A Little Post

So apparently getting spinal fluid sucked out of your spinal column is a bit unnerving to one's Central  Nervous System (pun intended). To rectify this, if you go to the ER, they will then shoot your own blood back into your spinal column to hopefully clot up the hole that was left from sucking out fluid, which is most likely the cause of said un-nerviness (read: massive head pain, nausea, dizziness, wooziness, can't-stop-sleepingness). It will be pretty much the most awesome ER visit ever because God paves the way with great techs, nurses, and a NP that calls all the right people and actually gets you to radiology for the blood patch (the technical term for "shooting blood into ones spinal column")..on a Sunday evening, which doesn't usually happen. And you get to sleep in your own bed that night rather than being admitted. Also, getting this blood will make your spine feel like it's been kicked by an entire hockey team and you'll hobble around the next day. And break a sweat trying to do your field vision test so you can start a new med but those green dots are SO hard to find when your brain is fuzzy and your eyes keep glazing over.

And you'll realize -as you're sweating all over the chin piece at the eye doctor (sorry person who's going after me)- that you really are not able to get on the plane that you're supposed to be getting on the day after your birthday to finally celebrate Christmas with your side of the family and see some of your awesome nieces and nephews. And even though you've prepped your friends and family (because well, lumbar puncture and ER visit...) that the trip might not happen, you still feel like you're disappointing them...even though they are the MOST encouraging support team and keep telling you that your health comes first.

So you ice pack your head after returning from the sweaty experience of eye tests and start thinking "okay, am I going to feel sorry for myself?" And you don't, but you do cry a bit because you're really hurting physically and you need to let that wave of pain wash over and settle. And it does, because it always does and returns to more tolerable levels and then you can more level-headedly assess your heart. And your heart wants to see familiar faces and hug loved ones necks and "good-golly am I ever going to get back out to Arizona!?" frustration brushes a bit.

And you breathe. And you know what? - that quiet still voice is there, in the fading of the pain tide, in the plans cracking and reassembling into something you don't know yet. Stillness. Deep-rootedness. Him. My God.

I can give my plans to him and trust Him to work out the best option. I already saw the fruit from canceling that first trip. There will be fruit with this schedule change too. Good fruit. Because He's growing it.

And with that, my head is Lifted, just as His word says. He lifts my head (Psalm 3:3). Even my banged up, pressurized, sometimes-a-new-head-sounds-like-a-great-plan, head. He's leading me. He's leading Jim. He's leading us. And on the cusp of a new year, when the fact that my plans changed again and without my consent, I feel I could easily tip into lamenting, which would be understood and isn't a bad thing, it's okay to be sad and to mourn...but this time, I can feel the urge to focus on what He's been showing me over the past month.

Grow.

Grow what you've been given.

I've picked three areas to grow in this year new year and well, since my birthday falls near the beginning of the year, it works out well to combine all that "new year goal" stuff together:

Grow in my writing.
Grow in encouraging others.
Grow in discipline.

So, Lord, I want to use this unexpected plan change to grow in You. To show You to others. To love others. And I'm writing this and leaving this as an encouragement to myself in case I need to read it on Wednesday when I am supposed to be boarding that plane that won't be boarded now. Because I want to remember the stillness, the peace. That this is okay and my head is lifted.