I waited a week and half to get the test results back. Anticipation of results that would conform what I already knew too well. That my body was broken. That no matter how much I willed it, my body was not working correctly. She said it was an autoimmune disease. Hashimotos. In which my bodies immune system begins to attack my thyroid. I didn’t let it sink it. I nodded accordingly. Asked a couple of questions. Listened as she went over the game plan. I made a mental note of the hope in her voice. That this would be a journey of healing. That some of the damaged could be corrected. Journey of healing. I’d heard this before. I am well acquainted with life looking more like a journey. My emotional health, my soul healing looked more like a labyrinth. Everything more connected that separated. It was now time to add the physical healing.
I wept the hour drive home. I have learned to not rush my emotions. To be intentional to feel every part of life. The joyful along with the sorrow. It was not time to pull myself up by my bootstraps. My courageous acts look more like weakness these days. So I wept. Like Jesus did for Lazaras. That this life has offered me a bit of death. That my physical body is not whole but in desperate need. I grieved for all the ways I have suffered these past 2 years. That I had made it to this day. And discovered a name to some of my obscurity.
Jon was talking about Jesus and Lazaras the other day. How if ever there was a moment when Jesus knew what was going to happen, this was it. The Divine made human, knew he would raise him from the dead. He knew the power of life he held. Yet he wept. He was moved by Marys grief. And He wept. Embracing the moment of weakness and sadness. Feeling the moment of Marys powerlessnes. How can there be life if you’ve never experienced the sting of death.
Relief and thankfulness did not come right away. Grieving came first for me. Sorrow. My suffering has felt great these past couple of years. It felt right for my soul to experience sadness before the seed of gratefulness and hope could sprout. I am not afraid of my sadness or anger over my situation. It is a holy practice of sorts, to lament the broken on this earth. It is in these raw emotions that I have experienced Grace in such a deep way. To admit my limits, my need, leaves me with my hands open to the Divine. Lamenting has pointed me to Jesus and the Cross.
So now, six weeks out, I am waking up to my own life. Feeling better every day. Embracing the Grace that is given in the moment. Not worried about storing it up for later but soaking it all up now. This moment right here. I find all I have capacity for is, today. And it seems to be a gift worth living.
The victory of resurrection requires the vulnerability of the crucifixion. Walter Brueggemann.