In six weeks I will be in an operating room.
In six weeks I shall endure pain in the hopes of overcoming pain.
Ironic isn't it?
Before Pinterest there was the art of collaging. Technology now makes it easy to thumb through countless pictures and pin them to a virtual board. Despite this addicting application, every year I still grab a stack of magazines and a pair of scissors setting aside an afternoon to create. In a way it's become a personal timeline, a snapshot of ideas, dreams, and hopes. The last five years currently hang in my room all capturing authentically me from 2011-2016. Studying them you might find similarities, subtle nuances carried over throughout the years. Yet each year seems to hold its own theme.
Glancing at my hope for 2016, I can sum it up with one phrase: turning the page. Regeneration is always at the heart of authentically me. The lotus is after all my favorite flower. I seek to pursue the art of restoration, to live life better to be more each day than I was the last. I seek to be kinder, more patient, more accepting, more generous, more loving, more considerate, more faithful, more compassionate. I hope to be strong in the face of adversity, to conquer fear, to seek to heal, to listen, to reach out.
Despite our best intentions and the internal struggle, our flesh can be weak. So is the case with me. Most of my life I've struggled to feel in control of a failing body. As if there are two drastic parts of me: the spirit and the vessel in which it is kept. The spirit is adventurous, energetic, capable, fearless. The vessel is weak, stubborn, weighted, exhausted. When your body's entire foundation is broken, the structure upon which you stand constantly working against you, life itself becomes a daily struggle. So is the case with me.
After having multiple orthopedic surgeries before I reached high-school, I grew up keenly aware that something was fundamentally wrong with me. Yes, I was capable in academics. Yes, I was kind to those around me. Yes, I was a loyal friend. Yes, I was a dreamer, a writer. Yet I wasn't able to be active like my peers could. Sitting in a chair for long period of times brought numbness, running was out of the question, walking was okay for short stretches. Swimming preferred. If I walked, I hurt for two days after. If I played volleyball, I struggled to move the next day. Any sort of prolonged activity brought me debilitating pain.
Ever since I can remember my back issues and the symptoms they produce have been an active painful part of my life. Ever since I can remember I've suffered in silence. Those who struggle with chronic pain often do not realize how much their pain isolates them. We live our lives the way we were forced to. We survived, adapted, carried on, moved forward. We clenched and bore it. We got on with it. We deal with it alone and rarely speak of it. In my case, I never wanted it to limit me. I've walked up the Acropolis in Athens, I've scuba dived in Cozumel, I've been skydiving, I've climbed the stairs to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I've prayer-walked the red-light districts of Bangkok and played upon the beaches of Ireland.
Over the course of the last four years my structure has progressively gotten worse. So much so that today when I went to church I could not stand to worship Jesus. As hard as I tried to make it through four songs of praise, I was forced to sit down. My spirit was willing my flesh was weak. Usually in these first few moments my anger dissolves to disappointment, upset at myself and the limitations of the body I've been given. In the darkest of times I give into despair and self-hatred. Today however Jesus renewed my spirit and gave me a vision. As a grasped the chair behind me to sit He breathed life into my hope of turning the page.
I watched on as Jesus placed his hands over my chest, over my heart, to the very center of my body, where my soul dwells. His Carpenter hands, the Builder, the Maker of all things, revived me. His hands pressing down three times as if signaling me being brought back to life. As I sat there overcome by sadness at my limitations and the desperate desire to be beyond this pain, He gave me the vision of restoration. My restoration by his hands.
As June 28th approaches I am more ready each and every day to turn this page in my life. For the last fifteen years I've dealt with the pain caused by my spine. No more. I trust and choose to move forward in the hope of a better life. A life where my body and spirit are not divided. A life where my spirit and body reflect who I authentically am.
