Friday, June 1, 2012

Doctors, Kelli, Taylor Swift and a Hand

Kelli has seen many doctors. Right now her doctor diet consists of her pediatrician, her endocrinologist, her cardiologist and her pediatric orthopedist who we saw today. If I had any control of the situation I would walk up to each one of them and say, "Thanks, but we won't be needing your services anymore." I can't do that. I also can't control what comes out of their mouths when we go to see them. If I had my way I'd give them 'the look' before they opened their mouth. 'The look' would somehow magically turn bad news into good news, it would shield Kelli from any and all worry.  Today I didn't have the power of 'the look'.

My mission of the week was to work on surrendering my day to the Lord. I'm so good at coming up with lists, and getting things done. I take pride in getting things done. I'm good. I'm efficient. I'm productive.  I don't often ask God to help me, well, I don't need His help. I can get things done on my own, thank you very much.

I decided to try a different way. Maybe there would be more joy if I went a different way. Maybe God's way is better than mine. Maybe, just maybe, there is more out there for me, more than I can ask for or imagine, if I would just surrender the list.

Oswald Chambers has been helping me out along the way. He is the author of "My Utmost for His Highest" which is a daily devotional. His words are insightful and thought provoking, they cause me to slow down and think them through.

Here's what I read today.

"We would far rather work for God than believe in Him. Am I quite sure that God will do what I cannot do? ....Is my experience such a wonderful realization of God's power and might that I can never despair of anyone I see? Have I had any spiritual work done in me at all?  The degree of panic is the degree of the lack of personal spiritual experience."

Wordy I know but read it over several times and let it soak in.

It took me a while today to fully grasp those words. I think it happened after Kelli and I left the doctor's office.  We were silently driving up to Lizzy's ball game with information, doctors words, fear, and questions all silently swirling around our heads.  I didn't know what to say so I clung tighter and tighter to the steering wheel. Kelli was turned away from me, her eyes fixed on the world rushing by her window. Taylor Swift's song, "Romeo and Juliet" began to play on the radio and I heard Kelli singing along. I glanced her way to make sure she was actually singing.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her flip flops peeking out from the bottom of her yoga pants.  I cranked up the radio, started singing, and it came to me.

I believe Him. I believe. He 's got this. There is nothing I can do. He walked us through the initial diagnosis, the follow-up tests, the endocrinologist, the cardiologist, the orthopedist. He reached out his hand and he didn't turn away when I did. I turned, chose panic, and He stood still, waiting.  Panic hasn't ever worked out for me so when I had the sense to hit the floor and bow my head, there He was. He had been there the whole time. Waiting. Hoping I would quiet down and look toward him.  He met me. He loved me. He taught me about faithfulness and trust. He lifted my head, offered his hand and this time I took it. He helped me up and we've been figuring this whole thing out ever since.

I saw the look in Kelli's eyes today when the doctor said what he had to say. Those eyes, the fear, my panic, it was all there. After I turned toward the panic, I remembered. I remembered and looked back and it was there. It was there. His hand was still there.

I can't change things for Kelli. I can't take it from her or carry it. I want to so badly. I want to take it from her, strap it on my back, and carry it. It can't hurt me. I'm tough. I'm productive. I'm efficient. I'm her mother.  I want for her what I can't give her. All I can do is crank up the radio, sing along to Taylor Swift, and turn towards His hand.

It's true. I believe it. It is more than we could ask for or imagine.

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