Time to Think

I’m currently on Day 13.

I’ve had nearly two full weeks of trying to take it easy (ha) and eating an extremely boring diet, recovering from a tonsillectomy last month. It had to be done to stop the chronic strep throat that wouldn’t leave; Scott was told while I was in recovery that once my tonsils were out, it was clear that the whole thing was more necessary than we knew. (I'm sparing you some pretty gross details.) I’m glad it’s done, for sure, and am looking forward to feeling really good again…though for someone like me (analytical, introspective, prone to depressive episodes) the time with nothing to do but heal hasn’t been very good. I’m up and about now, but those days of rest…..whew.

There was much too much time for me to think, and that isn’t always a good thing.

For a few days I was fine, drifting in and out of medicated naps and watching movie after movie. Leah was with her grandparents, and I was able to rest well knowing she was in good hands and that Scott and I had nothing to worry about but my recovery. After a few days, though, it got hard. I missed my daughter. I missed my friends. I missed sunshine and fresh air and anything that was beyond my range of vision when I sat on the couch. Once Scott went back to work last week, it got worse. I began to feel like a burden, as arrangements for Leah’s care became more elaborate and I began to feel like we were cashing in favors that hadn’t been earned yet. It was hard. I had a hard couple of days. Life had ground to a halt, but my mind had not. The thoughts whirled and twisted and dashed around in my head, torturing me more with every waking moment.

And then, in response to a pitiful Facebook status, it came. A comment that made me cry…partly in spite of the wisdom in its words and partly because of it.

Patience is the "word for the day". You will be 100% soon. I think God wants you to "be still." You think? Hang in there.

When I read that, I knew my friend was right. In all of my lounging and thinking and analyzing of the situation, I hadn’t really been present in the moment. I spent those days wishing they were gone, and when the time frame for my recovery stretched from what I had hoped for into what I had feared, I dove into depression. Pitiful? Yes. True? Yes, yes.

So I took my pitiful self outside. I got some fresh air and a little sunshine and began to see things in a slightly different light.

I prayed and I cried and I listened to music louder than I should. I scribbled in my journal as best I could, since I it’s hard to see through tear-speckled glasses. I reflected on silence and community and healing and let the sun warm my toes. It was good for me.

When I came back inside, I had learned a couple of things…things I couldn’t have learned in any other way but through pain and anguish.

I learned that silence is not my enemy.

I learned that when people offer to help me, it is probably more a blessing to them than it is to me, and refusing them that privilege is selfish.

I (re)learned that God is big enough to handle my anger and my sadness and my frustration, and that pouring out my heart to Him is healing for me and just what He longs for.

I learned other, more private, things about myself, that I’ll tuck in my heart and save for later.

No, I don’t think I handled my recovery very gracefully. There are so many people dealing with illnesses and struggles so much more severe than mine, and they handle it better than I did my own time of rest. I am not proud of that.

I know myself, though, and I know that the time was necessary for me to learn a few things, and that in the middle of it all, God was working. He always is…even when it looks like things around me have ground to a halt.