Translated, "pray and work", it's the Benedictine motto and the first phrase my children memorized in their study of Latin.

It also describes my frame of mind these days. Wednesday is check-up time. Again.

It's probably a sign of rude good health that I can see a day at Moffitt as an unplesant interruption of my week's routine. But I also see it as the end of my summer's reprieve. For three whole months I've been able to declare myself "well" and go about the business of living my life. Now I get to wait (and it is an all day process) and see if the label still applies or if another trip to chemoland is warranted.

So I pray.

I don't pray that the scans come out clean--God already knows the outcome of that one. I simply pray for grace to walk out whatever He has determined, in a manner that ultimately brings glory to Him. Don't get me wrong. Being sick again ranks right up there in the "things I NEVER want to happen" file. I just know that the plan for my life has already been determined and that I can't alter a day.

I also work.

My house is shiny, the Tween Queen bedroom is a funky aqua and chocolate haven, the refrigerator is full of meals for my time away, and my sewing machine has turned out goodies for several loved ones (Meredith and Beck, your packages are on the way!).

As I work, I find it's easier to pray. Together, work and prayer become my tonic...and I am truly anxious for nothing.