I had my third back surgery in March. I healed, I rested, I began to get strong again.
The past 9 months have been the most prolonged, unrelenting, and disquieting crucible I have yet come through in my handful of years in this skin. Except that I'm not through it yet. I have another year ahead of me of almost a repeat of the last--waiting for surgery, the hell of the assault on the internal rearranging, the months of recovery. This time it will be my hip, not my back. It's a problem I have had for years that has now culminated in an utter inability to carry on. I cannot walk for 2 minutes without shutdown. But more on that later.
In the midst of the fire, there have been all variety of encouragements and sightings of beauty and truth that have sustained me. God has made his concern for me evident through the constant tangible outpouring of his love through human hearts and hands. Different themes have surfaced and repeated themselves until I have to stop and reflect for fear that I might forget the foundational promise. Just like the Jewish idea of zakhor--"remember!"--and the Israelite tradition of marking triumph with Ebenezer stones, or the "Selah" pausing and reflecting throughout the Psalms, I repeat the stories to myself of how God has brought me this far. It is in the looking back that we have strength to look forward--it is because of the proof of his faithfulness, over and over, that I can even face another day of the bane that is my body.
One of the pillars that has been most substantial this past year is the combination of music and friends who participate in the making and enjoying of it. There is one lyric that sums it up for me and is both a looking-back reminder and a looking-forward exhortation: excuse us while we sing to the sky. In the context of the whole song, it carries weight and significance, but it also stands alone as a little mini-sermon to me.
excuse--We are commanded to rest, to set aside time from the work and demands of the daily grind so that we might focus on prayer and meditation. It is a built-in human need to break away regularly and to have our minds renewed in the Word through the Spirit.
us--I am not alone in either my darkness, my pursuit of Christ, or my purpose in being transformed. One of the roses that has sprung up out of cracks in the concrete is the gift of camaraderie in unexpected forms. I have a lot of friends--when I think of how many people I could truly call friend, it is humbling and astounding. But somehow because of my additional level of brokenness and need this past year, I have formed friendships with a whole new strata of allies. That combined with the steady, committed, rock-solid support from Hank and the kids has undoubtedly been Aaron's and Hur's diligence to the arms of Moses.
while we sing--A sizeable chunk of my singing these days (both literal and metaphorical) is a dire cry for help from a dark and desperate place. "I'm broken!! I feel forgotten!" (Have you read Psalms lately? There is a heck of a lot of despair going on!) The reminder and challenge to myself here is that I keep on singing, but not alone. If left alone too long in my tune, I digress into hopeless dirges about my current physical state and the repercussions thereof. Lyrics of everything from fourth-century hymns to thrashing metal anthems have pulled me out of my self and directed my focus upward. Which brings me to the point of it all:
to the sky--If I sit here and look at myself, my problems, my hopelessness, I will never leave this place of discouragement. I don't keep my eyes on the ground. The beauty of these songs though is that they are NOT to ourselves, they are not just cries that float out unnoticed, but rather we sing to the Maker. He knows my frame. He knows the dust. He does not sit idly by, weak and unable to rescue. He is not shocked or surprised by my angry screams at being unable to simply go for a walk. He is not distant and indifferent to my pleas for release.
I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;
he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me,
I will call on him as long as I live.
The cords of death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
I was overcome by distress and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
“Lord, save me!”
The Lord is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
The Lord protects the unwary;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
for the Lord has been good to you.
For you, Lord, have delivered me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before the Lord
in the land of the living.
Praise the Lord.
Listen to The Song here.
