Where You Have Me Now

Tomorrow, my 7 year old daughter is having her tonsils and adenoids removed. We have had conversations with her PCP, an ENT, and her dentist. We have prepared her as best we can for what is going to happen by reading books, watching shows about going to the hospital, and answering hundreds of her questions.

I have prepared a little caddy with pain relievers, a spray bottle to keep her stitches from getting dry, sticker books, and a water bottle. Her teachers have been notified and the only thing left to actually do is to show up for the surgery. As I look ahead, I feel as prepared as I can be, yet my anxious thoughts aren’t responding to my best laid plans.

With my daughter, Reeves, I can still spot her anxiety before she can. It usually comes in the form of a tummy ache, a headache, a series of “I don’t know”s, or difficulty falling asleep. We’ve worked on different coping strategies from box breathing to naming 5 things and even a door exercise (check out Raising Worry Free Girls for that gem!) I knew going into this week she would be feeling a certain way about her surgery, whether she was actively thinking about it or not. Just yesterday I was volunteering at the library at her school and I saw her in the hallway with a pink nurse’s pass. I stepped out and asked what was wrong and she said, “my tummy hurts.” In that moment I was able to give her a huge hug and remind her how her anxiety speaks to her body sometimes. Leaving the school, I was reminded of that for myself, too.

Earlier that morning, I had listened to a podcast called “Getting to the Root of Anxiety and Control” where Chip Dodd shared: “Information makes us safe, but vulnerability makes us cared about.” I felt fully informed about what all her tonsillectomy would entail, but I had not faced my own anxieties and named my own fear. It encouraged me to send a text, albeit tearfully, to a group of friends:

“Hi my friends… Reeves is getting her tonsils/adenoids out on Thursday. And I have been doing everything in my “mom power” for us to prep, prepare and process. We have Yoto cards, sticker books, bracelets, medicine, soft foods and all the things ready. But. I am scared of not being able to fix the pain I know she will feel. I am scared of being tired and it’s making me angry and I’m taking it out on the twins/Chase. I am also scared of disconnecting with myself and only focusing on her. I want to confess that fear and not let it fester in an anxious mind. Will y’all please pray for us these next 2 weeks?”

In naming those fears, I was able to face them. They didn’t go away, I am still scared of seeing my girl in pain, but I am able to move through the fear. Even sweet Reeves woke up this morning with tears in her eyes, full of fear of what tomorrow will be like. She was able to name a few of them: “I am afraid of going to the hospital. I am afraid of waking up in pain. I am afraid of not feeling like myself without my big tonsils.” With more hugs, she walked into school today with a smile on her face.

“In naming those fears, I was able to face them. They didn’t go away, I am still scared of seeing my girl in pain, but I am able to move through the fear.”

A year and a half ago, I went through a surgery of my own to have a meniscus root repair (the ligament had come off the bone… yuck). I had done the exact same thing then I am doing now. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to walk, I had sent out a mealtrain to have friends cook for our family; I had physical therapy appointments planned out for the next 6 months; I had a backpack full of all the things I’d need as I crutched around the house. I did everything in my physical and mental power to set up my family as best I could. And then emotionally, I cracked.

While I was attuned to the potential and perceived needs of those around me, I missed what my own needs were. While I was receiving so much physical and practical help, internally I was frantic as my identity was being challenged. I couldn’t be the mom, wife, or friend I had been previously. I couldn’t clean up my own space, carry my own cup of coffee, or run to one of my kids when they were hurt. My inability to be productive was even more crippling than the surgery itself.

When I sat down on Zoom with my spiritual director and shared something along the lines of, “I did everything I could to prepare, and it wasn’t enough,” she looked at me then with what I now recognize as a look of compassion. I processed how, no matter how physically able I was, I couldn’t do enough to feel peace, or create comfort, or manufacture stability.

“My inability to be productive was even more crippling than the surgery itself.”

I felt helpless and I really didn’t like it. It was in that “helpless” space she helped me turn my eyes toward Jesus. After prayerfully reflecting on my own helplessness in His presence, I walked away from that session with a new phrase:

“I am finding hope in the surrender alongside finding acceptance for where He has me now.”

I am there in that place again (I don’t know if I ever really left) and am tempted to kick myself for being so forgetful of the lessons God was teaching me in my recovery. But, here I am again, recovering from anxious thoughts and a fearful and forgetful mind, knowing I can praise God because He is faithful, compassionate, patient and good. God the Father is ever so attuned to the needs, fears, joys and desires of His children. God is attuned to me. He is still gently teaching me. And I can surrender and rest in His love, as I learn and re-learn that perfect love really can cast out fear.

Where You Have Me Now (July 2024)

I am wrestling with where you have me now;

Not in a season
Not in a conflict
Not in a crisis
But in the healing.

Where my flesh is seeking to cope,
You are offering me comfort.

Where my mind desires control,
You are offering me peace.

Where my spirit is full of doubt,
You are extending the Father’s love for me.

I am wrestling.
You are pursuing.

I am doubting.
You are loving.

I am scared.
You are near.

Jesus, I surrender to you. Help me find hope in the surrender as I learn to accept where you have me now. Amen.

So, where does God have you now?