There is much loss for me to contemplate here though. I am fully aware of the lengthy recovery. I wont be able to walk my dog or take Rosie to the park. I won't be able to take care of my family by making dinner, keeping up with the house, doing the laundry, driving in the carpool etc. (Well I'm not too sad about the laundry part). I won't be able to climb into Gabe's bunk bed to read the next chapter of Sheila the Great and comment about the 100 stuffed animals on his bed. I won't be able to admire the pumpkin patches, the changing leaves, take my kids trick or treating or even sled at the first sign of snow! I won't be able to drive myself to Starbucks when I need a break from the house. The responsibilities and commitments I have to break are illuminating. I have been canceling things daily. I can't support my client for her birth who is due soon, and I am not sure about leading the mission trip to Haiti with my daughter this Spring. I won't be able to love on other mamas in my home with warm coffee and a listening ear every week this fall for the study I had planned. Do I need to cancel our family vacation? Crap I am in charge of the Halloween party snacks for my kids class! This is a lot of life here people. The worst of it...I won't be able to dance for 9 months. Uarghhh...my soul cringes. My greatest joy, my shortcut to happiness, where my creativity and physicality meet to articulate emotion, a language, and let's be honest...pure fun.... oh it's gone. In one snap. One jump. One poor landing.
I was calculating these losses in my head at the doctor's office and feeling really frustrated. The doctor was kind. His wisdom and sympathy began to soften my acceptance of this circumstance. As we looked at my swollen knee together, he predicted my near future, and I realized I have to take care of this. What can be done? As I made my way to the MRI office I started to accept what was happening. In the MRI machine, the compassionate imagist carried my things and nudged me forward, he covered me in a blanket and asked what music I liked. He told me it would be alright and I could relax. With Bethel tunes through the head phones, and who knows what types of radiation taking pictures of my knee...I gave it up. In the inner most voice of my soul, I sighed. I have to quiet the anger, the frustration, the regret. I reminded myself the One who created life is good. The One who knows the amount of hairs on my head loves me. If this is what it is, if this is the path chosen, then let it be so. If I must go this way again, than bring fruit out of it. Let this not be pointless, let me see beauty from ashes. And a peace came along side me like a close friend. It pulled up a seat, and sat there with me in my heart.
What do you do when life takes a different turn? When you are taken out of the game for a quarter? Do you fight it, tooth and nail, and scrap for it back? Do you confidently walk through the door in front of you, with trust that everything will be alright? Do you lie down and let life walk all over you? Or do you baby step it and just do it scared? I feel tested. Emotionally, physically, intellectually, spiritually, and socially. And I am balancing out flesh reactions, tangible proactivity, spiritual awakening and release to fate all at the same time. How am I going to proceed with what's been handed to me?
I am in this waiting period right now, waiting for the swelling to go down, attempting to re-engage my quad muscle prior to surgery, anticipating the inevitable. I am thinking through all the things I do in a day to practically set up help for the future (sorry kids, your chore load just quadrupled). Currently I am wondering how to remain purposeful. How do I not get bored? How am I going to take care of my family? How will I not dance when I hear a good song? How will I stay fit? How will I endure the physical pain? Two days after the MRI I was taking a bath and I'm not going to lie, there were tears as I stared at the scar of my other knee...this line popped in my head. It was a line I was going to sing in the show I was in. I began to sing it, “Lift me up...lift me higher. Give me strength, I never had. For I can't be weak, too much longer. Oh Lord Lord Lord make me stronger.” I realized this has to be my anthem cry. The cast of Memphis will understand. I so enjoyed rehearsing that scene with you. Now, it will sing in my soul and get me through, until I can join you in song and dance again. And I will be cheering you on...from the aisle seat.
I sense my questions are beginning to pivot. They are turning toward, what can I learn? What can I do that I normally don't have time for? What books can I read? What can I train my dog to do? Can I learn Spanish while on pain meds? I know the silver lining will come. I know eventually it will be there. I know there are much worse things in life. For me, in the process of it all I find myself full of questions when life is telling me; your next season is called STILL. And so I say to still, come. Wash over me like a heavenly rain. Water and refresh what has gone dry. Let me rest in the cave of your winter. And though it looks dormant allow my roots to be strengthened, my storehouses to be filled, and my slumber to be sweet. As I cling to the hope of a spring blossoming with new and fresh and full...I welcome you. Enter in sabbath, enter in strength, enter in focus on the rebuilding. And I will grow stronger. I will burst forth from the pain with discipline and endurance. And I believe something new will come. Because I can't be weak...too much longer...oh Lord Lord Lord make me stronger. Oh Lord Lord Lord make me stronger.
No comments:
Post a Comment