Marathon

Last night I ran a marathon.  Not THAT kind of marathon--anyone who knows me knows that they created the 0.0 window decals just for me.  Running is not something that I enjoy. 

The marathon I ran last night was just as strenuous, though.  I puffed and panted through trying to keep my mind off of Lily's surgery, which meant trying to keep the negative, scary thoughts away.  They like to burrow deep and eat away at my soul.

Exhausted, I went to bed with my eyes literally pointed towards heaven with the chorus to "Fix My Eyes" playing in my head.  Luckily, I fell asleep quickly; otherwise, I may not have been so successful.

Last night, I ran a marathon and made it to the finish line.  This morning, though, I tripped over some untied shoelace of anxiety, and that's where the race broke as all the negative competing thoughts rushed to overtake last night's lead.

They are harsh and cause raw, festering blisters in my heart.

What if this is our last bath?

Can I memorize the way her fingernails lay into her fingers?  The softness of her skin?  Just in case?

How would I take her carseat out of our car?!?

THAT deep.  THAT negative.

They get macabre, I know, but. . .what if!?  It's almost like I just need to prepare my self.

Just in case.

She's in there right now.  I know she is in good hands, but I can't help but see how her physical vulnerability and my emotional vulnerability are on equal ground. 

It kills me to know that she went into this all happy and not knowing what the heck we were about to put her through.  It seems so unfair because she is the last one to deserve all of this.  Yet she also doesn't deserve the alternative in not having this surgery, so this option is the better of the two.  Not a hard choice to make, but still a choice that is hard to swallow.

I may have stumbled, but I'm still in this marathon.  A friend shared a prayer that will become my own fight song today:  "Be not afraid for I AM near."  I may be surrounded by competitors who are out for blood, but I have a companion in this race (although sometimes I do lose track of that).  He reaches down and helps me up.  Every time I stumble.  He encourages me to continue on this lengthy journey. 

We will even hold hands as I cross the finish line.

I can do this.