What Shines After Surgery

Recovery is a blast, y’all, lemme tell ya.  Not sure what made me think I was going to be some grand exception to the six week recovery rule for major colon surgery, but my growing frustration as life passes me by has made it very clear that I thought I would be and . . .


I’m not.

When the doctor says it takes six weeks to recover from colon surgery, he means every day of the entire six weeks.  As in, over forty days.  As in, you will feel uncomfortable and swollen and tired and completely unlike yourself for a whole month and a half no matter how many times you pray to feel better.

Today, I’m almost four weeks into my six weeks of recovery, and so far, I HATE my new semicolon.

Three hours of surgery is a lot.  I guess I get that.  Six incisions is a lot.  I totally get that.  Trust me, every time I try to move even an inch in any direction, I get that. 

I’ve gotten used to the dull ache in my lower abdomen and not wearing anything but pajama and workout pants because my jeans still won’t fit.  I now know the nausea comes and goes, and when I stand up, I should always brace myself for a wave of lightheadedness.  I’ve even given up on staying awake past my children or sleeping in past 4:30 am, because when you can’t keep your eyes open for one second longer and have to go to bed before eight o’clock every night, your body tells you to wake up hours before the sun every morning.  You know, so you don’t get bedsores.  At least the night sweats have stopped . . . most of the time.

I feel quite certain God wants me to use this period of recovery for some purpose I won’t understand for a very long time, if ever.  I can hear him calling me to be still, and friends, it isn’t hard to obey when my body is saying it can’t budge from the chair to do anything.  Besides, 'Property Brothers' is on and this body needs to see the finished renovations Drew and Jonathan made to that horrible house with that couple's generous budget.

The problem with being still is . . . I HATE being still.  Inactivity and me have never gotten along.  I’m not a napper, not even a rester.  I never used to watch TV during the day.  Ever.  Usually, I stand up to eat meals and read emails because, hey, I might need to rush off to do something in between bites and replies and you can’t rush when you’re sitting down.  Stillness feels stifling to me.  I’m not made to be sedentary.  I miss my workouts.  I miss bounding up the stairs and running around in the backyard with the puppy and driving my kids all over town for their activities. 

I miss my productivity. 

And while I am making progress, and my almost healed incisions have allowed for increased mobility that has done wonders for my mental state this week, I have had many moments of dark in this time of recovery.  I have felt depression lurking, its blackness silently creeping up behind me, threatening to settle in all around.

Thankfully, I know the One who drives away all the dark with His light.  And I know those who love Him, and who have loved me because of it.

I have not caught up on my reading during my recovery, as I hoped.  I have not watched every episode of 'Downton Abbey,' as suggested.  I haven’t learned to appreciate an entire afternoon spent relaxing in front of the television, even if a 'Love It or List It' marathon is on.  

No, I have not discovered the joys of rest and stillness.  But I have witnessed a community of people serving Christ through serving me, and I WILL NEVER FORGET IT.

I will never forget the calls and texts and cards and emails they sent.  I will never forget the flowers and gifts and games and goodies they brought.  I will never forget their visits – the way they uplifted me with hugs and smiles and kind words when the pain was constant and the dark was closing in.  I will never forget the support they provided – hosting my children for play dates and driving them where they needed to go.  I will never forget the meals they prepared.  They have fed my family . . . for weeks they have fed my family when I could not . . . and in turn, they have fed my soul.

My semicolon totally stinks, but my people . . .

My people are AMAZING!!!  They are Jesus at work and faith in action and love in the world.  And for me, they are light.  They are the brightest lights of hope and comfort and friendship, and their choice to be the hands and feet of Christ for me and my family have kept the dark away.  I will be forever grateful. 

Proverbs 17:17  A friend loves at all times.

I think one of the greatest joys I find in womanhood is in my friendships.  My husband has some wonderful friends – men he has known for years and who now live all over the country, some of whom he speaks to almost daily.  But Adam’s conversations with his friends are like a morning radio show on ESPN. They rehash athletes and sporting events as though being paid to do so, and then hang up abruptly, never once having inquired about one another’s wives, children, jobs, lives, souls.

Lord, how I thank you for making me a female.  I don’t ever have to talk about Tiger Woods with my girlfriends.  I can, of course, because my friends and I can talk about anything.  Yet the majority of my conversations with other women consist of meaningful discussion that truly has the potential to affect my life.

It wasn’t always that way.  The richness that exists in my friendships is not there just because I’m a woman – it’s also there because I’m an adult and a mother.  I was fortunate to have great friends throughout my childhood, and many of those friendships will, I believe, last for the rest of my life.  Still, young girls can’t possibly grasp the depth of importance their friends will have in their adult lives – when the jealousy is either completely gone or easily shared, and the focus is on love and loyalty rather than on social status and survival.  We’re in this game of life together now, as companions instead of competitors.  We want the best for each other, we help each other, sacrifice for each other.

Yes, I think the sincerity in my adult friendships with other mothers comes from the maturity only age and experience can provide.  I also believe it comes from the One who designed friendship from the beginning, He who created us to be in fellowship with others so we could learn what it means to truly love your neighbor as yourself (Mark 12:31).  You see, I treasure my friends because I see Christ in them, and because, I want to be Christ for them.   

I spent a weekend with some of my favorite women recently – a girls getaway as we like to call such outings.  And while we didn’t go far, we didn’t stay long, and we didn’t do anything particularly special, the weekend . . . the women . . . touched my life, and I wasn’t at all surprised.

I see love notes from God all around me this time of year.  In the warmth of the spring sun on my back, in the dogwoods peeking through the pines, in the yellow tulips smiling at me from just beyond my front door.  But I see God most in other women.  When they laugh with me, and sometimes, at me.  When they challenge me to be myself, only better.  When they are honest about my flaws, and accept me anyway.  When they send me a thoughtful text message at just the right time.  When they lift me up with kind words and gestures.  When they encourage me to look beyond my circumstances.  When they affirm my worth in their caring.  When they nurture me . . . educate me . . . inspire me . . . forgive me.

I am so grateful to God for the amazing women he has put in my life.  They are beautiful and bold.  They are dynamic and daring.  They are smart and sweet and silly and soulful.  They are His daughters, spirit-filled and spirit-led, and they are my friends.  I pray I can love them as well as they love me.