An Uncomfortable Leap

My year has been off to a transformative start. On January 4th, I had an eight month long awaited doctor appointment. I have grown accustomed to such inconvenient timing, seeing as though I have been seeking help and answers for a decade. From pediatric care, to gynecology, gastroenterology, endocrinology, psychology, homeopathic treatment, supplementation, nutritionists, and so on, I know well what it means to bark up every tree of possibility and wait. That place of waiting can be daunting. For me, it has often felt like sitting in darkness and seeing a glimmer of light way up above. That darkness is the hopelessness of another “no… we don’t see anything wrong here… we’re not sure why you feel this way… just drink some more water.” And that glimmer of light is my tether to hope. Hope of the outcome of said appointment providing relief and answers that every fiber of my being desires. Anticipation is quite the wild ride, isn’t it? I woke up on January 4th trying to numb myself of the tension of potential hope or hopelessness. I found myself, simultaneously, gearing up for battle – the battle of advocating for oneself with a new doctor. If you know you know. I was armed with my story; a story of symptoms, struggle, pain, disappointment, and longing. And boy was I thrown off when I did not need any armor at all and received genuine, heartfelt care. The appointment ended with the decision to do laparoscopic surgery in hopes of finding answers (most likely endometriosis). I left the appointment bewildered by how much peace I was experiencing and clung to that peace as I waited for the call to schedule the surgery, which I assumed would be months from then. I waited so long for appointment number 1, how long would I be waiting for actual surgery itself? I relayed the news to all my cheerleaders (shoutout to my mom) who have championed me on amidst 10 years of chronic pain. As the day came to a close, I received a call that there had been a cancellation and I could have surgery in five days. Five days! I rode quite a few roller coasters of thought, Jon endured quite a few roller coasters of emotions, poor guy haha. But nonetheless, I arrived for surgery gut-wrenchingly curious as to what reality I would wake up to. Would I know, after all this waiting, what had been the root of so much hardship in my life? Would eradicating some of this potential disease change my day-to-day? Would I have pain-free days? Or would this be soul-crushing if I wake up to “nothing wrong… not it… no” yet again. The wheels were spinning, but my anesthetic cocktail did the trick. I wish I could have a night cap like that every night. Groggy and half conscious I see my husband’s face peering down at me. The mind is truly something else… with immediacy as if the subconscious was grasping for a hold without having fully come out of the deep sleep it had been in I incoherently beg Jon to tell me what happened while I was under. With slurred language I ask, “has this been it all along?” to which he gently responds, “yes.” I continue to ask 5 more times in 5 different ways if I had endometriosis and if the surgeon had removed some of it. My brain was so desperate to know the answer but my heart, or my soul rather, wasn’t even fully awake yet. But I can recall, as I was coming to consciousness, a warm, sweet, comforting, feeling in my chest. One that allowed me to rest my head back down and be still with this immense gift. Not everyone has the luxury of knowing the cause of their chronic pain. I have deep empathy for those individuals. The gift of knowing is not promised to us on the side of heaven. I did not know for what felt like a long time. It was in the not knowing that I had to learn that God is both faithful and good even if I never get a diagnosis, even if the majority of my life is spent enduring physical, and in return, psychological pain, and even if I felt largely misunderstood because of an unseen, unknown, unnamed illness. In the darkness, He met me and confirmed His covenant promises to me. That He sees me, He is with me, and He is making all things new. 

Prior to my appointment and surgery I had booked a silent retreat at a monastery. I write this on day three of silence as I sit at the desk in my room. The wall opposing the entry of this room is made of glass. A majestic, archaic oak tree, dripping in moss sits on the other side of the glass. The sun is ever so softly shining through its branches, creating dancing shadows on the wall. Beyond this specific tree are hundreds more, gloriously stretching out over rolling hills of plush green grass. The river is nestled in between these lovely hills and majestic oaks. I can’t help but recall Psalm 23 as I consume this land with my senses…

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

    He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.

    He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

I resonate deeply with these verses, and not primarily because I’m looking at a green pasture, or have had ample time to walk alongside the river, both of which have been deliciously healing. Rather, I know that “the valley of the shadow of death” and the presence of “enemies” is a momentous part of life to grieve, to lament, and to sit with. But even more momentous is that God, even in the darkness, comes to us, often in silence, and pours redemption into the deepest wounds. Worth every ounce of celebration is God’s restoration of our souls. Though it can feel mysterious and untimely, it is always carried out with intimate care and perfection. I rejoice in a diagnosis, even though the presence of a chronic disease isn’t exactly exhilarating. But it is not my true Hope. Oh how much of a letdown life would be if it was. It is a gift from the One who holds us in the waiting and a reminder of that which I am really waiting for, eternity with Him. How marvelous it is to contemplate the fulfillment of everything I have ever longed for! It seems too good to be true. 

In the Lord’s shepherding of me, I share this piece of my story. Not all of my journal entries are fluent, trust me. You should see some of the angry scribbles and fear saturated sentences. If anything these words are tangible evidence of the enriching benefits of being still. From surgery to silence, I have both physically and emotionally been under the precise hand of the Great Physician. In the literal excision of tissue from my organs, to lying down amidst the beauty of creation, I feel a new capacity during the onset of this year (it’s funny how that works… as if my cup is overflowing). 

A capacity that will ebb and flow, I’m sure, but for the first time in a long time, some capacity nonetheless. I hope this newfound margin enables me to orient myself to the very thing I am made for – truth, beauty, and goodness. And that, as a result of that orientation, I will lean into the nudge to create. Albeit stringing words together, creating endometriosis remedies, writing recipes, baking, sharing workouts, decorating our home, gardening, filming camping trips, making travel itineraries, reviewing restaurants, or documenting beautiful, silly little moments, it is my hope to just show up and maybe continue sharing along the way.

If you have made it this far, thank you. Admittedly, the thought of that is a little scary but I hope you will stay tuned for wherever or whatever this recently discovered capacity leads to next… I imagine it will lead to a little bit of everything.