Ducks in a Row

I squinted to see the fuzzy font inches from my face. Since when were words so blurry?  “Old age is not my friend,“ I thought as I leaned in closer to the computer screen. Straining hard, I tried to convince my eyes to focus, oblivious to the crystal-clear lesson I was about to learn.

The next morning, I applied a thick layer of foundation to my aging face as part of my ”Hope for the Best” morning routine. Perhaps the bottle of “light beige” would fill in the cracks and lines, magically wiping years off my appearance with a stroke of the brush like the Instagram-Diva I adore.

But instead, glancing back at me, I noticed a peculiar cock-eyed smile. Something seemed odd, my face looked a bit off and I hesitated. What was different?  Smiling in the mirror, only half of my mouth lifted. I tried to wink, but couldn’t raise my right cheek. What the heck?  My chest tightened as my brain buzzed with a myriad of possible diagnoses and the prospect of a future void of full-on smiles in hilarious situations.

Because I’m a logical person with a plate full of duties awaiting me, I drove straight to work. Ducks must be in a row, always. Obviously. Also, in my experience, busyness is a pretty decent distracter when you’re trying to avoid thinking about something serious – and I was.

A few hours (and a bazillion glances in the mirror) later my boss arrived at the office. Noticing my lop-sided smile, he voiced his concern (which sounded kind of pushy at the time) and demanded I go straight to the emergency room. God bless this man who was nothing but kind to me, always.

At the hospital, things started to ramp up. The Emergency Room lobby was piled high with folks anxious for help. A small boy whined into his mom’s shoulder and a hefty man paced back and forth holding a blood-stained bandage over some sort of wound. I always find it interesting to see the cross-section of people in that Waiting Room. You can be a millionaire or a recipient of social assistance – in that room you are a number, and the number is likely a long one.

I learned a lot that day, starting with the fact that I likely should have gone a little earlier. Apparently, there is a small window of opportunity for a medication to be administered if I had actually experienced a stroke. The silver lining, and you can always find one, is the expediated service granted to patients with my symptoms. It’s like the Fast Pass at the amusement park, without the rides, or the fun.

By the time my worried husband joined me in the curtain-walled examination room, my speech was garbled. Girlfriend, this sweet man is accustomed to strange and awkward things coming out of his wife’s mouth, but this was a different type of disturbing experience.

“I don’t understand!” I prayed.

I had been so confident that God was calling me to write and to speak to women. I knew He was telling me to share my story. Or at least I thought I knew. Now, my mind reeled with doubt. My eyes were blurry, my words were slurred and my confidence was shattered.

I knew nothing. Perhaps this was a sign. Some cryptic demonstration from the Lord himself advising me to throw in the towel. You know, like when someone offers you a decadent slice of caramel pecan cheesecake and you’re sure it’s a sign to kibosh the diet?

Have you ever been there?  Have you been at a tough spot where you desperately want to give up?  You reposition, get set, and try one more time, only to suffer another sucker punch to the gut? Have you been hitting roadblock after roadblock and wonder if maybe God is giving you access to the ejection button and hoping you have the good sense to pull it?

Wrapped in a stifling wet blanket of doubt and sadness, fear sold lies to my heart. And I bought them.

I can never do this. I have no talent, no ability, no education, and now blurred eyes and garbled speech. God knows I’m unable, and He’s showing me the escape route. Run, girl, run. Give up.

In the quiet, in the darkness, I pled. I asked hard questions because hey – God doesn’t mind. He knows what I’m thinking anyway.

• God, is something happening to my brain?  Am I having a stroke?
• Is my life changing for the worse now that I’m finally obeying you?
• Is this your way of telling me to quit? 

Nothing. I heard nothing, at that time, except the beeps of testing machines and nurses rushing to and fro. No answer from God, no still small voice in the air vent, no revelation in my churning mind.

In the end, I didn’t bail. Ricky prayed with and for me and we moved forward one day at a time. And as I continued to do the next best step, we watched God do His thing. Because that’s what all this is – this is His thing. It was never my thing in the first place.

Listen, sister, God doesn’t need us to do his bidding. He’s not sitting, waiting for our obedience so He can finally go ahead with His plan. But God invites us into the story. He allows us, He includes us, to be a part so we can grow and learn and be blessed.

I find God reveals the plan to me one tiny piece at a time – one step of obedience. Which is good for me. He knows that’s all I can handle. And He helps me keep those distracted ducks firmly in a row.

Job 42:2 NAS
“I know that You can do all things, and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.”

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Thanks!
♥ Tess