Walking - For Real - Into the New Year


Birds dance amorously outside my kitchen window. They must know warm coffee is awakening my insides... in my newly cleaned out, organized kitchen.

We moved into this house three weeks after my right ankle was surgically reattached in December of 2009. Two weeks after the move, an ambulance carried me back to Piedmont where I endured a back operation due to an off-the-charts herniated disk.

My right leg was never the same. And my house never conquered.

A year ago today I  underwent the first of three orthopedic operations this year. While that story has been told, what I didn't know until two weeks ago was that after all those surgeries my legs would work again.

I can go to a movie without thought and even sit up high. I can run more than one errand a day, walking in and out of large stores without exhaustion. I can wear Ariat cowboy boots, organize my house without wearing out, climb the stairs more than twice a week, and even drive some with my right foot without triggering hip pain.

My leg hasn't trembled at night when tired. And I ended an afternoon of shopping yesterday with a victory lap around Belk's - in my cowboy boots - just because.

My right knee may need attention and I'm in therapy for my wrist and shoulder. So I bask in one-day-at-a-time living right now.

But I'm maneuvering with an ease I'd long forgotten.

After eight years, lots of daily supplements and meds, and five surgeries, I can wear normal shoes, control forward foot motion, and walk without wondering when my legs will go weak. And that's enough of a miracle to end a year and begin another - with a cleaned out kitchen even.

Several news articles have labeled 2013 "a bad year". Three surgeries in ten months could warrant a similar status. Yet that "bad" year has led to what seems a new beginning after eight years of more than hard.

Life is a journey. A marathon. A constant exercise in trusting when He gives and when He takes away.

So Happy New Year.

We start again.

And keep walking towards eternity.

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The Divine and the Dirty

I sipped coffee while engrossed in conversation with my husband this morning.

On Christmas Eve.

In our home.

Together.

For the last six years, holiday retail hours ruled his December.

But not this year.

Not today.

And the change is sweet.

He's napping beside me as I type, filled with the Eggs Benedict we ate on Christmas plates.

In a few hours we will drive to my parents church, First Presbyterian Church in Douglasville, GA, to enjoy my favorite Christmas Eve service. My mom's hand bell choir will play. An old friend from high school will blow the trumpet. And my oldest, Nathan, will even join their choir. I'll sing whatever descant comes to mind as timpani drums reverberate with strength and the organ summons us to rejoice.

We will celebrate the King of Kings.

The baby born in a manger.

Emmanuel, God with us.

The light of the world.

I've walked without a cane for twelve days now. Even on a country road. Holding hands with my spouse. I've laid in an MRI machine not certain what it would expose about my right wrist joint. I've listened as doctors explained no surgery seems necessary at this time and as my friend Debbie shared she's ready to stop chemo and put her stage four cancer in God's hands.

I watched my son commit his life to another. And days later ran into old friends in the back corner of the underwear section only to learn another friend just lost her spouse. Suddenly. Days before Christmas.

And I sit in the silence now, relishing a peaceful Christmas Eve, aware that we pause to rise above the good and the bad that make this world what it is. Because Jesus came from another place. Another time. And he came to beckon us to join Him. To embark on the mystery that started with Mary, Joseph, angels, shepherds, wise men...

And the baby.

For the divine entered the dirty and made beauty out of the mess.

Your heart my be heavy. Your heart may be at peace. It doesn't matter. Today we remember that he came with the most upside down entrance a king could make. And changed the world forever.

When I left the doc office two weeks ago after hearing, "We'll let you know if you need surgery next week," a knot formed in my stomach.

Not more surgery, God. Please, no. Not my hand.

I knew only time would bring an answer. So I turned up the volume on the CD in my car and played this song till it drowned out the worry.

I think it's pretty close to what the angels sang.

And even now, we can celebrate with them, the heavenly hosts who got it. The ones who burst forth in song on the Day of His birth.

Light in the dark.

The divine in the dirty.


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This Ms. Frizzle and the Holiday Show

An oversized Christmas mug held my coffee this morning. I drank slowly, relishing the last forty eight hours. Because I knew better than to ask a middle school voice student (who dresses in a Victorian Goth style) what she thought of my Mother-of-the-Groom attire.

But I did.

I asked because Allie made me a purple and crystal sparkling bracelet right before my ankle surgery this fall. She made it to coordinate with my purple, white, and black tennis shoe that adorned my left foot the last two months.

Since I'm wearing a Calvin Klein Eggplant Colored Dress to my son's upcoming wedding, I thought I should pay her to create a matching necklace. She brought over other necklaces she'd made Monday night and I put on the dress with a black lace jacket, an aging Chico's belt, crazy bejeweled earrings, and almost black Ariat riding cowboy boots.

And that's when I naïvely asked, "So what do you think, Allie? You make your own clothes. What do you think of the boots with my dress?"

Silence.

And then, "Do you really want to know?"

Hmmm...

"Well.. yes," I replied, mentally preparing for middle school candor.

"I think you look like The Magic School Bus lady... You know... Ms. Frizzle."

Doubled over in laughter, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror.

It didn't help that my oldest son once told me I looked like Ms. Frizzle and that while we ate Chinese with grandparents last night in Athens before the annual UGA Holiday Concert, he added, "I've thought you look like Ms. Frizzle lots of times."

Oh.

About that time, I decided mom and dad and I should spend our free hour at the Stein Mart that was just around the corner, in search of tamer earrings. Endless choices overwhelmed my intake ability so I turned to updated lace jackets since mine is on loan from mom. Nature forced me to limp to the bathroom (in the back of the store) where rows of boots delayed us longer than dad had mentally prepped for. And about the time he called wondering if the store had swallowed us whole, pain shot from my Achilles up the back of my right leg. No longer concerned with boots, earrings, and jackets, I wondered how to maneuver to the front door.

Safe in the back seat of the car, mom found a handful of Advil that got me through the night. But once seated in the auditorium's handicap section (next to grandma 1 and 2 and their walkers), weariness grabbed hold. This frazzled Ms. Frizzle wasn't sure if she will ever walk normal, let alone wear shoes at her son's wedding in two weeks.

Then the house lights went down. The music started. And a chorus of voices processed in to O Come All Ye Faithful . As the singers proclaimed the age old message, I forgot about my pain. I didn't care about shoes. I hummed along with grandma 1 and 2 and allowed the music to transport me to another place where tears fell free. The kind that don't stop for a while

It happens every year. Holiday musical grandeur overwhelms me and takes me to a place I struggle to explain. For a moment, nothing here matters. Nothing. Not boots. Earrings. Achilles pain. Walking. Weddings. Nothing.

What does matters is that God is calling us to adore Him - together - in unison - as one body - in majesty and glory. And I'm always struck that whether we get it or not, there's a day when a distinct peace settles the earth and the world pauses to hear the angels sing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not naïve. Bad things happen on Christmas.

But something divine occurs as well.

I've been playing a version of the hymn performed by the Cleveland Orchestra and weeping as I write:



O Come All Ye Faithful.
Joyful and Triumphant.
Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem.
Come and adore him,
Born the king of angels.

We've been invited to take a journey this advent season. A journey with joy. A journey of triumph. A journey to celebrate the one born the King of Angels.

So I may look like Ms. Frizzle in wedding photos. But that's OK. Because I'm going to stop worrying about boots and earrings and even pain... and relish the call, the invitation, the majesty of the hour.

O Come let us adore him. O Come let us adore him. O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.
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