Rib Cage

I’ve never felt so conscious of my ribs before.

There they are humbly forming a guard of honour around my heart and my lungs. 

And I’ve hardly given them a moment’s thought.

Except perhaps when my 4 year old grandson decides to 

take a lunge for a grandad hug that feels more like a rugby tackle.

Now, however, I think I understand the term ‘rib cage’ better.

At nights, especially, when the odd twinge, or the  intermittent aches 

(and so far in the story, I would not call them serious pains), keep me awake. 

It feels as though my chest is caged. There’s this feeling of tightness.

That something weighty is pressing in on them.

That’s where they said the cancer cells had shown up in the PET Scan

Spots of light here and there, in the ribs, and on the hip bone, like hotspots in a war zone.

I still think of it from time to time in battle terminology.

These are my own body cells after all. And they’re not doing their duty.

Like rebels, they refuse to function in the way they were created.

A rib, that stops being a rib, is not going to help protect my heart, or anything else.

So, at times, I place my hand over the aching area, and assert my authority.

I speak to my bones. I order them to get into line.

Now, that might not seem theologically very correct. 

Or even physiologically accurate

But I have been given a God given autonomy over my own body, have I not?

I say to my arm, ‘Stretch out’ and it stretches, or to my eye, ‘Close’ and it closes.

And at times, I will speak blessing into those old bones.

God has blessed me, as His child. He has commanded that I bless others.

Can I not then also bless my own body?

Can I not, with Gods authority, pronounce a blessing over my own bones?

And so I say it. Be blessed, rib cage. 

Be blessed with health and wholeness.

In Jesus name!