Fourteen Days

I guess the magic number is two weeks.  Shameful.

Two weeks.

I woke up this morning, realizing it had been two weeks today since I was released from the hospital.  Which means this Tuesday past was two weeks since my miracle moment happened.  So what’s shameful, you might ask.

Tuesday, March 9, was indeed a miracle.  At least enough of one to force me to reevaluate just about every aspect of my life.  Enough to drive me to view tomorrow as a blessing meant to bring me closer to an unachievable measure of perfection, yet still closer.  A miracle so powerful it made me weep with joy that I get to face three months or more of rehab, frustrating light weight workouts, and shortness of breath every time I take a shower or walk to get a glass of water.

It was a big stinking deal.

Yet, two weeks later, I find myself fretting over First World problems:  taxes, medical bills, car repairs, kids’ schedules, and other tedium.  My elation over the opportunity to work my way back to health is squelched as I worry about the speed of my recovery and just what might or might not fully come back.  My thankfulness to my Lord for just another day in His service is completely overshadowed by dark questions I ask of Him, like, “Why me?  Why us?”

Quite honestly, it’s embarrassing…though I guess it shouldn’t be.  Human nature, right?

No.  I cannot rationalize it that way.  It is, indeed, shameful.  And it’s time to regroup.

I’m alive.  First and foremost, I am indeed upright and breathing on my own.  The most secular part of me remains selfishly thankful for that, for obvious reasons.  My spiritual self recognizes that God has written more in my planner of which I am not fully aware, but will be eventually.

Secondly, despite never in a million lifetimes wishing such stress upon them, my family has emerged stronger through the test that they endured.  I won’t lie and say all of a sudden I have achieved utopia in relationship with a houseful of teenagers, but it is very clear that we are communicating on a much deeper, more meaningful level than we did before I took my little spa vacation.

Those two alone should be enough to keep my head above murky waters.  So, yeah…shame.  But you know what really gets me?

Taxes, medical bills, car repairs, kids’ schedules.  I get another day to worry about taxes and medical bills and care repairs and kids’ schedules.  Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off of my face if you told me I was going to have to concern myself with those insignificant things.  Don’t sweat the small stuff, and by comparison, that’s small stuff.

Two weeks.  Fourteen days.  I am a big enough man to admit I stumbled.

But I didn’t fall.  Thank you, Jesus, for the chance to stress out about the little things.

God bless you all!  I look forward to hearing from you!

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