Tuesday, December 28, 2010

He is Mighty to Save

My daughter complained that I haven't written a blog in a long time. She's right. I haven't.

Sometimes I feel I have so much inside me I want to express, but the words just aren't there. Maybe those words are not complete, or maybe they are just too precious to share. Or maybe there isn't anything there after all. So I'll begin and see what comes out.

This year has been different from any I've spent in my life. Having major surgery and trying to get my energy back has given me a whole different perspective. The weather,low systems in particular, affect my joints. I don't want to say I have arthritis so I just say "my joints ache." The feeling is unlike any I've ever felt so it's hard to explain exactly how it feels or how it suddenly comes on.

The new perspective is this: I am no longer in control of my body. (As though I ever was.) I am nearer death and that thought bothers me. I don't mind going to Heaven. What I do mind is not being here any longer.

When my mother was close to her death, we talked about it. Her comment was, "I just don't want to leave you." I'm sure I gave her some dumb response like "We'll see each other again." We will, but that wasn't the point. Now I know what she meant. I don't like thinking that I won't be around when my great-granddaughter grows up, goes to college, gets married, has children. I won't be able to stand beside my grandson and watch all this happen. Right now, thinking about it, I already miss it.

What will it be like to be gone? To no longer be on this earth and in this life? My daughters and grandchildren and a few other relatives will remember me, but after that I'll be nothing but a---what? I'm not even sure. I won't be remembered like Abraham Lincoln or Princess Diana. How will I be remembered and is that even important?

I never met my grandmother's father. All I ever knew of him was a big photograph in her upstairs bedroom. The picture made him look austere and harsh. My cousin and I were scared to sleep in that bedroom because of Grandpa Nichols.

Will I be remembered like that? Just a picture that one of my great-great-grandchildren may accidently find in their parent's box of family photos? And if so, does it even matter?

What I'd like for my children and grandchildren to remember is that I loved God with all my heart and I lived my life in a way that everyone knew it.

Surgery at 74 isn't like surgery at 42, the age I was the last time I went under the knife. I kind of knew I'd come out of the anesthetic this time, but there was that slight doubt. All during the night before I had a song going through my mind: "Saviour, He can move the mountains, He is mighty to save, mighty to save." Friends and family were in the pre-op room when the anesthesiologist gave me the shot to make me forget. Later my grandson, who was there with his dad, told me I started singing this song. The others in the room sang with me, he said. The shot had done its work and let me express what was in my heart and spirit.

I didn't die. In fact, I learned a great deal during recovery and rehab. I've expressed that before on this blog. God went out ahead of us and made our way straight.

One good thing about dying. Once it happens to you, you don't worry about what you left behind. I'm getting there. I do know this--God is with me here and there. He is mighty to save under all circumstances.

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