I've been reading a lot more lately than I have been writing. Not just not blogging, but I haven't been putting much down in my notepads or journals either. This is weird for me. I used to love putting pen to page and scrawling out my thoughts late at night. It's how I untangle my thoughts and bare my soul. Seeing my words laid out in black allows me more brain space. But I haven't been doing this much mostly because it hurts my hand and a little because my penmanship skills aren't what they once were. The alternative (and necessity to blogging) is typing, which I'm also not able to do. Anything I've posted has been via iPhone, sometimes using my thumb, sometimes the microphone. It all reminds me of the reality I have to face concerning my hands. I haven't talked much about my hands except for those closest to me, but they will probably be the last thing to heal and are most likely going to require some minor surgeries.
In case you have zero idea what I'm talking about let me explain. In the ICU, my vital organs were obviously the highest priority. I was put on a medication that restricted blood flow to my hands and feet causing extreme damage to my fingers. It caused a condition called necrosis which is basically the dying off of cells due to lack of blood flow. They also tried to keep my fist unclenched but in my drugged irrational state I refused to cooperate. This resulted in what is known as a contracture, meaning the joints in most of my fingers are stuck in a bent position. Luckily my right hand got the least of it and my thumbs are still operable.
This is a confession of sorts because I have avoided writing about this, specifically asking for prayer around this issue and try to act like the permanent damage to my fingers is a small price to pay for working organs. In the big picture, yes this is true. But if I can be human and really really honest and vulnerable: I want my fingers. I'm terrified of the surgeries I'll have to have and what I might be left with.
I'm also afraid to say too many words about my hands fearing I'll regret my vulnerability later. Maybe I will. We all struggle with showing our deepest darkest fears. Not the one on the surface but the one just below, the real reason we don't open up. The crushing fear below having my hands not healing up is that I'll appear different than others, that people will notice and they won't accept me. I have a feeling that not being loved can be found at the root of many fears. In all reality, I guess I don't need everyone's acceptance and those who show it: those are my people, the kind I actually need to surround myself with.
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Last Sunday at church I sang these words:
"Into your hands I commit my spirit
Into your hands I lay me down"
Our worship pastor spoke over us saying that lifting our hands over our heads was a universal sign of surrender. That it signals that we are giving over our lives, our control into the hands of someone else. He asked if we felt this way about God would we lift our hands in worship? I was sitting down, breathless from singing. Our pastor continued, would we be able to surrender if our prayers went unanswered? Could we lift our hands when life is not panning out the way we hoped?
This isn't the first time I've had to ponder this question. It's easy to say "yes! Here am I!" when things appear to be smooth sailing, but what about about when you look out at the horizon and all you can see are storm clouds rolling in?
I think about other times in my life when fear hung over me like a dark cloud that refused to dissipate. Life can be happy and all sorts of lovely but when all is still and quiet there it is lurking in the corner threatening to destroy me. I know better than to give in to worry and fear. I know God can do greater miracles. I try not to put too much stock into what the hand therapist tells me. She's never come across my condition before in 25 years as a hand therapist. Besides, who can add an inch to their height, a year to life by worrying? God reminds me: "I know your need before you ask." But what if You don't answer the way I want? You will get me through I know, I know, but I don't want to release it. I try though. I lay it at Your scarred feet. I pick it up. I lay it down, I pick it up.
A couple of years ago, my mentor noticed this pattern in my life and she would say: Fear stands for False Expectations Appearing Real. This is a truth that's always hard for me to accept. I think I can tell the future and already know exactly how everything will play out. My tendency is usually to plan on the absolute worst case scenario. But it almost never pans out that way.
In the past when faced with this constant battle of fearing an encroaching event, I wake up one day and that event is over. It passed and it was hard but I bounced back with more joy than I expected, more wholeness than I expected. I adapted and adjusted more than I thought I would have. I suppose we get our measure of grace when we truly need it.
The theme of this blog is honesty.. Healing truth telling. I believe so much in community and vulnerability and how sharing our stories can not only be a breath of fresh air to others but can help the storyteller to breath again. When I bring my fears out in the open, they cease holding so much over my head. So I've been conflicted about holding this back, wanting to share but still feeling too raw.
So I won't tie this up in a pretty package with a bow.. I'll leave it a little undone, knowing I don't have to figure it all out at once. I'm walking out the hard lesson of resting in uncertainty. This fitting quote from Sarah Bessey seems a good conclusion:
"I think sometimes we rush the narrative construction of our seasons. I know I am guilty of this in my life and yet I still do it. We are eager to wring the lesson and the hope and the story out of our lives in order to make sense of them, we are ready to move on! but sometimes the story isn’t clear until you’ve lived further into a few years more chapters. Time reveals what was really going on and there is no shortcut for an unfolding life. Sometimes the full story won’t be clear to us until years have passed and then we see the hand of God or we see old things with new eyes; this is grace."
Thanks so much for being here today,
Jenna