Diving Into the Underworld

As I rode down my stair chair this morning, I balanced a large cup of coffee and a tumbler full of power juice. Unable to sleep much the night before, I jarred awake just in time to dress and meet Lu who had agreed to drive me to another podiatry appointment. Settled in her passenger seat, the warm liquid filled my veins and our second trek across town - in only a matter of days - began.

After relying on tramadol to get through Grandpa's last days, I realized the semi-narcotic hadn't controlled the pain in my right foot. Knowing my doctor had offered a steroid shot for nerve pain in June, I sent him an email and made an appointment. Lu drove through almost pre-dawn traffic a few days later.

However, when Dr. Tucker looked at my foot, he said, "Look, there's swelling. I think you have a stress fracture. You need an MRI."

The MRI was ordered stat, performed Sunday night, and confirmed the diagnosis. Thus, I've had a stress fracture at the base of my second metatarsal since early June. And all the other metatarsals are in "stress reaction", meaning they could fracture too.

But let's not talk about that.

Suffice it to say, my upcoming left foot surgery has been postponed again. And I'm oh so very thankful.

On Wednesday, a Bible study friend sent a prayer request text. Her husband's dear friend had died. When I read it again, I realized that not only did I know the vibrant 55-year-old husband and father who died of a heart attack on his morning jog, he and his wife had attended my book signing.

Always ready with a smile, Michael had a charm and ease that ministered to everyone who entered his zone. The world was a party and he needed to meet and encourage every life he encountered. And he did that well.

I cried more on Wednesday than the day Grandpa died.

On Thursday, I went to physical therapy, wanting to try anything to make my foot better. Signed up for "needling", I was mentally prepared for my therapist to stick needles in my foot, like acupuncture. So when she explained she would stick a needle into my muscle and move it around underneath the skin, like an EMG, I freaked.

I wanted to muster up the courage to continue, but couldn't. Weeks of pain combined with recent losses and I wept.

Relief flooded in the next morning when I learned about the stress fracture, especially when I realized needling wouldn't have helped.

But after the long night and several long days, I questioned going to Michael's Saturday funeral. I wasn't ready for more emotion.

Somewhere in the midst of those muddled thoughts, the Holy Spirit spoke, "You need to go. You need to walk through this underworld of grief with your church family. Don't be afraid of the emotion. It's not time to lighten up. It's time to 'walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil'" (Psalm 23: 4 NIV).

So I went. And surprisingly didn't shed a tear.

Michael embodied the essence of life and the overflow filled our sanctuary. Stories were told. Laughter ensued. And great strength was displayed in lives of his three girls.

"Don't feel sorry for us," one of them stated. "We got to live with the best dad the world could offer."

And she meant it.

The service was emotional and powerful.
It was Jesus in full motion.

And Michael must have loved every minute from the place where the sky knows no limits.

The underworld continues to call. The more I read. The more people I get to know. The more I recognize the deep places of pain and loss we all swim through in hopes of processing our way back to the surface.

But maybe the real surface is on the bottom. The Psalmist did say, "Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls..." (Psalm 42: 7 NIV).

Will you reach out today, this week, this month? Will you dare to breathe the air of another's under-the-surface-world?

There are beautiful places just beneath the surface.