Learning From My Boot

My foot graduated today. I said good-bye to the neon pink cast that has covered the top half of my right foot since surgery a week ago. Had my first post-op dr. visit today and got a good report, despite the fact that my foot is black and blue, still swollen and still stitched up. I think it looks terrible...no, it looks disgusting. But I'll take the doc's word for it that it looks like it's supposed to. Considering. So now I'm in this behemoth of a boot - a combination of black velcro, plastic supports and padding. And when I walk, it forces my leg to do this rocking thing so I don't put weight on the ball of my foot. And surprisingly, despite its massiveness, it's easier to walk in than the half-cast/surgical shoe combo.

I've spent a lot of time sitting (and sleeping) with my leg elevated. I've watched old movies on Netflix, taken naps, done some hand-sewing and learned to use crutches (my first time ever). My first couple of days post-op, I was going downstairs on my rear and coming back up on my knee...on a spiral staircase. But I never fell and laundry has stayed reasonably caught up. I've learned new ways to do stuff that I never think about. Like you, I just do them.

Some other stuff that has surfaced in the last week has gone beyond the trivial. Has a little ouch factor to it. I might as well laugh at the irony.

Just two weeks ago in church I took a step and shared "a word of testimony." It's straining my brain to try to think of a less-churchy way than that to describe it. Sorry. I got up, shared a song with our church family (on CD) and then talked a little about why it was meaningful to me. The song isn't new -- it's "By Your Side" by Tenth Avenue North - I think it came out in '08. But I just discovered it this summer, and because of some deep stuff God was doing, it felt like breath to me.

Generally speaking, I'm of the philosophy that being specific is more helpful than being vague - especially when it comes to talking about how God is changing us. I'm a concrete thinker -- I make progress when I can nail stuff down and think specifically. So in that spirit, I shared with my church family the crux of what God was leading me away from.

Self-protection. Living like I'm better off assuming the worst - that way I won't be caught off guard when it happens. The problem is, you start living as though those dreamed-up scenarios are REAL. This way of doing life is like letting a thief into your house and saying, "Have at it," and watching them plunder your home and belongings. There's a lot more to it than that, but that paints the picture well enough. Especially for those of you who identify with it, even a little.

So I was sharing on Sunday about how God was working with me, leading me to Himself. Finding who He is to be enough. Not his gifts, but Him. When I'm defined by Him, finding "my most coherent sense of self" in Him (that's Brennan Manning's phrase), I'm free to release self-protection. This isn't the first time I've acknowledged or addressed this thing. But after the events of this summer, I know I'm in a different place -- even if just a little, my thinking is different and I'm living out of truth more often.

So back to the present. Last Friday I had foot surgery - a pretty uncomplicated outpatient procedure. Came home, got myself situated to rest, and within a few hours it started. A few things happened that caught me off guard, and I started a slow descent to a place in my mind that left me bound up. I wasn't prepared for the mental onslaught that the enemy served up. I didn't wield my Sword like I know how to do. I didn't take thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ like I know how to do. Instead, I succombed to destructive thoughts and hardness crept in again. And it was like a garment I wore for a few days. So unflattering.

It's like this boot I'm wearing...every step I take I'm reminded that I have to be careful. To take it slow. To be alert to my surroundings so I don't do something that'll ruin the progress my foot has made so far in its healing. If I didn't have the boot on, I wouldn't be as aware of my need to be alert.

This area of life feels like an inner limp; it just stays tender. I remember once when a wise woman who was getting to know me asked, "What is your limp?" She wanted to know what God had allowed into my life that was keeping me dependent on Him.

Maybe the tenderness isn't all bad. Maybe it's like this boot...a reminder to be careful. To avail myself of what has been provided so that my soul can mature to greater wholeness and maturity.

I want the skirmishes that are waged across the battlefield of my mind to end in victory on the side of Christ. He gives me Himself so I can stand on the Truth. To put on the armor I've been given, to wield the Sword that sends the enemy to flight.

"No weapon that is formed against you will prosper; And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, And their vindication is from Me," declares the LORD." Isaiah 54:17

"For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."
II Corinthians 10:3-5

Hinds & Feet

The craziness of this past week is past, and I'm sitting here in my house alone -- my right foot all wrapped up in a cast and funky half-shoe thing. This morning I had bunion surgery -- after a couple years, I decided to just get the thing over and done with. I had finally had enough of not being able to find shoes. I'm not even after heels -- just some Ariat Fat Babies would suffice. OK, yes, I am after cute shoes. Who am I kidding? :-) Anyway, it was a quick outpatient procedure and the nerve block on my foot's still doing its job, so I'll be nicely wrapped in a cocoon of numbness for awhile yet.

