Everything is Different…
“Everything is different!” This was the starting statement this morning during our service. It struck enough of a chord for me that I wanted to start this post with it. The pastor went on to speak about how when you find the Lord and allow him into your heart, things seem different; everything seems different. Many who have accepted the Lord and really made this step know exactly what I mean here. What kept running through my mind was not that the statement was true, but how it was, and how sometimes that is very hard.
Growing up, we were not a church-going family. We attended Christmas and Easter, but to say we were Christians then would be a lie. I only found the Lord later in life, when I met my wife, and her father (who was our pastor) helped me understand what it meant to accept the Lord, truly allow him into my heart, and be transformed. Everything was different! I felt whole and had a new sense of purpose for life. What I am not sure people understand is how difficult that transformation is for someone who didn’t grow up in the church or go to church. It meant leaving many things from my past behind. This meant friends wouldn’t know me as they once did, and that my family would see a big change in me. This was difficult because some of the people I loved the most no longer understood who I was or who I was becoming. Many young Christians get tripped up by this and fall back into the life that has so many cherished memories. It is not that we don’t want to join the Christian life or have Jesus walk with us, but it seems as though we no longer fit where we have always fit. You have to be ok with being uncomfortable and help those who follow you on that path. We have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.
That is where we find ourselves in our continuing story, learning to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. When we last spoke, we had some good news, no blood clots, and everything was going to be ok. Two days after that last appointment, we had our next scheduled day with our doctor. Because I had taken that Friday off to take my wife to the doctor, I asked my son to take her to this normal appointment. For six weeks, we had been together as a team, struggling to make it all work. Doctor’s appointments and traveling up and down stairs in my wife’s wheelchair. It had been difficult, but we got through it together as we always do. My wife and I are resilient (at least we thought we were), and some would say hardheaded. Tell me I can’t do something, and we will both try to prove you wrong. It had been difficult, but we had made it; her cast was coming off.
While they were at the appointment, things were very quiet. Which is not normal. Normally, my son would be updating me as the doctor was giving him information. I was a bit concerned with that, but figured we had just been to the doctor and things were ok. Then I got a text from him. “Hey, things are not good. Can you talk?” I couldn’t at the time, but I stepped out of my meeting and called. By then, he had sent me a picture of his mother’s foot and explained a bit. My wife’s stitches had given way. Her foot/heel was wide open to the bone. I was in shock looking at this wound. As you heard earlier, I am not one for this kind of stuff. I spoke to her, and she was holding it together, but the doctor's words were jarring. “This will set you back months.” My heart filled with pain and concern, one that I was not there for this. I have always been there, but the doctor had said all was good. The guilt was building. I got off the phone, and my supervisor came into the room to check on my wife. We are friends outside of work and have been for some time. I am not ashamed to say that I lost it. All of those emotions came out. Each tear was just filled with guilt, pain, and regret that I hadn’t done more to be there, to push that doctor on Friday, or just simply be a better husband. I was a puddle for about 15 minutes.
To my friend/supervisor’s credit, he was very supportive and told me to go home. I did go home for just a bit to check on my wife. We had a moment to ourselves and discussed what was to come. The doctor had told us that for the next couple of months, I was going to have to clean, pack, and care for this wound three times a day. Here I was, someone who can’t stand the blood and guts of things, but now I was in charge of making sure my wife’s wound was cleaned and packed properly. I was uncomfortable to say the least. How could I take on this responsibility, and how could I not? I prayed right then and there for strength. For the ability to be comfortable with what I was uncomfortable with, because everything was now different.
Talk again soon….
