Silently dropping my party dress to the floor, I accept the dull, over-sized hospital gown out of his hand. A prickle of worry skitters across my Mr.'s face, like a dragonfly landing on a calm pond, I see the look of concern zip through his eyes. As quickly as it came, it went. Flashing me a quick smile, he recedes to a chair over in the corner and allows the "professionals" to take over.
Suddenly the room is a buzz with unfamiliar sounds and smells. Sharp antiseptic odors slice through the air like freshly cut grass. Like a steady stream of ants, people whom
I do not know are parading into the room with blue scrubs on. They poke and prod at my naked body. They talk to each other and I am but an mere participant who has surrendered her body to their expertise. Do they realize I am still cognizant and listening? Do they realize that I can feel each needle?
Time seems frozen. I am silent but my eyes are wide and searching for assurance. Like the eyes of a holocaust victim, I am empty and resigned to whatever they choose for me. Machines are attached and my inside is now viewable to this outside world. I long to be unconsciousious and unaware, but instead I am invited to observe the placement of "help" deep into my leg. Curiousity over-rides my thoughts and I watch. Like molasses slowly dripping into a bucket, time painfully drops one moment at a time out of reach. Pain is felt and unconsciousness is what my heart is yearning for.
The gurney is moving and this cornucopia of humanity blends together as I arrive into the prepared sterile environment. Like a comedy, reality and dreamland are slowly blending together. A round face with thick black rimmed glasses appears within inches of mine and announces, "I get to watch you sleep!" Smiling, I let go and slid into oblivion. My fate rests in the hands of these professionally trained strangers.
Today marks two weeks since my foray into surgery. Today my mind is clear and I am ready to process all that has taken place. However, my thoughts are high jacked by this one question, "Why am I willing to trust utter complete strangers with my life (the only one I get on this planet) and yet I sometimes struggle to trust the one who knit my body together and knows me better than I know myself? The one who hung the stars in place and put the planets in order? The one who watched His Only Beloved son hang on that cross for me?" Seems a little out of balance. Do you every struggle with trusting your Creator?
Reclining in my mossy green chair, with my leg up, my eyes run over the walls, like a spider searching earnestly for something to adhere the beginnings of a web to. Instantly, my eyes screech to a halt. There on the chalkboard is a white, chalk-etched scripture
"...but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is..." (Romans 12:2). Pausing, slowly, ever so slowly, the understanding slides into place. Like a slide in an old Kodak slide projector. It takes a bit to focus, but the longer I stare at this, the clearer it becomes. My mind and heart need to be filled with His words, for they are the soil that will allow me to cultivate the ability to trust Him.
May His word seep into the marrow of your bones. May it penetrate your heart and mind. May it overwhelm you with a new unshakable trust in your Creator.
Until We Chat Again,
the Plank-Eyed Girl
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