Since I haven't written in a few weeks, I wanted to share about two really awesome things going on for me lately.
I got the privilege to staff at a women's conference this past weekend. AMAZING. One of my (many) favorite moments of the weekend was on Sunday morning during worship. If you've spent much time with me, you know I take responsibilities very seriously and can be not so nice to myself "if I fail". I had EVERYTHING set to go for our worship time- the power point, the worship set- all were checked ahead of time and set to go- I even reformatted a few slides to be viewed easier. And then it was time to hit play- and I realized that THEY WEREN'T THE SAME- the songs didn't match the slides?! My first thought was "these 75+ women aren't going to be able to worship BECAUSE I SCREWED UP MY JOB!" So through my tears and breaking down, I managed to find the right things and started the set- probably less than 10 seconds in reality but felt like AN ETERNITY of everyone watching me fumble... Alicia, who was overseeing me for the weekend in this role, came over and ran sound for the few songs while I cried and worshiped with our sweet prayer elder for the weekend, Elaine. I looked out at the women attending, and they were all meeting with Jesus- some crying, some face down, some kneeling, many with hands raised high... and God reminded me- 'I don't need you to have my way with my people'. It was maybe the best worship I have had in a LONG time... I could meet with God even through "my failing". My friend Melissa reminded me after that session that "I am not powerful enough to mess up what God is doing". That's soberingly beautiful!
One of my pastors in Indianapolis talked about the idea behind some Celtic theology- the idea of "thin places", or places on Earth that allow us to see God unlike other places. I can think of a few places like this in my walk 17 years with Jesus. New Georgia, Liberia; the decks on the Anastasias with Mercy Ships; the Downing House in Englewood; Smoky Mountains in Tennessee... and many others. Craig Hospital has over the last 4.5 years become a thin place for me. I can no longer walk the halls, interact with patients and doctors there, or be anywhere in that hospital and not remember what transpired 4.5 years ago in my life. If I am being totally transparent- the **** hit the fan, and the floor completely dropped out from under me. It's been incredibly sobering to have doctors tell you that you are a medical miracle, and you shouldn't be here or "this" recovered because of _____. Um, that doesn't happen. I never wanted to be a medical miracle or defy science- it's never been on my "to do" list... but now I can consider it an honor. For ALL that we know about the body, the brain, the neurological functions... my body didn't "play by the rules". I'd like to believe that God has something to do through me that He couldn't accomplish bringing me home to be with Him yet. So He intervened and made it so that it wasn't yet my time Feb. 25, 2009. I still am uncomfortable talking about it BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TALK ABOUT IT STILL. There's this tightrope I walk between coming off prideful or weak and not knowing how to deal with being a living-breathing miracle. We ALL are, but to become one again at 28 in some very surprising events... uh, I still stumble with the words so for now, I usually am tight lipped about it all. How do you talk about something this amazing when "there wasn't a reason to cause it" and you still don't have the words??
All of that supernatural intervention aside, Craig was the place that I got to first-hand SEE that transformation. I came in and couldn't swallow. Couldn't walk. Couldn't talk. Had no recolletion of anything. And I left 2.5 months later talking. Walking. Swallowing. Remembering (somewhat. Ok, this may be a stretch since much of that didn’t happen until like a year later). VERY MUCH still questioning WHAT just happened to me and HOW GOD allowed that to happen to ME (still sorting through that existential question, but in a MUCH healthier place of questioning it all now after counseling and having some dear friends walk with me and not rush me to have it figured out yet!!) Folks, Craig has come to symbolize this point in my life. Highlighting a thin place of so much healing for me. Where I could literally see the difference from coming in one way and leaving a completely different person. I get to be a part of that in other people's stories' now. It may just be volunteering yet, but this is where I want to be. Need to be. I needed someone then that was further along in their journey to give me hope then that there was going to be a day where a wheelchair wouldn't be my reality. Where I could go to the bathroom unattended. Where I could swallow and talk again- without thickeners and really eat foods again. That I would still accomplish things, even if the doctors were dampening my hopes for X,Y, and Z. I get to have a part in other's stories of regaining abilities again. This is a thin place for me now, where I can see God working in me, through me, and even in spite of me. I WANT to be a part of other peoples' wrestling with the very questions that I was asking 4.5 years ago, and still letting go of the not having answers. I've been there. I can get it. I want to be a part of other people asking those very questions, and wrestling through the finding the answers themselves. The struggle and journey as you question is beautiful, and I think many American's just 'want it to be done and over with' or 'just accept it and move on'. We don't deal well with grief, especially if we don't have any answers or platitudes to accompany it. So many withdrawl because it makes us uncomfortable to not know what to say in return, and we go to where we can "feel useful". I've become ok with the gray areas. The places that don't have answers. Where words fail. Where just being is enough.
So these are my thoughts from Women At The Cross and volunteering at Craig again. Things may not look at all like I thought they would in Denver, but He is providing and I am excited to see what else lay ahead!
Love,
Amy Christine
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