“Grief can take care if itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.” ― Mark Twain
“The cautious faith that never saws off a limb on which it is sitting, never learns that unattached limbs may find strange unaccountable ways of not falling.”
― Dallas Willard
Pre-op appointment day.
Knee replacement surgery meant to alleviate her pain.
No mystery there.
Had she been tired lately?
Had she felt “off” somehow?
Any shortness of breath?
How long had this been going on?
“A couple weeks.”
“You look pale.”
One month of in-patient.
My friend has changed.
What we think.
What we know.
What is yet to be known.
God, her Sustainer.
Prayer, her discipline.
Pastor Husband, her constant companion.
What a strange life we live.
My sister recently showed me pictures from a family gathering.
A family that was mine, but not mine.
I was in the picture, appearing to be maybe three years old.
Unaware of what would follow.
It made me sad. For all we’ve lost, for what might have been, for that disconnect that never healed itself; partly my fault, partly theirs.
This song reminded me of it.
Love the people in your lives. They need it, but so do you!!
She knew something had to be said. Had to be done. Something had to happen to shake up the sameness with which she met each day. She was bored. She was disinterested. She was going to find herself in trouble soon, if she didn’t first find something purposeful to do with her life. That’s when she’d read the words from that classic book, My Utmost for His Highest.
“If you do not break the moorings, God will have to break them by a storm and send you out. Launch all on God, go out on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and you will get your eyes open (June 8 reading).”
“What was she missing?” she wondered. “What tide? What swelling? What purpose? What was she missing?”
Blurry vision. Pain. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Sounds. All around her, motion. She was being questioned, but by whom?
Moments passed. How many? Who could tell?
Touching. Hands moving over her body, attempting to find broken bones. Consciousness, then sleep again. A sharp pinch, or was it a poke? Metal sliding under skin.
Hands, again. Hands moving slowly, while consciousness tried again. Clothes ripping, or torn, or shredded…
“Can you move? Do you feel any pain? Can you tell us your name?”
Questions swirling around like bats in fog. Hard. Hard to understand. Harder, still, to respond. She couldn’t.
Black again, then light rising. “How long? How long had it been?”
White rectangle on black. Stiff. So close, but her arms wouldn’t rise to the occasion. Prayers? Tears? Family? Angels?!
A warm sensation came over her, enveloped her. She slept once more.