Today, I had to apologize. I had to take back & try to undo the cocky attitude I had with the poor little receptionist at my neurosurgeon's office last week when she called to reschedule my post-op appointment. You know the one, when they FINALLY release you from the prison you've been locked into for weeks.
Through my tears, she graciously listened as I told her how sorry I was for taking something out on her that was beyond her control. I had just said the words, "That's not who I want to be....." when she moved forward toward the window that separated us & offered, "Mrs Foster, I know that's not who you are. We've rescheduled so many of your appointments. I understand your frustration & fear of not being able to return to life. It is ok." And with that, we were good again. But was I really?
Spending 6 weeks isolated, not just in my own home, but in my bed to heal from back surgery has left me feeling detached, alone & depressed. There. I said it. I am depressed. No, it's not that my Joy is gone. My Joy still comes from the same place it always has - A God who is in control of every aspect of my life, including what I need physically, spiritually AND emotionally while my body heals.
So I'm not sure why I was surprised by the events 3wks ago tomorrow. I was probably at the lowest point I had been at throughout my whole recovery when my phone dinged. Aunt S, who is also at home & frequently in bed all day, isolated away from the world, just wanted to check on me. I knew that I could be completely raw & honest with her. How sad I was. How much I missed Gma. How alone I felt. I told her, "Honestly, all I want to do is come crawl up on your bed & listen to you sing to me." All that came back was a file with a music note attached.
I gasped as I heard the voice singing to me, from a few miles away - "I love you Lord. And I lift my voice. To worship you, oh my soul. Rejoice. Take Joy my King. In what you hear. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear."
I could see her there, struggling with every ounce of energy that she had, to love me in the self-absorbed hole that I had dug, her voice not as strong as it had been before. But it was the music that my soul needed.
If it were possible to break an MP4 file by overplaying it, I would let you know. But it's not. I know because I've played it a million times since. And so began #SingMeASong
Though the last 3 weeks of my recovery have been challenging, there was always a perfectly timed treasure, each time her voice getting stronger. Until one day, I was able to finally send one in return.
Then today, when I was snapped back to reality with the statement, "That's not who I want to be......" I had to ask myself, "Who, then, do I want to be?"
I want to be like my Aunt S. When I'm lying in that bed hurting, I still want to be able to love on my niece in such a tangible way. When I'm lying in that bed detached from the world, I still want to be always aware that I'm NEVER alone because Jesus. When I'm lying there in that bed sad or angry or afraid or depressed, I still want to muster up the last bit of strength that I have to sing out how much I love Him. I want to be like Aunt S, because Aunt S wants to be like Jesus.
