Spine Surgery, Faith and Gratitude - A Long Road to Recovery

 Hearts Rosary Newsletter

ALONG THE WAY – I got a great big love tap to the head from the Holy Spirit

 I have been praying the Surrender Novena for many years, often on repeat. But sometimes I wonder whether the words become so familiar that I pray them by rote rather than in earnest:

 Jesus, I surrender myself to You, take care of everything.

 This week I received a great big reminder of what those words really mean.

 I know without a doubt that I have surrendered my current season to the Lord. It took me a while to get here, and when the pain is at its peak, sometimes I have to surrender all over again. But I know that I am loved beyond measure and that Jesus is with me in every moment.

 My physical journey and my spiritual journey are two different things. Physically, not much may have changed. There are still flare-ups, cramps, chronic pain, limited mobility, sleepless nights and days when ordinary things require new ways of doing them. I continue to seek treatments that may help and I have hope that things can change.

 Spiritually, however, something has changed.

 After my second surgery, and particularly during this past year when my body wasn't responding to some of the typical treatments or recovering as I had hoped, I prayed, surrendered and finally began to let go. Chronic pain may be something I must learn to live with for a time—or perhaps longer. I don't know.

 But Jesus does.

 So, I try to accept each day as it comes, offer what I am experiencing to Him and ask Him to use it as He wills. I can hope for healing while accepting where I am today. Those things are not opposite. His grace allows me to do both.

It's not always easy, but Grazie a Dio, it is working for me in this season.

 Or so I thought.

 This week, while praying with St. Michael's Lent Challenge on Hallow, I received what I can only describe as a great big love tap to the head from the Holy Spirit.

During one of the meditations, Fr. Isaiah asked us to consider: Where in my life am I saying, “Not yet,” to God? What am I still holding back rather than fully surrendering to Jesus?

 I prayed about it. I pondered it. I asked the Holy Spirit to reveal whatever I was holding tightly in my hands.  Nothing came.  Days passed, and I kept returning to the question.

 Fr. Isaiah also spoke about surrender not simply as giving something up but recognizing the presence of Someone more. Surrender is about Who we are giving ourselves to.

 And there it was.

 My beloved.

 I pray for John always, but since his melanoma diagnosis, my prayers have become a constant mixture of petition—and worry.  At night, when my beloved is sleeping soundly beside me, I sometimes reach over and place my hand on the scars from his surgery and pray. I pray for his healing, his tests, his doctors, his medical team and whatever treatment or monitoring may come next.

 But then my mind races ahead.

 What will the tests show? What comes next? What if this? What if that?

 Sometimes I wake during the night not only because of my own pain, but because I am worrying about him.

 There it was—the place I had not surrendered.

 I had surrendered myself. I had surrendered my pain, my recovery, my uncertainty and the possibility that my life might look different than I expected.  But surrendering my beloved was another story.

 And then came another grace.

 For the first time, I understood more deeply what John has been experiencing as he has watched me go through surgeries, pain and a difficult recovery. He has told me how helpless he sometimes feels watching me hurt when he cannot make it better.  Now I understand.

 Love makes us want to protect the person we love. It makes us want to fix what hurts, know what comes next and somehow stand between our beloved and suffering.

But we can't.  And perhaps that is where surrender becomes especially difficult—and especially beautiful.

 As much as I love John, Jesus loves him even more than I can fathom.

 I don't have to hold my beloved more tightly out of fear. I can place him into the hands of the One who gave him to me.  I can pray. I can accompany him to appointments. I can hold his hand. I can advocate, encourage, listen, love and walk beside him through whatever comes next.  But I cannot control the outcome.

 Jesus, I surrender my beloved to You. Take care of everything.

 Last week I shared:

 The cross is real. The suffering is real. But neither gets the final word. Christ does.

 I believe that.  And this season is teaching me that surrender means believing it not only for myself, but for the person I love most in this world.

 Praise be to God for the many ways He reaches us—the Scriptures, the saints, a priest's words, the sister of my heart, the person sleeping beside us, and even those great big love taps from the Holy Spirit that remind us to loosen our grip and trust Him.

 Jesus, I surrender it all to You.

Take care of everything.