My stage fright is slowly decreasing when I ride my unicycle, aka Blanche. I know I’ll be better prepared for an audition … one day. I have made a point to wave at anyone looking my way when cruising my four-mile route. Gardeners, delivery drivers and farm workers are, hands down, the friendliest people. They wave back 90% of the time. Do I fall more often from nerves and hand waving? Yep. Things are humming right along and I wave, then splat! My critical voice shouts in my head. I ignore the voice and hop back on Blanche.
Here is the story on this saying, which is one of the valuable life lessons I keep tucked in my mental back pocket. You see, when my Baby Lucas was deathly ill, EVERYTHING in my world paled in comparison. Literally, nothing else mattered except my baby surviving his two open-heart surgeries, eating through a tube and ventilator dependency (a nurse sixteen hours a day included). Back then, I could have cared less about my stuff, house, cars, clothes, walls, holidays, or upcoming events. Things lost their earthly meaning. I just yearned for health and togetherness. Although it was a sad place to be, God showed me a new perspective on life through that pain. Ever since Lucas (now thirteen!) was a baby we repeat a saying around our home when things go wrong, or awry and it is, “Well, at least it is not open-heart surgery.” My Techie forgot that when you hold those words next to most daily trials, stupid fluff or worries (like a scuffed wall), it really is nothing to grow angry over. When our house caught on fire while we were on vacation I thought, “Thank God, it is not open-heart surgery.” When my younger son spills his milk (practically daily), or I drop the open can of coffee all over the floor or (fill in your own frustrating blank) I move forward with a smile knowing that although it’s a pain, it thankfully is not open-heart surgery. These few words lift the load tremendously. In a way, having a sick baby taught me not to sweat the small stuff. Like idling on your unicycle in the hallway, for example.
So after our debate and walk down memory lane, my best-friend and Techie husband comprehended that learning to idle in the hall is not like open-heart surgery. At all.
5 comments:
Rose,
Best of luck on idling. Hopefully, it will come easily and quickly. Sending best wishes. For me, it's 'at least it's not brain surgery.' I completely understand what you mean about everything paling in comparison. When you face brain surgery you have to prepare yourself for every possible outcome; therefore the fact that I am still here wins out over all the symptoms I deal with on a daily basis. Thanks for reminding me...I needed to hear just that on a day like today! :)
That's a great reminder - I need to hear that!
Hi Rose I leave you an award in my blog, visit me and you will see.
Thoughts of a Career Woman
stopping by from SITS on blog frog. So glad I found your blog. I'm your newest follower. Stop by mine when you get a chance.
http://activitymom.blogspot.com
Aye, learning to idle in the hall is not like open-heart surgery. :)
I cannot believe you went through that with your son. How heart-wrenching, but how glorious that he is now a growing teen!! Congrats! Thank you for sharing.
Followed you over from Sits!
Post a Comment