Storms, how I hate them. I don't like the literal ones, thunder, rain, lightning, the possibility of being fried by a huge bolt of electricity, or sucked up by a tornado. I don't like the symbolic ones either, the tears, rage, pain, sorrow, ability to be zapped by an unforeseen problem or sucked into a black hole of death and distruction. My blood pressure goes up, my foot swells up, turns colors and all sorts of fun things. Note the sarcasm with the word fun.
And yet, the storms seem to be the things that give the most change and beauty. The storms give us a chance for joy to break through. And sometimes, there are the little spots of sunlight that seem to peak through the otherwise dark and roiling clouds. These can also be literal or figurative. The little things that get you through the storms of life, the friend you didn't expect to see, the stop for coffee or ice cream, a great song on the radio, an email from a friend or any number of things that say "it's going to be okay".
There is also something majestic about storms, as much as they scare me. The thunder rolls above me, the rain beats down. It's an amazing sound, and if I can let go, just a little bit, I can see the beauty in it. I can see the one who controls everything. I can see that He lets the thunder crash, but is still with me in the storm.
I called the pain clinic today. I can't get back in for a week and a half, but at least I'll get in. The thunder, fear of RSD going up my leg, or progressing, crashes. The fear is strong. The swelling is staying up, even though I've had it elevated for most of today.
I'm trying so hard to focus on God. I'm trying to, as Casting Crowns sings, "Praise In This Storm". Why is it so hard?
And yet, there are things that tell me that God is with me. The fact that my acupuncturist knew enough and is wise enough to send me to the doctor when I need it. I hear about practitioners of complementary and alternative medicines who won't admit that there are good things in Western medicine. The fact that it wasn't a blood clot. The fact that the ultrasound technician was as gentle and caring as she could be, that she was patient and helped me figure out the cast boot, that she told me everything she was doing and why. The fact that my Dad has been patient with me, even when I freak out or need more help than I want to need, or when I use the restroom in the middle of the night, he comes to check on me and doesn't get mad that I woke him up with my noisy walker even though he has to work. The fact that Mom has been patient with helping me bathe, put on patches, figure out medications and even tuck me into bed. The fact that my friends don't get mad at me for having to leave things early or needing help to get comfortable. The fact that readers of this blog are patient with my need to vent. The fact that the nurses have been so supportive, that when I was in the hospital, they were caring and tried to keep me comfortable and didn't snap at me if I was slow to understand things.
So, why am I crying? Why do I feel so helpless? Why can't I be patient? Why do I have such a hard time admitting that I'm scared at church or the doctor's or anywhere but on paper or in very very small groups? Why am I unsure of how to ask for what I need, or what to try next?
The storm rages on. I want to be like Jesus and sleep through most of it.