{Site currently under construction. Grace for my mess?}

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

What I Could Have Missed

I'm still in my clothes.  Pajamas from yesterday, now stained with iodine and blood from the nurse's first IV attempt, when my vein blew out and stoic me welled with tears and my arm burned hot and blood rolled down.  Three nights without sleep, not even a minute, and the lights and blips and beeps of the hospital room are exhausting while I'm trying to suck thick air into these dysfunctional lungs.  

It's the same rigmarole as always -- I get sick, then I dehydrate, then my systems begin to fail, but today I'm home again and my jaw isn't locked any longer and I am full of intravenous saline solution to give my weary blood a boost. 

But the coughs keep coming violent, and my head is rattled and my throat is raw and my body hasn't made it out of bed yet.  Between doses, a break in the codeine-haze, so I pad slippered feet to the kitchen and remember what happens to homes when moms are paralyzed to bed.  Twenty-four hours without sweeping or straightening, rinsing or fussing, and this habitat is worse for the wear.  This is what life looks like when Mom goes out of order.

But I am restless in this bed and I will cough prone or I will cough prostrate so I put my weary self in the shower and rinse off the yuck.  I putz and straighten and put on purple gloves at the sink because the house smells rotten now and I marvel at how quickly all my daily work gets undone.  I dig beneath the weariness and find the joy here, while suds multiply in a stinking sink, and recall a time when the work of this home-life didn't feel like much of a gift.  When dishes and diapers and puddles on the floor felt oppressive, when I longed for success of a different variety, when childhood friends would look sideways at the grown-up and domesticated me, and they'd click their tongues and say, sadly, "You could have been so much." 

 But today, I smile, because I am out of bed despite the war my lungs are waging, and I have traded pearls and cocktail parties, briefcases and penthouses for purple dish gloves and sticky faces and I got the better end of things.  And when I glimpse, briefly, into the me they think I could have been, I don't recognize her at all and there is nothing bigger that I could have done than look into these creamy faces with tangled hairdos, click-clacking away at the work that provides with a child on my knee, sneaking a peak every so often at the man on the other side of the bed but on the same side of this life.  I can't imagine living without this daily chaos, this happy bedlam with its do-it-all-again-tomorrow comforts and too many Band-Aids and erupting fits of laughter because without them, with my pearls and my parties… 

I could have missed so much. 


  1. Amen, sister! Bending low to See this grace, it's such beautiful worship. And I know it's hard. And there's a part of you that might wonder, too, or maybe that struggles with holding back a loud scream for the chaos that has ensued. But, your choosing to See is really beautiful. It's a hard place to be--the vulnerability of chaos. But it's for such purpose, ain't it? 

    About that health of yours...I'm praying you peace as you battle it all, and His healing hand in your rest. 

    Rich blessings...

  2. The vulnerability of chaos.  Yes, Amy.  This is what its about, isn't it?  The vulnerability is the only place we connect with what's really real. 
    Thanks for reading and for prayer.  I'm feeling much better today. 

  3. My goodness, Whimsy-girl! I had no idea about your physical struggles. Can I just say, I love that you bravely post pictures of the mess and then happily plunge your hands into those purple gloves, content with where God has you right now. I thought about the idea from Alice in Wonderland, when she wonders if she's lost her muchness. I think you've got boatloads of it. And, I'll bet you can really rock a string of pearls. Someday, says the empty nester.

  4. How am I only just finding your blog?  I've loved reading through your archives. 

    And I pray you are feeling better soon.  I have somewhat dysfunctional lungs, too, and sympathize so much.

  5. Oh, Cara. I just love your heart here and am praying for healing and I am so grateful for the way you weave all these thoughts together...


Your comments are such an encouragement. Thank you for sharing your valuable words.