The Grace in Perspective

I felt anxious. So scattered and on edge I could barely keep from sobbing. The gentle waves rolled in from across the river and splashed up onto my calves. The cool water somehow started to dissolve the nerves and calm my heart-rate as I took deep breaths and let peace wash over me. I tried to keep my mind still, but it drifted.

Two weeks of arguing with my heart, my head and my body. Two weeks of “should have” “What if” and “I wish I had.”

I was worn.

All I had wanted to do was spend one week recovering with the Lord. I craved a vacation from busy and over-thinking. I wanted an excuse to take it. I intended to read books and watch a movie or two, to sleep when I needed it, and pray continually.

But…comparison and people pleasing are a cruel trap. Ones I thought I had side-stepped as I was aware they were there. I had not.

I made the mistake of considering whether comparison was valid and should tell me what I “should” be experiencing.

Taking every thought captive does not mean inviting it back in to discuss a treaty. 

I knew comparison was something I struggled with, and that recovery times are relative. I knew that I would want to be back to “normal” faster than I should. But I also wanted the break. I let both sides argue in my head for days on end. Even though I knew better.

Taking every thought captive does not mean inviting it back to discuss a treaty. We are supposed to take the thoughts captive and toss the ones that aren’t edifying. I had seen it, taken it captive. My healing… my timeline. But then I brought it back again—in case I missed something? What if.. I was making up my need for rest? Oops.

I was frustrated and worn from a battle that was un-fruitful and un-necessary.

Even so, the Lord was working things out in me.

I breathed out the emotional buildup kicking my feet in the water. My husband was behind me, supporting my back and waiting for me to need help up. Healing tears began falling down my cheeks.

Let me fill you in.

I just had a small surgery at the beginning of July. I say small because that’s what I thought it was. It can’t be that big of a deal if it’s outpatient right? I found out later it was considered a major surgery.

(I still don’t know what I would think to call it—character building maybe?)

The things you learn.

I went in with the expectation of a 4-day recovery. I had cleaned my house and prepared my husband and kids for a little extra help.

(Enter sarcasm here) I do great when I know what’s coming.

Wednesday morning I went in for surgery.

Wednesday afternoon I still expected to go home. Then the nurses came in to get me set up for overnight. Wait… what?

The doctor came in and explained, everything went well…I would be resting and not doing much for two weeks and a half weeks…at LEAST.

Wait…two plus weeks? I’m going back to work next week!

He looked at me and told me absolutely not until he saw me.

It wasn’t a big deal really—who am I kidding? It was HUGE!

I had PLANNED on a week. I had PLANNED to be back up and going.

I wasn’t weak, I wasn’t a wimp…I could do it! I could be at work the next week, I would just need someone else to drive me, and cook for me—(not sure how I thought I would work).

I wasn’t going to rest that long! How could I? What about everything on my list? What about the four day recovery, where did that go?

That was my narrative for the first two days.

Then as my body tried to process the shock of it all…my mind, also in shock, fell into the comparison trap. Insert unfounded panic here.

I would have run a marathon if I thought it meant people would think I was strong, if it meant people would be proud of me and I would be useful.

I actually contemplated purposefully doing more than I was supposed to until I ripped a stitch to prove my worth.

That thought actually jolted me awake.

“Hey self? That’s not healthy. Like…at all! Slow yourself down and pray about this.”

But I couldn’t sit out that long… not without planning for it and being prepared! What about my family, the house the meals, what about the people I was working for and with, what about ministry, what about friends…everyone would move on and not need me anymore. They might be mad at me or disappointed, they might start to think I was flakey and not dependable.

It was a trap. And I actually agreed with most of it (not the rip a stitch part) and  I had evidence to back up every judgement.

I asked everyone what they thought about it. I weighed every answer. I fretted more, the answers weren’t helping, because I wasn’t in a place to receive them. I had judged myself and no one could convince me otherwise.

I felt Jesus sitting with me and comforting me, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Him about it.

Fear was in my ear whispering “what if you aren’t meeting His expectations either?”

So I sat terrified to think, or not think, to heal or not heal, to get up out of bed and push through anyway regardless of consequences, or to sit and heal despite the fear of not being enough.

And every day I had people who loved me speaking truth and caring for me, feeding me, treating me to movies and fun conversations. But I couldn’t let them in because I didn’t believe them.

I was listening to fear over my friends and over Jesus. Fear of not meeting a standard I had created.

And I was exhausted.

I finally conceded to the tug on my heart. Finally paused long enough to ask Jesus what I needed to find breakthrough.

Ask me for comfort, ask me to sit with you, ask what I think of your recovery. Just ask.

So I took a deep breath and let the Lord speak to me. My heart softened and I felt the self-criticism and judgement slip into the background.

As we drove by the river after an appointment, I wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and run to the rocks and feel the water.

Ask.

I took a deep breath and finally asked for something more than “bare minimum”

I turned to my husband hesitantly,

“Will you help me walk down to the river? I need to put my feet in the water. I need to do something normal”

“Of course. Is here okay?”

It was far more healing than I could have anticipated.

I finally was able to receive care from my husband as he literally picked me up and put me in the water because I couldn’t climb the rocks. I felt his joy that he got to help me be myself, joy that he got to help me and I finally asked.

I felt the Lord’s presence.

I don’t mind sitting by you as you heal. I know that you couldn’t ask, I know that you couldn’t feel it, but its okay. 

Tears of relief flowed freely as I repented of being afraid of God. Afraid of comfort. Repented of wanting people’s approval more than my own body’s healing. Repented of striving and trying to earn the love that is so freely given by Him.

How often do I get caught up in the “should” cycle. Spend time googling what “should be” or what’s “normal” instead of praying about it?

“Hey Siri, what is normal healing time for surgery?”

The thing is…I needed perspective, and to slow down long enough to hear it.

I’ve never had surgery before. I also would have had to stop overthinking long enough to BE lazy. God provided the help I needed. No one went hungry. Everything was okay, even though I was fearful nothing would be.

My family had enough grace to allow me space to react, they understood I was going through something and needed adjustment. I was just missing the grace for myself.

The journey from “What will they think” to “Lord, I trust you with where I am” is a long one.

But no matter where we are…we are on that journey now and there’s time to put our feet in the water and let Jesus sit next to us. There’s time to be loved and there’s time to heal—no matter how long it takes.