Update from Michelle 8/21

Dear Imago Family,

Thank you for every card, letter, text, and Door Dash gift. Mostly, thank you for all the prayers that carry me through my days. I’m praying for you too.

I am post second surgery and pre-radiation as I pen this update. “Oprah” is now without “Gayle,” and I am once again sleeping sitting up and certain that sports bras are evil. That said, I think I’m doing better than the average single-breasted bear.

Both my doctors are happy with where we are. I still have a pathology report coming, so let’s hope happy sticks.

There is more discomfort than last time, more napping, and those pesky drains are more filled. This surprises no one since the surgery this time was much more invasive. Still…UGH! Am I right?

I have had some time—lots of time!—to listen from this place I’m in. I didn’t choose it, but it seems to have chosen me, and it looks like I’ll be in a form of “here” for some time. 

How I feel about where I am has been shifting daily. The less I talk and the more I rest and listen, the more I understand that I was, without realizing it, feeling entitled to some predictability in my life. I took it for granted that there were some things—work, a clear sense of self, the presence of people on my terms, mobility and health, a good night’s sleep—that I should be able to count on. As those things and others were stripped from me, I saw my prayers getting more infantile, more distressed and less confident.

God is nothing if not patient, but the other day He had to tell me, “Girl, you are loved by a WILD GOD! Quit trying to tame Me.”

In my journaling, He asked me to lean into what “wild” means. We call animals wild because they are unpredictable and out of control, I wrote. Then, on the heels of that I thought, no. Wild animals only appear that way to us because we don’t know what they are going to do next or how we will need to respond. They know exactly what they’re doing and why.

Wild animals don’t show up tentatively or halfway. A lion doesn’t stutter when he roars. A hawk does not tiptoe through the skies. A snake strike is not arbitrary. Wild things show up with and as their WHOLE SELVES at all times. They don’t traffic in almost, sort of, or somewhat. Only all or nothing. From my journal:

To say Your love is “untamed” is to say it is unpredictable, fierce in its expression, outside of my control, dangerous. It cares fully—that is, holding nothing back—but that is not the same thing as “careful”—that is, tiptoeing or tentative.

You are not mean and, despite appearances, neither are You mad. Still, to come close to You is to risk a wounding, a slaying swipe. It is to risk a bruising affection.

You are wild and If I don’t appreciate that, I can find myself defining my circumstances on a scale of comfort and entitlement. I will call angry what is not angry, or punishment what is not punishment. This life I have is not lived between soft sheets. It is not always met with a full belly…

I am less certain these days, but more surprised. I have less control, but more openness to the mysterious. The less I know, the more I know Him, and the more I trust Him with me. He sees me. He loves me. He’s got me.

This brings to mind Mr. Beaver’s words concerning Aslan of Narnia, “Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”

I also find myself wanting to add The Troggs to my worship playlist:

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

You make everything groovy, wild thing

Wild thing, I think I love you.

Until next time,

M