Tragedy to Triumph: Back Surgery (part two)

September 15, 2015, I had reconstructive spinal surgery.

Essentially, a vertebra had completely broken in two and the lower piece had shifted into my spinal cord, compressing the nerves which caused me to start to lose feeling in my feet and down my legs. If I left this lil’ mess in my back unattended, it would eventually lead to paralysis.

It sounds tragic, and it was, but I had been living like this for years.

Here’s the thing: I tried everything under the sun to avoid having surgery. Every alternative treatment method that has been tried and true was tested – physical therapy, acupuncture, steroids, chiropractors and so on – with no such luck.

More than that, I didn’t want to have surgery because I was white knuckled to proving myself. I was attached to my job, my positions, my responsibilities. I was attached to my identities as a student, dancer, sorority board member, orientation leader, on-campus employee, and a thousand other ways I had found my worth. I thought if I stepped back, I would let people down.

Here’s the hard truth: you will disappoint people. No matter what you do.

I made a commitment to serve as an Orientation Leader for the incoming students at my university, but how could I effectively show the new students around campus if I couldn’t walk for more than even a mile? I was committed to serving on the executive board of my sorority, but how could I be effective in my position if I couldn’t sit for more than an hour through our board meetings?

I wanted to show up and serve, but I was physically incapable of meeting the needs of others (and myself). In the face of disappointment, I recognized my own limitations. I don’t have to damage my body and my soul in order to get done what I think I have to get done. In fact, if something is really imperative, it will still get done.

Here’s the hard truth: it’s not about you.

Someone else can have the opportunity to serve as an Orientation Leader, and someone else will have different ideas for serving the sorority. Someone else will say the thing or do the thing or bring the thing. It’s not about you at all. The second that it becomes about YOU being the one to get the job done, it isn’t about the job getting done or the people being served, but it’s about YOU.

The day I realized my achievements are nothing compared to the achievement over death on the cross, I finally found rest in the sufficiency of what God has already accomplished. And now, He’s asking to fight for me: for healing, peace, restoration and rest.

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September 15, 2015, I had reconstructive spinal surgery.

What was supposed to be a two-hour operation turned four, and the bones were fused back together with titanium rods and screws leaving a sweet scar where a tramp stamp tattoo would go.

Honestly, it was terrifying. I’m so woozy that I faint at the poke of a needle (yup, I fainted during 2 of my 3 tattoos). Nevertheless, I spent seven days in the hospital with my rock star mom (and a liquid diet), and six weeks horizontal on the living room couch because I couldn’t make it up the stairs to my bed. I pushed the button on my handy dandy remote every 7 minutes to get a new dose of pain killers up an IV I couldn’t bear to look at, I required four nurses to readjust my position every couple of hours, and I had occupational therapy where I relearned how to walk, sit, climb stairs and get in a car.

It was terrifying to be so exposed and vulnerable, unflinching as I stared my gaping wounds right in the face, unable to outrun anything. My armor of busyness was gone and everything insulating me from the pain had dissolved. I was no longer busy being busy; all I could do was show up.

And let me tell you, there was lots of space and an abundance of silence.

The silence engulfed me. There was no rat race to distract myself with, no pending deadlines or assignments, no meeting minutes to read or professor’s office hours to attend. Emptiness became deafening in the silence; a sweet dwelling place and the stillness a safe haven. The chaos and the noise of the life I had created was suddenly and abruptly gone, and I heard my body whisper a sweet ‘thank you’.

The layers and layers of toughness and subsequent stress I’d been wearing all my life slipped off, one by one. I left behind all the voices and expectations, all the things I ‘should’ do and all the things that worked for so long but now were left shattered beneath my feet. I was left bare. Underneath the shell of performance lay a broken and fragile soul, fighting for worth in a world that would never give it. So, at the center of me was strength, gratitude and Jesus. I no longer needed to be shielded by things like proving my worth and keeping myself busy; I was secure in Him and my unshakable identity.

Undergoing back surgery was essentially God’s grace prying my little fingers off those identities. I became undone. I excavated the identities that brought destruction to my soul and replaced them with the Truths I found in Him.

Here’s the truth: we are made to love & BE loved.

This was a toughie to learn: to let people love me and take care of me. I was forced to sit down and be humble (ok, Millennial).

For some reason, I’d always wanted to be seen as low maintenance. I wanted to be flexible yet tough, go with the flow yet reliable and strong. I was afraid of being difficult, afraid to let people down, and afraid to ask for help when I wanted to be the one to jump at the chance to help. What good is it to be seen as low maintenance when the very adjective leaves my needs unmet and voice silenced?