So that's the big event in my life. My 11 (closer to 12) year old had a big event yesterday -- both are gross in my opinion, but his was a significant grossness -- a major rite of passage in these parts. He took down his first buck. Paul had arranged with a well-connected local to take Isaac out Thursday morning for his first-ever hunt. They got up early and left before sunrise with a stop at our little cafe for breakfast. Honestly, I didn't think anything would come of the hunt. A nice father/son outing, a few spent rounds...(is that the right terminology?)

So a few hours passed and Isaac came into the senior center where I was cooking and said, "Mom, come look at this." I just kindof stopped and realized what he meant. "No way. Are you serious? Did you really do it?" He was just smiling & nodding as I walked out with him to see what he had brought to show me.

I'm not so good with blood and guts -- changing diapers and wiping up puke, not a problem. Gross, but not my undoing. Not so with animal carcasses...ewww, ewww, ewww. But I looked anyway and saw the fallen buck - 3 antlers on each side; again, I don't know the right hunting terms. Isaac was feeling its tongue going, "The tongue feels weird." I was swallowing bile, making odd sounds, smiling, telling Isaac all the Mom stuff like, "Wow! That's...great!" Inside, I'm thinking, where on earth are we putting this thing?! Gross!!! Thankfully, Tyke, who is fully set up at his place to handle such things took Isaac's deer home and is generously taking care of it until next week when it's time to butcher. I will NOT be participating in that event.

So in a few months, the antlers will be mounted on a plaque in Isaac's room, commemmorating his first hunt. A pretty big deal for an 11 year old -- it's fun hearing Paul retell how it all happened...telling how Isaac got it on his second shot and how it was a near-perfect shot.

And speaking of hunting, while I'm here alone with lots of peace and quiet (but a little lonesome too), Isaac's out hunting prairie dogs & squirrels with Grandpa, Laurel has already made applesauce with Grandma, found a new kitten out in the barn and named it "Sweetie," after one of Grandma Marsha's cats, and Josh is undoubtedly going full speed with occasional stops for Grandma's cranberry relish, ice cream, honey on a spoon, making guns out of cardboard tubes & masking tape...all that wonderful stuff you find at Grandpa & Grandma's house.

And as for me, I'm going to do the wonderful & unthinkable...make a plate of food for myself, get comfy and watch old movies all alone. Great for a day or two, but I'll be more than ready for the hugs and kisses that will be coming my way on Sunday.

4-Wheelers & Surrender

Time to blog again. If for no reason other than to not see the heading of that last post, now ten months old. I've been tired of looking at it for months but hadn't had a shred of desire to blog. Looking back, it truly was a harsh winter -- according to local old timers, the worst they'd ever seen. The snow lingered until May, and boots and scarves stayed out WAY longer than what this girl thought was reasonable. But spring eventually came. And went. Same with summer.

Now it's mid-October, and winter is not far away. But thankfully we're prepared for what's supposed to be another hum-dinger of a winter. Silly phrase, but funny to write it anyway. Anyway, we're equipped now with what will hopefully prevent any more impalings by snow shovel. Uneven sidewalks covered in snow on a downward slope combined with a 200 pound man's full weight just don't mix.

Anyway, after much hunting and much researching, Paul found his 4-wheeler. It's fun to buzz around on around town, will remove much drama from coming snow removal and will be a blast pulling the kids around on the sled...right down the center of Richey's main street.

OK, on to the topic at hand. Surrender vs. Resignation. I wonder if you've ever considered those two words together. At first, they seem so similar. But after having them marinate in my mind over the last couple of weeks (nice mental picture, huh), I'm seeing that they're vastly different. It comes down to one thing.

When you're resigned to something, it's usually accompanied by a huffy sigh, maybe a martyr-like, "Well, if that's how it is, then I can't do anything to change it" type of sentiment, whether spoken or not. There's an external releasing of circumstances, but the inner fight remains. Any time the subject comes up, there's fire inside. It's not a dead thing -- it's still powerful. I can think of lots of times I've been resigned to something. Giving into my powerlessness to alter circumstances or people, but nowhere near giving up the fight inside. Wonder if anyone else identifies with that.

So what's surrender then? I'm coming to see surrender as one of the sweetest gifts God gives. It's not just acknowledging that I am powerless to change circumstances or people. It's letting the fight inside die. Walking away from the idea that I have to make sure my perspective is not only heard but validated. Gets into delicate territory, doesn't it. So counter-intuitive.

I had an experience last night where I made a conscious decision to surrender. Not be resigned where I was compliant on the outside but seething on the inside. Just simple surrender. I did it and was surprised by the sweetness that followed. Just peace.

There's lots more to explore with this, but for now it's time to sign off. Kids are home from school and I've got some celebrating to do with my three young scholars, all of who came home with great news of A's and A+'s earned today.