It’s 1:26 am. I’m leaving for the hospital in 2 hours. 4 hours until my life it altered rather drastically. Sometime after I had told my brother about this whole ordeal, he (in his very light hearted manner) mentioned how after I die people will be able to tell that I had brain surgery. Isn’t that sort of funny though? Like dang. My life is going to be greatly changed tomorrow. There’s so much unknown thats being forced upon me that for a while I felt drenched in it. It soaked me with heaviness that only something with such a great magnitude of change can.
That’s where God clung to me.
I couldn’t shake Him off. Heaven knows I tried many, many times. But somehow I wasn’t able to lose Him. I see it as oil and water. God covered me in a permanent oil while I felt I was drowning, but the two weren’t able to mix. In a glorious, unknown way God kept whispering “I have better things for you.” or “My favor rest in you.”. Each of these phrases never left my conscious. I heard them in moments of fear, hurt, and freedom.
I was never really a believer in peace that passes understanding. The amount that I undermined it seems so silly now. I had always known that peace existed, and people were given it in times of desperation. Only until this instance did I ever discover what the phrase entails. The question people always always always ask when they discover I’m having brain surgery is “Are you nervous?”. In the beginning, I covered it up with a sly reply that was somewhat confident. But now? I have the peace that passes understanding. If I were even able to tell you what it feels like, I would. It’s something so beautiful, sacred, and holy that only being surrounded by such peace will ever describe something so delicately strong.
So that’s where I’m at. I guess I’m going to dive in head first tomorrow and come up swimming at some point. God’s done some pretty amazing things through this situation and in my life. I can’t wait to be able to share the full story post-surgery. Thank you for all of the prayers and love sent my way.
