Confetti Cannon; Anxiety Snake, and Healing Pain
Delicious excitement cartwheels through me. Like an electric blue bolt awakening the night sky, my brain is instantly awake. Today feels like a monumental day. It feels like a day that should have balloons and bubbles. It feels like someone should shoot off a confetti cannon for me! Realizing none of these things will most likely happen, I simply let my heart savor the moment and then resign myself to the dressing process. Now anyone who has had surgery, will understand that this is not always as simple as it sounds, especially when you add in my "texture" issues -lol!
Practicing my restricted moves, I slide my legs into my favorite tie-dyed black leggings. These just make me happy. Next, I don my midnight black tulle skirt. I love the twirl-ability factor this skirt possesses! Selecting the softest, long gray sweater in my collection, I gently draw it over my head.
Moving to the mirror, I allow my eyes to explore every inch of my attire. I find it an almost perfect mix of hippie, ballerina, and preppy. Now to add the classical pieces. Grabbing my pearls and my one sequined, black Chuck tennis shoe, I continue paddling toward the car on my cobalt blue quad.
Being rocked by the ferry boat into a trance-like state, my consciousness is gently falling asleep . My mind is sweetly saturated with a dew of tranquility as my ears are filled with melodic voices proclaiming who God is through the iTunes on my phone. In this moment, it is easy for me to forget what lies ahead of me.
Skidding along the barriers, the ferry shudders to a halt. Reality rapidly overtaking me like the Japan Tsunami of 2011. I am like the barren destroyed land, and today marks the first landmark in deciding whether or continue with the current rebuilding process or change courses. The decision is out of my hands. I sense a familiar wicked coiling sensation around my feet. The anxiety snake is wrapping itself around me and slowly slithering up my spine. It's hissing is a familiar taunt, one that is precise and paralyzing.
As if on autopilot, the chariot I am seated in makes its way straight up the hills of this city I love to "Pill Hill". Post-op appointment #2 is rushing toward me like a freight train. Like old familiar friends, smiling faces await me and quickly swoop me back into the inner belly of the facility. Pleasantries are exchanged; X-rays are taken; and I am delivered to room 436.
Perching like a small child on the edge of their parents plush California King bed, I anxiously wait.
This contraption I am sitting on is like a oversized, hardened recliner on steroids. The anxiety snake has made it's way up to my slender spine and secured itself around my throat. The fakeness of my smile is undetectable, even to my Mr.
Footsteps pause outside the door, and my eyes dart to the handle. Greeting me with the typical formalities, he is all business and gets straight to work. Methodically, the unveiling begins. Like a scientist inspecting a microscopic slide, the doctor carefully scans each millimeter of each of the six, incisions. Seconds slide by. Time is frozen and truly nothing else matters. Like molasses that has reached its resting place, his intense chocolate brown eyes slowly stop searching my body and rise to meet mine. He can't seem to hide his astonishment and boldly declares, "No Infection!"
Momentarily, the anxiety snake relaxes his grip around my neck, only to quickly recover with its familiar taunting. Proceeding, the doctor takes out the instruments required for the removal of the stitches. His face looking somewhat like that of a pickle, I realize he is trying to decide where to start. Six incisions of various lengths and levels of difficulty for removal. Foolishly, I was thinking this was going to be the easy part of this appointment. My internal voice is trying hard to match my external calm demeanor. Making the first snip, he slowly pulls on the embedded surgical thread and a fresh wave of pain floods every fiber of my being. Sucking all the air out of the room, I inhale and give permission for him to continue. This is no magic carpet ride! These 30 plus stitches have to come out or the rebuilding can not continue. This step is critical to the process.
I ignored my foot so long, that tendons were destroyed; bones became detached; and my walking ability was at stake. I just kept "pretending" that everything was good. I did not want to endure the surgery and take the time to heal correctly. I thought it was just easier to keep going and pretend. This belief almost cost me my ability to walk.
How often I want to live in the land of neat, clean, tidy, polished, happy, sun-filled, and smooth. Somewhere inside my head, I believe THAT this is how life should be, so I ignore warning signs that corrections need to be made. I power through the uncomfortable. To be brutally honest, I don't just do this with physical issues, I do this with heart issue too. Do any of you do this or am I the only one? I often believe if I ignore His still small voice, asking me to take a look at one of my behaviors or attitudes, it will go away. I lie to myself and tell myself that it really isn't that big of a deal and I will just decide not to do it anymore. Unfortunately, for me it doesn't go away and usually I find myself not able to stop the behavior. Does this happen to anyone else? Somehow, I don't think I'm alone out here. I don't want to go to God, the surgeon, with it ~ or tell anyone else. However, James 5:16 has a vital key for our freedom. Jesus tells us to confess our "sins" (faults; wrong-doings; lies; bad-habits) to each other and then pray for each other. He promises to hear us and heal us. My flesh never wants to tell someone else my inner dirty secrets, but when I do muster the courage to do this, God always is faithful to help me change directions and heals my sins. Then I am free.
TODAY, if you are struggling with sin (wrong-doings, bad habits, anything that He is whispering to you to surrender), find another believer that you trust and specifically confess the sin to them. Ask them to pray for you. Yes, it will be painful, just like the sutures being removed, because this requires your pride to die. However, I guarantee you, He can be counted on to heal you. He knows what He's doing. Here is what I've learned: Things that stay in the dark grow and become worse. Things that are brought out into the light, confessed, and surrendered outloud, loose their grip and you are set free and healed.
Will you please let the great physician heal your heart?
Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl