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The Road From My Head to My Heart

I think waiting has got to be one of the most torturous things a human being can be made to do be it for a good thing or a bad thing.  Do you not agree?  As a child, I remember the grueling wait for the end of the week to see my Saturday morning cartoons.  It couldn’t arrive fast enough.  The wait of every day as my parents would say, “No, the trip to (insert fun place here) is NEXT week.”  It was hooooorrible!  Then growing up, the waiting for typical teenage things like graduation and college.  Then adulthood, waiting in nervous anticipation for my wedding day.  Waiting to close on our first home.  Those days never seem to arrive fast enough and yet they’re here and gone in a split-second.  Oh, how I long for the good ol’ days of waiting for normal, beautiful things.  These new days of waiting on the dark unknown, not so much.

“It’s really not that far, why’s it seem so far?  The road from my head to my heart.”  The lyrics explained my sentiments exactly this morning, and every morning for that matter.  My head knows that this is just a season in my life, that its not forever.  My head knows that this too will pass.  Try telling that to my heart.  My heart is another story.  It longs for this nightmare to be over and to at least start a new normal since the old normal has long gone.  My heart has been used as a punching bag and is asking for mercy in what it hopes are the last rounds of this fight.  The road from my head to my heart seems so far and they can’t seem to get on the same journey or even in the same vehicle.

What is wrong with me?  Nothing.  This is all very normal or so I’m told.  Will my head and my heart ever come together again in a somewhat symbiotic relationship?  Again I know they will, but when?  The road from my head to my heart is strewn with question marks and clean-up seems like a gargantuan task.

And so, I wait.  Wait for answers to my questions and resolutions for my health.  Just how do I do that?  I suppose I’m doing what I can by keeping busy with what God has placed in my path.  A distraction if you will.  Isn’t that how our parents kept us from driving them absolutely crazy with questions and the inevitable ‘are we there yet?’  I’m trying to busy my hands with my knitting and my feeble attempts at learning guitar.  I’m trying to busy my mind with books and season DVDs of Big Bang Theory.  Most of all, I’m trying to busy my spirit with His spirit.  I imagine if I focus my energies on the One who created them, I’ll have a much higher success rate.

Its not an easy task when many days I don’t feel particularly happy with Him.  I’ll say it:  yes, some days I’m angry at God.  My rage comes tumbling out of me directed at Him in fits of tears and cries.  This morning was no exception.  By the end of my tantrums though, instead of The Hulk, I’m more like a washed up kitten.  How can God stay mad at that?  I’m pretty sure He doesn’t.  He just shakes His head like our parents did when we threw our temper tantrums as children.  “I got all day,” my mother would say and so does He.

That’s the only thing that makes any of this somewhat bearable.  The fact that I’m not gonna get in ‘trouble’ and that He’s waiting for my process to process.  Even though my head and my heart can’t seem to get along on this rough road, He’s there in the middle of it all, driving the car.  I hope we get there soon.


If you would like to listen to the song that inspired my blog today (Head To My Heart), it’s a free download today from Noisetrade:


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“This is gonna be a test of your patience.”

“This is gonna be a test of your patience.” That’s what my orthopedic doctor told me before we even knew it was cancer. And, oh God, has it ever. Even as I’m writing this entry, I’m trying to be patient. Waiting for my oncologist appointment (again) in two months; the one where he’ll tell me if I’m in remission or not because my first post-treatment scan was inconclusive. Of course it came back inconclusive. That’s just my luck lately it seems. Waiting for a resolution, waiting to exhale.

He said those words to me when he first thought my hip was fractured and even then those words took me aback. It was like my whole life had been a prelude to that exact moment. All my years, all my memories, all my emotions came bubbling back up to the surface. It wasn’t a cancer diagnosis then but I knew in my heart that something was seriously wrong but I didn’t dare speak it or even think it. He blamed it on too much exercise but I knew better. Those words became prophetic and a constant reminder in the months to come that I ultimately was not in control of my life.

My ortho put me on crutches straightaway (early March 2011) and said that he couldn’t tell me how long I’d have to use them. It was just something we’d have to monitor. Can I just say this? Crutches are the ugliest, most uncomfortable, foulest things to have ever been created by mankind not to mention they did nothing for my look. Can I also say that they make your armpits and hands hurt? I didn’t think I’d ever see a bruise on my armpit but that’s neither here nor there. I thought to myself, “Self, if it takes a normal broken bone 6-8 weeks to heal, then you’ll be fine in 8-10 weeks.” Eight to ten weeks came and went and turned into 6 months. Six months of waiting, waiting, and you guessed it, more waiting.

Admission of guilt: I became a bum. My friends and loved ones tell me it’s not my fault but it doesn’t make me feel like any less of a bum. I went from teaching 11-13 fitness classes a week to NOTHING. I watched TV, ate, and slept in that exact order everyday. I waited for anybody to call me or come over since a trip to anywhere that required any walking was out of the question. Crutches and malls don’t exactly go together. Crutches also sink in the sand at the beach.

I even gave up the thing I love the most in this world for a couple of months. For those who know me, yes, there IS something I love more than dancing. I stopped singing on the praise team at my church. There are about six narrow steps leading up to the platform and I was afraid to climb them on crutches for fear of falling on my face. Afraid and embarrassed. Embarrassed because the crutches made a very loud clicking sound every time I took a step. I hated the attention they would draw and I certainly didn’t want any pity. After two months of not singing, I couldn’t wait anymore and I didn’t care if I drew attention or fell on my face. I felt an incredible urging and drawn like a moth to a flame. So gladly I gave in, climbed those steps, and never looked back. My band buddies were there for me every step of the way up and down. I did not fall on my face and have sung almost every Sunday morning since.

Starting with this small victory, God began to show me how to fight for what I wanted and at the same time showing me what He wanted for my life. I couldn’t let my circumstances defeat my purpose.

“This is gonna be a test of your patience.” Such a simple statement at first glance but its taken on a whole new meaning for me. This ordeal has not been just a mere test of my patience but of the strength of my character. Do I allow this to dictate who I am or do I let it only shape who I become? I’ve decided on the latter. God is ultimately in control of my life but I have to make the decision to allow His perfect work to be done. If this is His way, then it’s my way.

By the way, I’m still a bum. A singing bum but a bum nonetheless. I know what you’re thinking. I’m not allowed to go back to work. It’s not a bad thing for me right now, being a bum. It’s the only way God could get me to slow down and re-evaluate my life. I’m still waiting to exhale but at least now I can gladly hold my breath knowing that that first breath will be even more glorious than the first one I took coming into this world. My rebirth is pending.

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