that which I can control, and hope it is enough. And if it’s not enough, there’s not really much I can do about that, now is there?

My senior pastor preached this weekend on fear, and how fear is a response to an uncertain future. The antidote to fear is hope, she said—hope that does not remove the uncertainty, but matches it with a deeper certainty. For her, the certainty is that death, pain, and despair are not the end. “Nothing can separate us from the love of God,” saith she, quoting Paul.

I do believe that, but I also doubt it.

I have written before about my professor who died recently. The president of the seminary wrote about visiting him in his last days. The topic of peace came up, and my professor said that yes, he did feel peace. “But,” he said, smiling warmly, almost slyly?, “the peace is so much bigger than I had ever imagined.”

I hope it is true. I believe; I want to believe.