It only takes a few mishaps to break this girl down
but these last two months have been like a slow trickle
of mini-plagues that have worn me down to the nubbins.
I don't really know what nubbins actually are
but I like how it sounds.
It started off with a slow demise of household items...
leaks in two faucets, break down of the bathroom fan
(don't underestimate the importance of a bathroom fan....)
electrical problems in the back bedroom...etc.
This was followed by a discovery that we had a infestation of moths
in our closet...moths we have never seen but which managed to make
both of Scott's suits look like swiss cheese.
The same day we discovered we were a safe haven for moths everywhere,
one of the disks in my back decided to bulge.
Which has never happened before and I pray,
Dear Jesus, don't let it happen again.
For the last 6 1/2 weeks my couch and I have been best friends.
You would be proud of me though because when the spine specialist
told me it could take 3 months to heal I waited until I got out
into the car before I burst into tears.
(The drugs I am on may or may not lead to emotional outbursts.)
This has been dealt with by drugs and physical therapy.
Physical therapy being traction
(similar to the medieval torture device called The Rack)
where they stretch my spine using a hip harness and weights
and give that little disk some breathing room.
(Don't bulge, little disk, relax and go back where you belong!)
At home in bed I became convinced we had bedbugs since I found
a tiny black bug crawling on me while I convalesced.
This led to vast perusing of the internet,
species identification on line (not a bedbug) and tucking the dead
specimen in a baggy for further viewing and consideration.
I also have thrown back the covers and yelled, "AHA!" only to find
some random pieces of lint and an abandoned sock.
(The drugs I am on may or may not lead to paranoia)
All the while I have been editing this last book laying on my back
with a very handy apparatus that allows my laptop to perch above me.
After 1 month of editing it is all I can do to read my own words
(The drugs I am on may or may not lead to depression.)
And then I caught a flu bug or had a terrible reaction to the drugs
I was on this weekend and was laid out calling out unto the Lord.
(The drugs I am on may or may not cause nausea.)
All of this to say that when it rains, people, it pours.
If ever my control issues have been put to the test it has been
in these last two months.
I am thinking that God would like to know if I can live out
what I write about.
Do I really believe He is in control?
Can I trust my life to him when it doesn't go the way I want it to?
Do I believe that He has my best interests at heart?
Am I aware that He is with me and knows my circumstances?
Or do I throw a pity party?
I am great at pity parties.
(I told Scott on the one month anniversary of my bulging disk
that I was going to feel sorry for myself for 5 minutes.
I think he rolled his eyes. I think he would like for me to
not feel sorry for myself for 5 minutes.)
I could not answer yes to all of these things all of the time
but I found myself wanting to be able to.
I have found myself praying more.
And asking that God would help me.
And even asking real people to help me.
Which is big for me since I like to pretend I can do
everything without help.
I have a sneaking hunch that God doesn't mind when we become undone,
shaken loose from our carefully laid out plans...
forced to see our own fragility and dependence on him.
It helps us get honest with ourselves and others and especially him.
I read Isaiah 40 speaking of God's greatness and his sovereignty and
our smallness and one verse in particular stuck out to me.
It said, "It is God who sits above the circle of the earth..."
And it struck me that I am thankful that he is there, that he is so
large, and powerful and wise and great.
Even when I feel helpless and teary and hopped up on meds.
That the things that loom large to me (deadlines, back pain, laundry)
are small to him...a piece of cake...completely within his ability.
And I can anchor myself in the knowledge that he knows what he is
doing and he loves me.
And that is no small thing.