THE OTHER SIDE
Do not make any big decisions today.
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The instruction came after my procedure. A kind warning based on an educated understanding that I would be disoriented, over-reactive, and perhaps not entirely myself for a little while.
I decided best not to tell him the big decisions were already being made.
Selling. Boxes. Packing. Moving…again.
Amid all the familiar chaos— I left a visible sparkling remnant of an organized life.
Beauty in the hard moment embodied.
Breadcrumbs to bring me back to myself.
In my life, He delights in uprooting everything all at once.
There was nothing about the anticipation of the procedure or the procedure itself that brought on anxiety. I have grown accustomed to these days calendared with harshly lit rooms and machines humming, stuffed with far too many caregivers and seemingly no room whatsoever for my gurney and me.
Before nodding off to sleep I suggested the suite needs its own redoing and perhaps a cheerful bouquet of flowers. At the very least, I mumbled between counting back, the clutter needs attending. And then I awoke in another room.
Clutter is one of my favorite subjects.
Particularly the clutter within.
I owe everyone an apology. I have stated more than once along this journey that, with our medical advances, no one need ever be in pain. And then it happened to me—a relentless reminder of my ignorance, that nothing swallowed or injected could take away.
Circumventing suffering has its own consequences, that is, it interrupts the work of the soul.
Through the night I have these seemingly one-sided conversations with a Creator who already promised healing through his unfathomable willingness to hang on a sawn-off tree. Still, my petitions were more related to this feeling of abandonment in my excruciating time of need.
There He is, in the boat with his companions who are frantic with the kind of relentless waves of doubt that have become familiar to me. I have always focused on this immediate part of the story—
Them, so worried.
Him, fast asleep.
Yet here is where my mind lands at three a.m. :
His focus was never centered on the storm but fixed on where they were going.
He abandoned the fear of the moment to make room for the glory ahead.
Do not make big decisions today.
It was an order based upon a knowing that I might struggle for a little while.
These dark hours.
I am not myself.
The prayers come from an immediate and singular focus. My fixation is on what is happening in me right now.
The night believes the storm is everything.
Not because it is. But because perspective is one of the first things we lose. We mistake the present moment for the whole story.
And then morning arrives.
Nothing has necessarily changed.
The diagnosis may still be there.
The questions may still be unanswered.
Still, the steadiness inside us has returned.
The night asks, "What if this never changes?"
Morning quietly answers, "What if this is not the end?"
So, what of the calm, self-assured woman of endurance who greets me at sunrise—
On the other side of disorientation.
On the other side of reaction.
On the other side of pain.
I am better for this. No one need tell me. I live it.
There is even newfound compassion for myself.
My compassion for others overflows.
This woman.
Who refuses to identify with what is happening in the moment.
She needs this reminder that the other side is bathed in renewal.
The Creator is never daunted but sees the way through.
Do you see your way through?
It’s easy to forget the other side altogether. Instead, we decide that what we suffer is ours, is good enough.
But suffering is not an identity.
Pain is real, but it is not the whole of us.
If I see this Journal as anything, let it be about remembering there is another shore.
The night believes the storm is everything.
Morning remembers there is more.
NOTES
I would like to begin with a recommendation:
In nearly every case, take the earliest appointment possible.
The team is fresh.
Everyone is prompt.
Best of all, it is an opportunity to bless someone's morning.
Blessing someone's morning sets them up for a blessed day.
______
I have been wondering lately if this Journal has been personal enough.
There is always a tension between sharing an insight and sharing the path that led there. One is tidy. The other is often messy, vulnerable, and unfinished.
This reflection came from a long night following a medical procedure and a level of pain I was unprepared for. I considered keeping those details to myself. Instead, I left them in.
I am beginning to suspect that what connects us is rarely our strength.
It is our willingness to be real.
Perhaps perspective works that way too.
We do not find it by rising above our humanity, but by walking honestly through.
What causes you to lose perspective most quickly?
And what helps you find it again?
IMAGE: Grand-mere’s carved wooden bowl from her childhood cradles the sparkling endearments of who I am—not merely beautiful treasures but breadcrumbs that lead me back to myself. There are vivid and recallable memories embedded there like DNA. If you see me wearing one piece or another ask me, “Where did this come from?” And I will tell you of a Mama who wore a rhinestone-encrusted broach each time she and Daddy went on a date…or of a son who secretly purchased the ring for my 40th birthday in my favorite little shop in Provence. While I have packed nearly every other belonging, I am keeping my most precious things close. What memories keep you company in the quiet of the night?
A PRAYER:
Dearest Heavenly Father. I suspect there are those who are awake at 3am along with me.
We are never alone in our suffering. We are there for and with one another. Greater than all of it, YOU are there.
Sometimes you are so quiet when the storm seems daunting. I imagine your thoughts, your intentions fixed not in this present moment, but on the shore. You are with me through it but not “impressed by it,” because you know what is coming and your are steering us there.
That you are there is always evidenced in the arrival. My heart cries out, Oh this is what you have been working on.
You are the companion of my present. And the architect of the new thing.
This is the vision I will hold of you, the CREATE-or of something breathtaking that renews, regenerates, and restores.
I trust you. And I couldn’t love you more. Amen