My second brain surgery is about to occur. I am so sick of being strong about this. I am tired of hiding my tears and fears. It is okay to both be a Christian and fall apart. I am falling apart. I am crying out to God because another surgery was always my worst fear. I use to have terrible nightmares consisting of nothing more than someone walking over to me and telling me I will need another surgery. The reality, though, was truly horrifying:
Waking up to clouded figures hovering above me, terrified and wondering why people are hurting me. They tell me to move limbs and ask me if I feel their prods. It hurts so bad. I tell the surgeon I hurt and he shrugs it off. I lay there with a breathing tube in, feeling suffocated by the very oxygen bringing life to my flesh.
It hurt. It was horrible. Every moment, my body formed new symptoms. I spent years begging for healing...feeling the pins and needles dance across my limbs like flames licking dead wood.
I remember these pains like a horrifying dream replayed over and over. These are about to be my reality, I fear. So yes, I am falling apart. No, I am not okay. But, God. God is what I lean on. God is what I choose to cling to. Everything else is a ribbon pulled from a magicians sleeve. I tug, desperate for a lifeline, and watch as it slips from the sleeve and I fall further into nothingness. Only God gives me lasting support. Only his veil can save me. And so I cling to it. I do not pretend to be balanced or perfect. I do not have it all figured out. I am not unafraid, but I have him and he has me. I am a broken woman clinging to a whole father. I pray for life and health, knowing he will answer.
