Right now, I’m sitting in my room, in the soft glow of Christmas lights, trying to understand what God has planned.
Three weeks ago, while on an epic hike with my 2 favorite people, I slipped on a boulder, broke my ankle and fell. It’s the biggest setback I’ve faced in 9 years. You see, I am a nurse. I help others, they don’t help me. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. If I don’t get paid, I don’t get to pay my bills. I am sad/not sad to say that I don’t save for rainy days. I’ve tried to save, but when the money starts to accumulate, something happens that requires that money, be it unexpected repairs or the needs of others. I just chock it up to living in faith that God will provide. His word says if we give we will have. And he has always provided. So yeah, faith.
But now. Now I found out I won’t be able to go back to work for 6 more weeks. Now things are getting uncomfortably real. Now my faith is being stretched to painful new lengths. Will I break? I’m not so sure. Everything I do, working, hiking, walking, moving around the apartment, has come to a screeching halt. I have one leg and two arms to do all the work. I have to carefully plan how to move around. You just don’t realize how easy life is when all four of your limbs are in working order.
I confess I’ve been in a state of grief and panic for almost 3 weeks. Crying to my people, my friends, my family. It wasn’t until this week that I really began crying to the Lord. Why? Maybe because I lived so long out of relationship with him. 42 years of trying to get things done in my own strength. I still have a really hard time letting God be God.
I want to draw you a picture. When kids come to the OR for surgery, a lot of them will begin to kick and scream and fight with all their strength to keep us from doing our job, from helping them with the thing that is super scary, but needs to be done to make them better. And it takes all of our strength to hold that kid down to get the job done. But we always win. Always. It’s the power of anesthesia to settle them into medicated stillness.
Well, that’s what my life has looked like for the last three weeks. God holding me here, right now, where I am, when all the while I am kicking and screaming and fighting against him with all my strength. Trying to figure things out, plan, bargain, beg for things to go back to the way they were. But God wins. He always does. I finally surrendered. I have no power over this. I can’t fix it any faster than any other human can fix it.
So now what Dad? I wish I could see from your perspective. I wish you would tell me the plan, because I know you have one. I’m waiting for you.