Yesterday, KC and I drove two different vehicles in two different directions for different reasons. KC delivered our belongings, loaded into a U-Haul truck, to Michigan, and I delivered my mastiffs to friend Carrie's place in upstate PA, where they will stay until my back is strong enough to weather the jostles they inadvertently give. Before we hit the road, we sat down to breakfast and said Grace.
“Heavenly Father, thank You for the meal sitting before us,” KC prayed, eyes closed, head bowed. “Thank You for nourishing our bodies and keeping us well. Please watch over me as I drive the truck back to Michigan and protect Weasie and the mastiffs as....”
I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy praying my own prayer.
“Dear God, if anything happens to KC, You and I will have issues. Big, serious issues. So don’t even think about it.”
When you consider my demeanor toward the Almighty, it is a wonder He didn't strike me dead years ago. Why does He have anything to do with me? Why does anyone, for that matter?
As I head into the final stretch of preparedness before surgery, my world is getting smaller. The to-do list with all its unchecked items is irrelevant; people outside my immediate sphere are becoming less distinct, like shadows on the periphery. The worries I had about moving? I’m not sure what they were. I expect the move to kind of take care of itself.
What is clear and solid are those things directly in front of me that must get done as part of my preparation process, part of keeping things afloat while I am indisposed, and making sure I’m indisposed as comfortably as possible. I don’t know how long my recovery is going to be. I’m told it will depend on me, on my body, on my reaction to the surgery, on my reaction to all sorts of things.
At this stage of the game, my expectations have basically flown out the window. I didn’t realize how heavy they were until I noticed they were gone. I'd like to feel their absence on an ongoing basis. I’ll have to work on that.
Maybe I could also work on being a little nicer to God, having a more humble attitude, instead of throwing my weight around, threatening Him and carrying on. I doubt it affects Him one way or the other how much I shake my fist and stomp my foot. The only person being affected by it is me. What kind of person do I really want to be? How do I want to treat others? Maybe I could be a little more pleasant and cooperative, asking for help and then accepting and working within reality. A favorite quote from the movie, 28 Days, starring Sandra Bullock, reminds me, “I can control the little things, and then I have to let go and it's up to somebody else.”
That said, my issues and I will be back as soon as we can after surgery. Thank you for reading my silly rambling.
From Louise
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