Being a seasoned mom who has been through more surgeries than anyone would like, surgery day is game day. There is no time for anything but strength. It is my strength, my calmness, my assurance, that my son needs that day. What I have learned over the years is that the week or days before surgery, it's my turn to feel it. The weight and anticipation of what is to come for surgery shifts me, if I am being honest. It’s hard not to internalize it all. I feel the heaviness of it. I feel the heartbreak over and over again, even though we have been through it so many times. I hear it. The dreaded moment when they say, “it’s time.” It all happens so fast, yet tears my heart in two so very slowly. The brakes release from the hospital bed and the sound, so quiet, yet in the moment, so loud, it jolts me. I visualize it. They roll him down the hallway, and panic sets in. His little mind racing and he knows. He knows he’s going into surgery. He knows he is going into a room full of people, alone. He knows and so do I. You see, the preparation and the recovery, those are much easier. It’s the few vivid moments of anticipation, knowing what is to come, letting him go and not being able to do anything about it, that crushes me.
Tonight, as I am feeling crushed in spirit, I am reminded of Jesus in Gethsemane. He knows what is about to come and crushed with grief, he cries out that if possible, take this suffering.
He went on a little farther and fell to the ground. He prayed that, if it were possible, the awful hour awaiting him might pass him by. “Abba, Father,” he cried out, “everything is possible for you. Please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.”
Mark 14:35-36
In anticipation of what’s to come, Jesus cries out. Although far incomparable to crucifixion, similarly, I feel the heaviness of what’s to come. In order to gain strength, I cry out. I go before him and ask, if possible, take it away. Yet I know, surgery is needed. I know that God has a bigger plan. I know he is in control. I know that if it wasn’t part of his bigger plan, he would take it away. I know that he is working all things for good. Even when it hurts. Even when it doesn’t make sense to my minuscule comprehension of the greater plan. And I rest in that. I rest in knowing that if Jesus could pour out his heart and then continue on for the call, so can I. Because it is Him in me that I am capable of anything. With God, all things are possible. So I wipe my tears, I take a deep breath, and remember all the promises God has given me as we head into surgery. It doesn’t always make it easier, but it always gives me comfort knowing God is with me and he is carrying us both.
Dear mama, if this is your week before surgery too, I pray God would meet you in your crushed spirit. I pray he would rescue you, restore you, and equip you with the strength to withstand another surgery.
