Monday Night Musings with the Mosaics

(This story first ran in The Hometown Advantage newspaper in Douglasville, Ga in early December.)

 

When you can't leave for home for weeks at a time, reentry to life is a process. Senses dull after too much time on the sofa. But I spent last Monday night with the Mosaics and was reawakened me to how much I value their friendship, their comradery, and their devotion to Jesus. I love these women and post this story in honor of their lives and how much they've changed my own - even if it's holiday themed.

My dear friends: The Mosaics

They came into my life at just the right time – like the baby born in Bethlehem sent to change the world. I met The Mosaics four days after my youngest left for college. My tears had barely dried when an acquaintance at church asked if I wanted to join the motley Bible Study crew. We met the following night.

 

Attendees include a woman with ALS who can’t use her arms; a young mom with severe vision issues after a botched Lasik eye surgery; a vibrant brunette with digestive problems that require gastric tubing she carries in a backpack; not to mention the mom whose son had a stroke at five years of age and another whose daughter suffers from spina bifida.

 

While their stories made mine feel small, I wasn’t sure what to think. Several years before I’d married a newly widowed man whose friends had not finished grieving his first wife. No one's really to blame but as I took on the role of his new wife, I battled rejection on several fronts. Real or imagined, most of it came from females which left me leery of women’s Bible studies, women's ministry events, and really just about women's anything.

 

A neuromuscular illness didn't make things easier. After numerous medical procedures over the course of two years, my youngest son and I were diagnosed with mitochondrial disease. Weak muscles. Bungled nerves.  It all took a mental toll. And while I had no doubt the God of the universe had carried me through the loss of my first husband and 10 years as a single mom, I struggled to find my footing in this new season—on unsteady legs with a wounded heart.

 

The Bible tells us that Jesus was born after 400 years of prophetic silence. Generations of Israelites lived without a fresh word from God; without a prophet promising one more time that the Messiah was coming and still looking out for them.

 

400 years they waited.

 

And then he came, to a stable no less.  And the first to see Immanuel, God with Us was a motley crew of simple, dirty shepherds.  Well-dressed Magi later came from the East—both divinely led to the manger—representing the broad spectrum of humanity. Even as the divine entered the world, heralded by angels from on high, God demonstrated that He came for everyone

 

After navigating a few of my own silent-type years, I drove to Bonnie’s home, where the study meets, and opened the book of James.

 

Over time I learned more about The Mosaics and the broken roads that led them to Jesus. Some grew up in the church. Other’s had strayed. Some live in big houses. Some live in houses that could fit in another's living room. Some are divorced and single, wondering when God will bring their Prince Charming. Others are sorting through hard marriages, longing to honor God and their husbands. Throw in the physical maladies—and the motorcycle driving chic—and there's no shortness of prayer requests as we wrap up each week.

 

But they welcomed me. This ragamuffin group welcomed me. And in time, they even made me feel normal—something very few have been able to do for quite some time. As I spend time with them I'm able to face my own brokenness with greater confidence. Not because of anything in me but because we all know we need the redemption that came in the form of the baby on that first Christmas Day; the redemption that arrived in a manger and was met by a group as motley and varied as we are.

 

The rich and the poor, the Kings and the paupers, the severely broken and those who might have just felt whole—all brought together by a divine act, by angels who sang, by Wise Men who followed a star, and by a loving God who laid down his life for all of humanity and said, “I’m coming.  I’m coming now. In this moment I’m here for you always.”

 

This Christmas I celebrate Jesus and The Mosaics—a colorful group of broken women who earnestly seek God and together make something beautiful. Their faith has strengthened mine. Their friendship is making me new. And because of that baby, we’re leaving more of our pasts behind and pressing on towards what’s ahead.

 

“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” (Is. 60: 1)

Sunshine Alley and the Princess Chair

A view from the top

When I learned I was facing six weeks no weight bearing (post ankle reconstruction), I wondered how I'd get in and out of my home. Once inside, everything I need is on one floor. But getting there requires a nine stair climb to the front or back door - or a sixteen stair haul from the basement.

A friend of a friend was selling a stair chair. Legal issues postponed the sale. But when I thought it was on its way a few weeks before Christmas, I forgot about presents and decorations and bought paint. Riding up and down a tired, dirty basement stairwell had little appeal.

I planned to go conservative: brown steps; beige walls. But when I perused color choices at Home Depot one evening in mid-December, I spotted Bay Side and Moon Dance. Within an hour, I squatted on the steps, brush in hand, and transformed the tired stairs.

The teal color didn't panic me until I noticed Killer the Cat (named by my spouse) half way down the stairs.

"No, Killer, no!" Wide eyed, she froze.

"Stay, Killer. Don't move." As if she would respond to dog type commands.

The gray feline bolted up the stairs while I envisioned Bay Side cat prints all over my kitchen and living room floor. When panic gave way to action, I hopped every other step to the kitchen - on dry paint. No prints. No mess. Deep sigh.