I had spent all my years loving on other people and didn’t realize I was depriving them the opportunity to love on me. I was silently fighting my own battle while my people were waiting to be called to the front lines. I didn’t allow myself to be taken care of by people, and I certainly didn’t know how to let myself be taken care of by God. And wow, has He shown Himself as the ultimate Caretaker.

I didn’t usually ask for things because I didn’t always feel like I deserved them. But now, I needed help with the smallest of tasks, the most rudimentary needs to survive I was now unable to do on my own. I needed to ask for help; my neediness & asking went from 0 to 100.

Every day, I needed help drinking water because I couldn’t sit up (I’m totally serious about the horizontal for six weeks thing), eating food (and getting food because I still couldn’t get up), going to the bathroom (couldn’t bend at the hips), actually going anywhere at all (yup, I had a walker), taking a shower (I had a shower seat because I couldn’t stand for that long), braiding my ratty hair (couldn’t reach my arms that far back), texting my friends that I’m still alive (was too nauseous from the painkillers to look at my phone). Y’all, I needed help with every little thing.

Every flaw was exposed, every weird idiosyncrasy out in the open. There was no shame or even achievement to hide behind. I didn’t realize how terrifying it would be to be completely and utterly seen. Love doesn’t allow hiding; it invites the whole self to the party. Love cradles us in this sweet embrace that says, ‘you don’t have to hide, we are going to carry this together’.

Here’s the hard truth: I can dethrone the idols of performance and worthiness. I can simply ‘be’ and be loved (Psalm 46:10).

So, I rebuilt. I claimed freedom as I bowed out of our culture’s insistence of proving and competing.

I gave myself permission to burn down the expectations I’ve long held for who I had to be and what I thought people wanted me to be. I gave myself permission to be utterly unflashy and profoundly ordinary. I was present and grounded deeply and I no longer confused my work as the best part of me, but my spirit. My mind is set on things above, things that matter in the heavenlies and eternity (Colossians 3:2).

It was wildly freeing and radical, wholly subversive, borderline rebellious, and countercultural at best. I chose to live from a place of rest instead of racing, peace instead of pain, enjoyment instead of exhaustion, present over perfect.

Here’s the hard truth: my identity is in HIM and nothing else.

I can rest in my identity that is not bound by what I can offer this world or what I can do, but the well-tended and brave soul inside me; an identity unshakable in the busyness of life. I don’t have to prove myself or feel the need to earn love. I can be with my Father instead of doing things for my Father. I get to live from my identity in Him, not for it. My spirit, soul and the love I give are enough. Even as my sweet and fragile self lying horizontal on the living room couch, I am worthy of love. Simple as that.

Here’s the hard truth: I can accept the love I know I don’t deserve. (No, perks of being a wallflower, you actually don’t deserve much at all in this fallen world).

I am finally beginning to understand the worth of my own soul. This beautiful soul that God created out of truly unconditional love, not because of anything I’ve done, but because every soul is worthy of love, having been created by and in the image of the God of love. There is an unconditional, irrevocable, infinite love waiting for me if I just let it wash over me.

So, what powers my work when it’s no longer dependent on achievement? 

I can serve and love out of a place of overflow. Serving has become my love letter to the world, telling the story of redemption and healing that has utterly changed and now fuels my life. What I do is a reflection of who I am, it isn’t entirely who I am.

My life derives its meaning not from what I accomplish, but how deeply and honestly I connect with the people in my life. How wholly I can give myself to the making of a better world, through kindness and courage and showing up for people. How I can let the story of healing and redemption and HOPE be known in a broken world.

Back surgery fundamentally changed me – yes, I have titanium rods and screws in my back – but more than anything, I was rebuilt from the inside out. I left behind some ways of living I once believed were necessary and right, that I now know are toxic and damaging. I left behind my own ability to hustle for God’s ability to heal. And now, I’m in a sweet spot of continuing to experience love, peace and rest, and giving it away as freely as it’s been given to me.

My willingness to be fragile paved the way for me to be strong. My surrender to honesty and connection gave way to bring this soul back to life. My deep awareness of my needs, my authority, my voice have led to empowering others to see their own needs, authority and voices, too.

Back surgery and all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Join me in prayer: Lord, thank you for grace and nourishment in the face of exhaustion and starvation. Thank you that I don’t have to earn or compete for peace and rest but you give it so freely away and Your very spirit has made a home in my heart. A home of peace, a dwelling place of rest. Help me invite others to this dwelling place. Amen.