Looking Back

My computer died last week. It hadn't worked well for months. Looking back, I put off the inevitable as long as I could. So Labor Day weekend began with a trip to the computer doc.

My computer spent the long weekend in rehab and came home a few days ago. It's amazing. A friend installed upgraded parts I never dreamed I would own right now. I can traffic the Internet with ease and add to blogs without battling for proper word spacing. My desk is a mess since I dug everywhere to find software to reinstall. But the computer's so easy to work with, I can write surrounded by chaos.

It reflects the recent skirmish in my heart.

When I found out Sam had to have a muscle biopsy in early August, I lost normal momentum. I spent days haggling with insurance companies and doctor's offices. Yet even when the procedure was scheduled and close at hand, I felt slowed and unable to find my happy place. Ironically, he got sick last week and the procedure was postponed a month. It's still not over.

But after long hours of quiet last week, perhaps even a shut down of sorts, I found Susan again. It could be the antibiotics I'm on. It could also be the work of that new supplement I've been taking. But somehow it seems more than that.

The creative side of my brain has concluded that God upgraded my hardware to better serve my software. I'm learning what to care about versus what to let go of, and it's an intriguing process, forcing me to go against the normal emotional flow of my heart.

It's tricky. But I spent an hour today surrounded by an enthusiastic group of elementary aged singers and can't wait to teach them my favorite elephant song next week. My ankles are weak. My legs still unsteady. But I could sing and help a few others learn songs that speak of hope and joy and the good in life.

"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him... Let him sit alone in silence for the Lord has laid it on him." (Lam. 3: 25 & 28)

There are times of quiet; times when hours in a blue recliner offer an escape or perhaps a respite of sorts.

But "men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love." (Lam. 3: 31-32)

A new computer. A stronger heart. Both after a crash of sorts.

Looking back, I understand.