Two sweet girls, Makayla and Olivia, painted the walls with me a few days later and Sunshine Alley was ready for the Princess Chair. The chair didn't arrive until last week. But my husband worked every night until it was installed, so I can now exit with ease.



Don and Killer resting after installing the device last week.

Truth: Every time another handicap device enters my world, I battle mixed emotions. Gratefulness overrides the sadness but I go through odd mental gyrations as the reality of the need continues. I want to be strong; to be able to climb stairs without assistance. But for now, I'll embrace my new ride, thankful for my husband who agreed to the purchase and installed the heavy device without gouging our kitchen floor.

A friend, Rosemary, brought me the book One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. On page 53 she wrote, "I name gifts and go back to the Garden and God in the beginning who first speaks a name and lets what is come into existence. This naming is how the first emptiness of space fills the naming of light and land and sky. The first man's first task is to name. Adam completes creation with his Maker through the act of naming creatures, releasing the land from chaos, from the teeming, indefinable mass. I am seeing it too, in the journal, in the face of the Farmer: naming offers the gift of recognition. When I name moments - string out laundry and name-pray, thank you, Lord, for bedsheets in billowing winds, for fluff of sparrow landing on line, sun winter warm, and one last leaf still hanging in the orchard - I am Adam and I discover my meaning and God's, and to name is to learn the language of Paradise."

So ride I will, up - and down - Sunshine Alley on my Princess Chair. Their names, a declaration of good and gratitude, hopefully, even a leaning towards the language of Paradise.

Where My Help Comes From as the Ankle Heals (Warning: Graphic Content)



This may prove a little much for some. In fact the more I look at it the more it turns my stomach. But when my surgeon showed me this photo of my torn tendon, I knew I had to post it. Up close I realize the tear might not be the two inches I once thought. So that's encouraging. But while the pain has dulled for the most part, if I turn it wrong, I'm reminded that weeks of healing remain. 

 

Photo by: Dr. Daniel Tucker; Kaiser Permanente

 

I've grown somewhat impatient with the process - again. I do that a lot. Grow impatient. With the process. Whatever the process it is. I want the healing. But the energy required to maneuver on one foot with limited mitochondrial power has kept me slow. Fighting a cold the week I weaned off narcotic pain killers didn't help.

 

I just can't seem to shift to a higher gear.

 

So I rest. I watch Happy Days reruns till they bore me. And finally pull out books that inspire my soul. I know where my help comes from. I know who orchestrates my days and who knit me in my mother's womb. And I know when I dwell in His presence it doesn't matter how long it takes to heal. It doesn't matter how tired I am. I'm simply His and that is enough.

 

"I lift my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip..." (Ps. 121: 1-3)



Dad, Mom, and Eddie the Visiting Nurse

 

Dad and Mom with Nathan at his Holiday Concert

When I learned I was facing a left ankle reconstruction with no weight bearing for weeks, I started planning where and how to recover. While a master bedroom is on the main floor of my house, there are eight steps going up the front and back of the home and even more between the basement and kitchen door.

Since my parents have a one step entry into their home, it made sense to head there post surgery. Plus, Mom's a great care giver and cook, and home more than not. What I didn't expect was for Dad to give up his side of their Sleep Number bed for almost two weeks. No kidding, two whole weeks.

When I recovered at their home three years ago post right ankle ligament reattachment, I crashed on a comfy sofa in their sun room. Loved the view. Pressed up against the windows, I had a tree house perch overlooking their large backyard, complete with a creek that runs wild in the rain. But since back surgery followed five weeks later, I was a cautious about choosing the sofa with a view again. When a hospital bed potential fell through this go-round, Dad offered to move to their upstairs guest room while Mom helped me get through those first few days and weeks in the only bed on their main floor.

Thanks, Dad. You deserve a public, blog thanks.

Before I left the hospital, a physical therapist told us she'd ordered Visiting Nurse. Having never experienced home care, I was surprised and a little humbled by the order. Eddie came to the house several times, though, and helped immensely. I went from feeling bedridden to doing leg lifts and scooting up and down a tall flight of stairs in the seated position almost once a day.

A cold clobbered me this week so exercise on top of everything else left me exhausted. Lightening the routine helped. But I remain grateful to Kaiser Permanente for approving his visits. I'm much stronger and will maintain far more muscle strength continuing exercise while the ankle heals.

So Dad gave me a bed. Mom served good food. And Eddie got me moving.

And Lily... well, Lily, made me laugh and cry. She stared longingly at my food, jumped on my tender ankle once, curled on top of me for several long naps, knocked over the plastic cylinder filled with my favorite cereal and rolled it under the bed. In her frenzy to find every last morsel of gluten free Peanut Butter Panda Puffs that scattered under the bed, she turned on an alarm stored beneath where I slept. It went off very early the next morning. Thankfully, mom hadn't left for her dental appointment and could get on all fours to turn it off. Crazy dog.

