Smooth and Bumpy

Another day comes to a close and I retreat to the comfort of the silence.  I cover myself with the soft threads of my afghan blanket in hopes of calming the thoughts that are swarming through my head.  As I sit, I stare at this blanket that has been a part of my home for several years, as if seeing it for the very first time.

Many years ago my MIL asked me to pick out a pattern so that she could make me a blanket. This is the pattern I chose.  Some strips of the afghan are smooth, while others are bumpy and some portions are straight while others appear slanted.  As I sit here now, my eyes are entranced as I notice how the threads are pieced together in such a way to form a beautiful blanket that I have come to love.

The smooth and bumpy?  The straight and diagonal?  Now that’s an analogy for life if I ever heard one.

Tonight I am sorting through the latest bump. . . surgery.

It seems like such a simple thing, doesn’t it?  People have surgery everywhere, everyday and it is never made to be a big deal.  Oh, there’s a problem with your heart?  Okay, we’ll do surgery and fix it.  An accident?  Let’s do surgery and repair that bone.  So, you say you don’t like the way your nose, jaw, or face looks?  Snip, snip. . we can fix that. . . surgery. 

It’s a part of the fabric of our culture. . . it seemed that way, that is, until we started talking about taking a knife to my foot.

I have spent the last five days vacillating between a red light and green light when considering this surgery.  I’ve called my dad boo-hooing about what if it makes it worse?  what if something goes wrong?  And the waa-waaing continues with Chad. . . how am I going to be a mom and wife on crutches for three weeks?  Who is going to make meals and clean the house?  What if my foot never recovers and returns to full working condition?

Ahhh. . . what ifs.  You’ve got to love ’em.  The question looms. . . what if I can never run again? 

My dad reminded me this weekend. . . Summer, you never thought that you could make it this long without running. . . He’s right.  I didn’t think I could do it.  But you know what?  I’ve done it. . . and I’ve survived.  That’s the funny thing about life.  Before I’ve actually hit one of those bumps I’ve said words like. . . there is no way I could make it through this or that.  What I have realized this year, however, is that I can make it through a lot of things I never thought I could.

I’ll admit it. . . I am scared to have this surgery.   Terrified, actually. But there is this place, way down deep in my spirit, almost beyond my awareness where I feel it. . .this subtle belief that no matter what happens–complete recovery or no recovery–I will be okay. 

The smooth and the bumpy. The reality of life.

Oh, how I love the smooth days. 

Days when we weave together laughter and excitement as well as calm and simple.  Those are good days. 

But what I have come to understand is that I need the bumps.  Need them.  It is only in the bumps that I have learned what bravery is.  It in only in the bumps when my faith has been tested and proved to stand the test.  It is only in the bumps that I have learned that there is strength built in the fabric of the human soul that only bumps can reveal. It is only in the bumps that I have learned how truly important my support system is.

Yes, I love the smooth days. . . but I’m learning to embrace the bumps, too.  Because just as the smooth and the bumpy are pieced together to form the beautiful blanket that rests on my legs right now. . . so too does the smooth and bumpy piece together this little life that I love so much.

So I think I’m ready.  I think I can do.  Surgery?  Bring it on.