Anesthesia

More stuff that I wrote in the early days of my divorce... still applies. Don't you just love how God's truths are universal? Pondering....

ANESTHESIA

Praise God for the person who invented anesthesia. When we have to face the trauma of surgery – whether minor or major, we get a visit from a wonderful person who injects a drug into our I.V. and asks us to count backward from one hundred. Before we get to ninety-eight, we’re in La-La Land while our body is being opened and invaded. We wake up several hours later not remembering anything of the ordeal, just feeling groggy, if not a little goofy. If we are in pain, we’ve got a little button to increase the dosage of meds that will allow us to drift away again.

There is a point after surgery, however, when we wake up riddled with pain. Most of us don’t remember this period, because the recovery nurse is there to add yet another drug that will numb the hurting and put us to sleep again. I had surgery several years ago, and for some reason the recovery nurse was not quite so “on the spot;” I remember waking up. I was still in a hallway on the gurney and no one was around. I remember crying out in pain, “It hurts, it hurts!” I have a distinct memory of body contortions and flailing arms. It didn’t last long, but long enough to be branded forever on my brain. I can’t recall the actual pain, but I definitely remember the results of the pain.

I think I have created my own form of anesthesia to cover the anguish of my life. My therapist is the one who pointed it out, as I mentioned briefly at the beginning of this writing. (Fran’s so great… that’s why we pay her the big bucks!) I’m not interested in dealing with my aching heart, so I’ve come up with a coping mechanism to dull my senses and move forward without sorting out how I feel. Unfortunately, when we don’t allow the feelings to come, they don’t magically disappear like socks in a dryer. Just the opposite; they cling to us and continue to pile up, burning and smoldering slowly until a massive volcano has been formed that is set to blow at any given moment.

A surgeon cuts us open because there is a problem, a disease, a mass to be removed. The end result is healing and restoration. The ugly part of this healthy course of action is that the good doctor must first cut into the sickness before he can take it away. If Jesus is our Master Healer, the same must be true of Him. There will be some amount of pain felt as our Lord takes us through the process of removing the hurt and bringing us to wholeness. Sometimes we get lucky enough to opt for laser surgery. That’s the less invasive choice and is available for somewhat minor conditions. Regrettably, this option is not always available. The larger the hurt, the more intense the operation will be.

It all comes down to a mater of trust. As a Christian, I have trusted God to take care of me, but somehow I’m in this mess anyway. Do I trust Him enough to get me through the agony I’m facing? It’s easier to ignore it and go make myself feel better by spending money or eating or (insert addiction here). Once again, I’m my own savior, relying on physical crutches and bandages to heal a spiritual wound. P.S. Not gonna happen. If I allow God to move His hand, I will have to face the facts that I made some poor choices along the way. I’m forced to look in the mirror of my life and see myself for who and what I actually am: broken due to my own inabilities and lack of trust in God. It’s a cycle the Father wants to rescue us from, if we will only allow Him.

As the Israelites in the Bible wandered in the desert, they needed a receptacle to wash their hands in as they presented their sacrifices to the Lord. (Check out the book of Exodus for further details) Someone came up with the brilliant idea of melting down their mirrors to create what they called the Laver. God’s lovely sense of humor shows up a bit here; as they washed to prepare themselves for spending time with God, they first came face to face with their own image in the bowl of washing. As we allow ourselves to come to God with our stuff, we are compelled to “look in the laver.” When what we see is not so desirable, we have a choice to make. Do we continue into the presence of God and allow Him to perform the necessary surgical treatment, or do we look away into our own stew pot of solutions and make things worse?

Anesthesia is a wonderful tool when used in proper doses. Conversely, even if we choose to live our lives under a state of sedation, there will be a day when we are forced to wake up and answer the pain. Agony of the heart will not remain tranquilized forever. We must allow ourselves to feel the pain. How very unfortunate. My flesh would rather remain dulled to the torture, thank you very much. In renewing my mind daily, I am reminded that feelings are not what we live by. Feelings are fluid and temporary. (You might want to underline that one.) There’s an old saying about some days feeling like the windshield, and some days feeling like the bug. Either way, there’s a nasty mess to deal with. Some days I feel like pizza – that can’t be what I use to plan my life. Feelings come and go. We have to allow them their time, then release them to the One who can put us back into perspective.

