In a few short hours I’ll be getting ready to leave for the hospital. I will hopefully remember to take my backpack with all the stuff I might need. I’ll have books I probably won’t be able to read, a jacket to keep me warm in that meat locker they call a waiting room, change for Cokes to settle my stomach, and my iPhone so I can try to stay connected with the outside world. I’ll try to Tweet updates when I can.
My dad’s surgery is the first case of the day. We have to be there at 6 a.m. and his surgery is scheduled for 7 a.m. Mostly we’ll spend the day sitting and waiting. I’ve come to believe that sitting and waiting may be the most physically exhausting thing I’ve ever done. Strange.
This is probably more than anyone needs to know, but for the last two days food has made my stomach angry. I know that I won’t be able to eat today either. I’m anxious and calm at the same time. I’m a peaceful wreck. I’m not sure I could even explain what I mean by that except that I know that God is in control. I trust Him. I also know that sometimes what I want Him to do is not what He needs to do and I don’t know what He needs to do. I don’t know what’s around this curve for my family.
I feel a little raw right now. Like a huge, gaping, exposed wound.
I’ll see my dad before the surgery team takes him and I’ll try really hard not to cry.
From 7 a.m. until 7 p.m. the chapel at the church where my dad has been a minister for twenty-four years will be open for whomever wants to come and pray.
My daddy walked me down the center aisle of that chapel thirteen years ago on the day I married K.
The first drama I ever wrote was performed in that chapel. The only reason it was ever written was because my daddy believed I could do things that I still don’t think I can do.
I know that church and its people. Those who can will be on their faces before God in that chapel asking Him to show up in big and mighty ways in my dad’s life.
Thy will be done….but if we can be so bold to ask, please heal Him, Father.
A request to my heavenly daddy on behalf of my earthly one.
I’ve received sweet emails and texts from precious friends who are praying for my family and for me. I have precious friends who have planned to take care of my children after school. I have precious friends who want to walk as closely on this road with me as they can. They know they can’t walk the road for me, but they’re walking beside me on the sidelines holding my hand. I love them all so much. The ones who are actually physically holding my hand, and the ones who are holding me in their hearts and prayers from miles away.
Here we go again.
God, be near.
I know You are. I just like to feel Your touch here in the dark.