The Pursuit of Balance

I had an appointment with Dr. Re, a neurologist, Tuesday. He checks on me every few months. While no one has been able to pin point a specific medical cause for my walking struggles, I rarely leave his office without something of value.

On Tuesday, however, I waited with low expectations.

I sprained a ligament in my right ankle, little by little over time this spring, until one fatal step left me unable to walk or drive without pain in early May. After the initial swelling subsided, I realized the special shoes I wear that help me walk were actually part of the problem. My shoes have a rocking bottom that enable my weak ankles to move forward with ease. But they turn the ankles in just enough to stress the inner ligaments in the process. I spent about four days in flip flops last week before my feet said, "No more." So I'm facing a shoe dilemma that has me a bit stymied... and maybe a little down.

I didn't say much to Dr. Re because I knew he didn't have any answers for me. I told him I'd had a few good walking days after sitting still to which he responded, "You need exercise."

I replied, "Maybe I'm just trying to find balance."

His next words made me laugh out loud, "Women always seek balance. Men, on the other hand, are unilateral. They see something and they just go for it."

With two short sentences he offered great insight into my life and marriage. He explained the neurological reasoning behind the difference which I can't relay here with any accuracy since I didn't need the neurological explanation.

I live with three men.

My husband is focused on making our store a success. Suffice it to say, that's his life right now. My oldest son wants to graduate with a performing arts seal on his diploma next May. To accomplish his goal, he must take Economics and Government online this summer. He even saved his own money to pay for the classes. My youngest son zeroed in on entering a magnet high school program last year so he could play lacrosse. And he did just that. He bought his own equipment and lived with that stick in his hand most of the year.

And in the midst of their pursuits, as Dr. Re said, I've been the one seeking balance, as in family verses store; exercise coupled with rest; academics balanced by fun; and busy life quieted by time with God.

They do need me. I pursue balance, both literally (due to weak ankles) and spiritually, while they run after life.

Interesting.

Perhaps this is another glimpse into why a great writer once penned, "Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work." (Ecc. 4: 9 NIV)

My Thing About Bunnies

A high school friend recently commented on my facebook photo, "Susan, you've been petting that bunny a long time now." I laughed. Micki, a friend of old, used to share dinner with me and our spouses in the home where my bunny fetish began.

I didn't set out to fall for bunnies. And my house isn't full of bunny trinkets and statues. Okay. A cute one made from parasite wood sits on my piano. (I bought it at our Go Fish store!)

Still, when your husband battles a brain stem tumor and your mere existence requires a relentless pursuit of hope, you find it in the oddest places. For a time, I found it in the evening hours when a family of bunnies hopped out from behind a shed that rested against the right side of our fenced in back yard.

They didn't show themselves every day and when they did, they snuck out with the greatest of care. Squirrels ran relentless all day. Bunnies appeared in the haze of twilight just before darkness crept in. When I caught them in action, hope lept inside and broke through the haze of an internal twilight that threatened to fade into darkness.

I know this isn't logical, theological, or even Biblical. But over time, the sight of bunnies lifted me high, reminding me of the contractual promise represented by a rainbow: God will carry mankind (and me) through the storm.

After I read Micki's post on facebook, I realized I haven't been petting a bunny all this time. I've been touching hope. And I've been touching hope all along because I found that bunny in the Virginia hospital where Baby Catherine was taken only hours after she born.

Baby Catherine, my first step-granddaughter, born last August, was not expected to live. A diaphragmatic hernia hampered her ability to grow enough lung power to sustain life. God broke in with His miracle touch and gave her just enough lung capacity to keep her on this side of eternity. Nine months later, she's still with us. She's lived in the hospital just about as long as she's lived at home. None the less, our miracle baby is smiling, growing, and slowly healing.

Check out: http://www.letterstocatherine.blogspot.com/ for her amazing story as recorded by her mom.

When the emotion of it all sent me looking for a hospital chapel a few days after she was born, I missed the elevators, walked a long corridor, and found that bunny--that big, fluffy, white bunny--right down the hall from the NICU behind a large glass window. The second time I visited the bunny, someone offered to let me in the room where the bunny lived and opened his cage so I could touch hope.

Don took the photo.

Nathan claims he's going to buy me a bunny when he goes to college. I don't know that I want a baby bunny to clean and pamper while I miss my oldest son.

Still, I like the surprise of finding them when I least expect them. I like the thrill of hope their presence stirs inside. Deep down, for whatever crazy reason, I just like bunnies.

The Summer Ahead

I took a step almost two weeks ago and am still sitting still as a result. A ligament on the inside of my right ankle grew weary of supporting the tendon that holds my knee in place. The knee only swells without the ankle brace, but the underlying weakness has forced me to keep a pair of crutches in my car. Driving is a bit of an issue, so I let my 17 year old son take the car today. I'm home, sitting with my lap top, trying to believe in the writer in me.

There's a chance this injury will require surgery. If so, there's an even greater chance I won't be able to have that surgery for a few months. I've been asking for time to write; craving the opportunity to let my creativity flow. Yet, now that I'm here, with ample time to fill, I fight a gravitational pull towards the black hole of insecurity.

Maybe I'm just a little bummed. I know God is at work since I would have thrown myself into our "Go Fish" store this summer--stocking shelves, steaming clothes, arranging jewelry--if both ankles worked. Now I can write without the pull of other things. But writing beckons an author to embrace an aloneness I often avoid.

"Let my heart not be proud. Let me eyes not be vain. Let my mind be on you and not on things that I could gain." (adapt. Psalm 131: 1)

When I arrange shelves and clothing, I relish a job well done at the end of a day. I can see the tangible difference I made. When I write, I simply wake to another day of writing, hoping it will lead to yet another, all the while wondering if my words really matter.

"But let me still my soul within you like a child with its mother. Let me still my soul within you and cling to no other. For you are my hope Lord both now and forevermore." (adapt. Psalm 131)

The quiet may not last forever since school will be out next week. But the summer ahead may offer lots of opportunity for me to embrace stillness. From there, I hope to pour my heart out in words--for He is my hope, your hope... our only hope through it all.