So I’ve begun to allow the feelings to surface. This is so very ugly. My chest gets heavy and it’s literally hard to breathe. My limbs go weak and I can’t move much. Crying comes out in uncontrollable sobs and moans from the depths of my soul. I am driven to look eye to eye at rejection, remorse, guilt, hatred and sorrow, and they come tumbling at me all at once like a filthy snowball wanting to crush me into its frozen, foul existence. Somehow, though, I survive the ordeal. Breathing becomes easier and I’m not quite as paralyzed as moments before. I wipe my face, get something to drink, and realize that I feel lighter. There are still scars – surgery always leaves its mark. But I’m hopeful that the blemish will fade somewhat in time. Will the next bout of “feelings” be easier? Probably not – at least for a while anyway. I’ve got a lot of years stuffed into this volcano of mine; it’s going to take some time and work to get it all out. But I will, and I’ll be healthier on the other side. That’s not trite talk or cute empty words – it is truth. God has promised me a hope and a future, and I’m not going to allow the enemy to steal it from me any longer.

Cadence

Images of drummers and majorettes... memories of uniforms with white pants & tennis shoes. Crowds. Concentration. Keeping the rhythm. Watching the line. Marching in place. Stepping in horse poop. (There were ALWAYS horses in front of the band.) Pride that I was representing something. Satisfaction in a job well done. Exhaustion. Being part of something bigger than myself.

Friend Donna recently shared some facts with me that she heard regarding marching bands. It seems that when the troop approaches a bridge, the drummers stop their beating of the cadence. The band simply walks across the bridge, then picks up their march and continues on. Apparently, the cadence, the continual beat and timbre and marching has been known to cause structural damage to bridges. As the cadence continues, the stability of the bridge is compromised. The bridge could fall. The band's unity of purpose could take out the structure... the underpinning... the stuff holding the constitution of the bridge in place. The cadence could cause the bridge to collapse. Interesting.

As women of strong faith, Donna and I were relating this information to prayer. We happened to be praying together for our little friend Olivia, who recently underwent her second liver transplant. What if we saw our prayers as the cadence? And what if we understood the plans of the enemy as the bridge? What if we continued the cadence of prayer and stood on top of the bridge and continued our outcries to God as a barrage against the underpinnings of the enemy? Would the same hold true? I believe any engineer would have to say yes. I say yes. The Word of God says yes.

However {there's always a catch}... this is not to say that it will come easy. I was in a marching band in high school. Remember the horse poop mentioned earlier? Parades offer up a variety of characters. {Pictures of life here.} Beautiful ladies in snazzy cars. Ridiculous clowns. Flowing band music. Obnoxious air horns. And horses that poop as they walk.

Amid all of this clamoring for attention, the band is somewhere in the foray. Keeping cadence. Fighting the other noises. Individual members who act as one body. Straining to stay in tune. In line. Keeping step... even when it's through the yuck that has passed before them. Never going around it, always through it. Maintaining cadence. Hot and sticky and needing a break. Keeping to their purpose. Maintaining cadence.

I want that determination, and not just when I pray over something as critical as Olivia's healing. I have the ability to pray for a season and stick with an emergency need until it is completed. But what about my daily routine? What about keeping that pattern of prayer just for communion with God? How would my life be different if there were a continual cadence of worship?

I have recently come across several women that are living this way. Donna is one of them. There are a few others that I am watching. I want to be like them - not when I grow up, but now. I want a cadence of worship over my life. I am creating a cadence of worship over my life.

There are still the un-touchable beauties waving around me (sigh) and the goofy clowns running past (another sigh). But I must keep my focus on the One who is directing my destiny. I must maintain a cadence of worship. Even through the yuck. Even when I get tired. Will I slow down? Yes. Will I get weary and lose a day or two? You betcha. Will I get back up and go again? Absolutely. Because I'm surrounding myself with those women. I'm watching them and they have been invited to watch me. We will hold each other up and give an elbow in the ribs when the step gets off or the notes go a bit out of tune. We're in this together.

We're keeping the cadence.

And we look fabulous in our uniforms!