I want to be better at being content. I’m so very good at making my circumstances my life. Letting them rule my decisions.
Two weeks ago, after a tedious day of tests and driving around to hospitals, it was determined I had mild appendicitis. By 10:30 that night I was getting ready to go into surgery to have that little rascal removed. I woke up from surgery in a haze of post-surgery drugs and pain. On my first, wobbly adventure to the bathroom I threw up blood. On me. It was one of my classier moments in life. I spent the Friday after surgery agonizing in the hospital. Pain and dizziness plaguing my life. Also the occasional puke on my blanket, like an ill-trained dog. When I finally saw a doctor late Friday night I was given the option to go home. I was still in a great deal of pain, so I opted to stay another night. I went home and spent a week in bed.
On Wednesday I returned to the doctor’s office for a follow-up appointment where I learned that I did not have appendicitis at all. He also mentioned that he didn’t know what was causing my dizziness and nausea, which were the key symptoms of my appendicitis. His advice was to wait for something else to happen. I heard “Wait for something worse to happen.” He also suggested that last year when I had my unborn twin removed from my ovary that they, in fact, did remove my ovary. He said that they checked the right one for cysts to ensure that wasn’t causing the pain, and then the left one, but it wasn’t there. Those were his words.
It all sort of put me in a panic. That I’m just perpetually sick. That I was lied to last year about the status of my reproductive organs. It’s all made me a bit of a mess.
Today I really started thinking about it, and how it is affecting my thought processes. And so my body is rejecting me, does that mean I can’t be at peace? That’s just bad faith. I’m single, so I can’t be content in my marriage to God? That’s just ungratefulness. I’m so selfish, and I have everything I could ever need. I could be content, if I could just stop thinking like someone living with no hope. Paul was in prison, and only really expressed disparity, but once. My circumstances are a poor excuse to be ungrateful. Sure, we all fall short of God’s glory, but we too easily use that as an excuse to not try.
In middle school I was on a praise team for children’s church at Blackhawk. We sang a very corny song, well, lots of them. And one of them crept into my head yesterday. As if God was prodding me with this dopey song as an obvious reminder to suck it up and remember how damn faithful he is all of the time. I’m blessed beyond reason, and all I can ever do is complain. When did I become such a malcontent? And why do I think that malcontentedness has any place in furthering the Kingdom?
A Broad Abroad 