I went to UCLA for the third second opinion on how best to fix my ankle. The general consensus is a total fusion. They would consider an ankle replacement, but only if I lose thirty pounds. They will even scope the ankle and clean up bone spurs so I can be more mobile while I am trying to drop the weight. It’s “end stage” arthritis. I had no idea there’s an “end stage” version of arthritis. And, if they do the ankle replacement they will pick the one that is the easiest to convert to a complete fusion. So, I am counting every calorie and working out like a mini-version of the Biggest Loser.
My friend is sitting by her husband as he lies in the hospital. He has lost so much weight he weighs less than his wife, his body is racked with fevers, chills, and his doctors cannot diagnose the problem. People are surrounding them in prayer. It is so hard. They walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. They hold on to Jesus’ hand and they dare not let go. I bet my friend would trade for my ankle fusion if she could restore her husband’s health.
I say rest in the Lord. I say it to myself. I am not a good rester. I want a plan and an objective. I want to know where I am going, when I am leaving, what I am doing, and how I will do it. My problems are plenty real to me, but there is a reality check in my spirit when I see others suffering. I can walk, albeit with a limp and a brace, but I can get from the bed to the bathroom and out to the kitchen. Get it together, Debby. Take your eyes off yourself and be thankful. Praise God for your cane, thank the Lord for your brace. Metaphorically leap for joy that you have a motorized wheelchair. You have solutions. There are options. You have choice.
My friend has no choice except to be and trust. And that is a pretty good choice. She can lean on the Everlasting Arms. She is choosing to trust. I am in awe of her. And that's worship in real life.