This and That, Morning of Surgery, Tuesday, February 3, 2009

It is early Tuesday morning, and it has been a VERY long night. I am functioning, or at least trying to, on a couple hours sleep. Poor Simon slept even less.

They came in around 11 last night with the platelets to ready Simon for today's surgery. Around midnight, Simon started tossing and turning and crying, because his IV sight hurt. The nurse checked it and gave him a warm blanket to put on it, but said everything was okay with it. The warmth helped a little, but he has been mostly awake since then. Around 5:30, they came and took his blood to make sure his platelets are high enough for the surgery, which is scheduled for 7.

There are so many thoughts tumbling through my head and I would like to put some of them to paper.

Strength in weakness has been at the forefront of my thoughts these last few days. I have never seen myself as a strong person. Physically, I have always been weak. Emotionally, I often feel more like a jelly fish than a shark. Spiritually, I seem to spend far more time down in the valleys of despair than up on the mountain tops of joy.

I have been amazed over this past week at how many people have made comments about my strength. When people say that, and I feel like a part of me is dying inside from my lack of strength, it causes me to ponder. What are people seeing that I am unable to see and certainly do not feel? I tend to be a person who wears her heart upon her sleeve, and so this whole concept leaves me puzzled.

I am also a person who cannot walk away from a puzzle. It has been turning around in my mind as I have been going about my daily tasks, and I believe that while I have yet to complete the puzzle, I have made a good start.

When I wrote my note about the power of we, a friend told me of a saying the Italians have. It is "Io chi siamo." Translated, it means "The I that we are." What a beautiful and powerful phrase. I have turned it around in my mind to be the we that I am. As one, I am week. I had my feet knocked out from under me last week, and yet I did not fall. How is it possible to remain standing when this occurred?

"My strength comes from the Lord," is often heard in Christian circles and is so very true, but what does that really mean? How does He provide that strength? I never fully understood, but this past week, I have been given a very clear picture.

My strength is in the "we" that have surrounded me and my family. From the friend who told me that "we" would get through this, to the friends who have taken care of my family's physical needs by providing meals, to the friend clear across the country who reminded me that he was with me, holding my hand through yesterday, to the friend who took the time to drive clear across town to sit with me while Simon is in surgery, to the pastor who has come and held us up spiritually through the first trip to the ER when we first heard the devastating words and the friends and strangers all across the country who are storming the gates of heaven on Simon's behalf. (I love the picture of strength that phrase places in my mind!)

Strength comes from knowing that though I weep, I do not weep alone. The staff and teachers at the school who have been crying right along side of me has given me strength. The freedom to let the tears flow during corporate worship at the church and have people put their arms around me and literally hold me up. I am reminded of a massive dam that holds back the power of the river. The sheer strength of the flowing water powers our homes. I feel that tears also have strength in their release. The friends who allow me to open those flood gates and let the tears flow give me strength.

I am able to still stand because of the friends who are holding me up off of the ground. I see a vision of being surrounded by hands of friends nearby and far away carrying me across the rocky ground.

Strength comes from strangers. From the members of a church who have reached out to care for the physical needs of the family by taking care of our stove that isn't working. Handling those details so I have one less thing to weigh me down. The stranger who had a bumper sticker on their car as I headed home from the clinic yesterday. "Relax, God is in control." The receptionist that told me of the foundations available to help us with the financials of Simon's condition, for while we have insurance, there will be overwhelming co-pays for office visits and medicines. The strangers all over the country who heard the news and are lifting Simon up.

Then there are the promises in the Bible that people have been sending me to hide in my heart through this ordeal.