Gal. 5:15 state, "You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge your sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love."

I'm back home. Made my own coffee and toasted my own gluten free waffles this morning. And as I adjust to phase two in this healing process, "Susan back on her own", I'm grateful for parents and others who've served me in love the last two weeks.

Check out Music by Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Confessions of a Knee Scootin', Star Wars Bootin', Highlighted Dirty Blonde

I'm making progress, enjoying the purple walls in my nieces room about ten minutes from my home. I transferred locations Thursday night to be closer to friends who drove me to my post op appointment across town on Friday. By days end, I had a new black boot that wraps my lower leg and reminds me of something Star Wars.

Between my knee scooter and my star wars boot, new life flows in these veins.

Many have asked about my knee scooter and since my computer's not letting me upload photos right now, I'll post one from another site: KneeWalker Shop

Having purchased a walker and even leaned on it in public, using the knee scooter took me back in time. Instead of feeling like I'd aged prematurely, I felt like a kid at Christmas. My oldest son dropped me and my new scooter at Kohl's one evening prior to surgery and left to run an errand. As I waited for him to return, I rolled up and down the sidewalks with the breeze blowing against my skin and enough speed to thrill this woman who often crawls at a turtle pace.

I highly recommend this mobility tool, even though I just lost my balance turning it around and stepped hard on the foot I'm not supposed to put any weight on. It's most helpful, but I may need a helmet before it's over. For now, the Star Wars boot seems to have saved me from damage. But oh the pain once again.

I'm armed well for the coming weeks, but still frail. About the time I feel stronger and able, something like that off balance step sends me reeling. And I wonder if I've done damage to the surgery site or what other wrong step I'll take in the coming weeks. I even sat most of the day after traveling to and from a post op visit yesterday, yet still ended the day in worse shape than the day before.

When my boys were little, I thought about all the moments their safety could be out of my control; the times they could run into the street when I wasn't looking or wander off in a mall when I was distracted. And I used to pray that God would place angels in those moments before they even happened.

Is that the thinking of an OCD mom?

I don't know. I just know this world is so unpredictable and each step uncertain when not grounded in faith that keeps our eyes focused not on what we see but on what is unseen. (2 Cor. 4:18) So tonight as I get ready for bed, I'll pray over my tomorrow. Pray for balance, patience, wisdom, and even an angel to keep me from tottering over when I take that wrong step. Cause I need more than a cool knee scooter and Star Wars boot to get me through. I need His divine touch and constant presence guiding each day.

Check out Music by Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Confessions of a Bedridden, Leg Casted, Befuddled Semi Blonde

Remember those days when you wanted to break a bone and be the kid with a cast? A cast covered in signatures that proved you had countless friends?

I'm way past all that.

For one, you can't sign the soft cast that covers my lower left leg. And two, it will be replaced by a removable, unsignable brace in only three days.

I should have written about this before and not allowed so much silent time on my blog. But as the ankle reconstruction approached, I enjoyed my last days of mobility freedom by soaking in a few errands and painting my bedroom. I didn't write. I created a cheery atmosphere in my home that will help as I convalesce in the coming weeks and months.

I've a long road ahead.

At 4:45 am on New Year's Eve, my sister drove me to the hospital where they  prepped me for surgery. The time went by quickly and after a catheter was inserted above my knee to serve as a pain block post surgery, I was wheeled to the operating room.

When I woke up I was told the surgery had taken longer than expected due to added repairs to my perennial tendon. Not only had the surgeon replaced my ankle ligaments with a cadaver tendon, he had to stitch a two and a half inch split in the tendon behind my ankle. We knew it might need some repair, but didn't realize it would be so extensive. The two procedures have left me practically bedridden... and befuddled.

There are moments I'm afraid my life as I knew it is over. That I'll never get back to the limited mobility I lived with before. With no weight bearing for four to six weeks, I worry I'll lose the strength I worked to gain in physical therapy throughout the fall.

OK... exaggerated concerns.

But there's still a long, awkward road ahead. One that requires a walker, a wheelchair, and my favorite, the knee scooter. And above all that, the daily mental challenge not to cave to the fear and overwhelm that comes when simple tasks are no longer simple.

If you read this blog at the wrong moment today, you read a botched ending when I posted it instead of just saving it when my "visiting nurse" arrived. I tried to finish a sentence before we started therapy and pushed the wrong button. Didn't even get this right my first time out post ankle reconstruction.

But my journal quotes Psalm 23: 2 today, "He lets me rest in the meadow grass and leads me beside the quiet streams. He gives me new strength. He helps me do what honors Him the most."

As I type, I look out a big picture window at my moms home, overlooking a creek that borders her yard. The running water soothes my worries and reminds me of the One who gives me new strength. I can only hope, as I live life in the slow lane the next several weeks, that I will continue to do what honors Him most.

Check out Susan Schreer Davis' Music on Itunes.