February Update: Phase Six?

I feel like I'm entering a new phase in my recovery, but I don't quite know how to define it. Perhaps those who have been in some healing process longer than I will be able to help me identify and even name what is happening. I'm open to your feedback.

I know that many who read this blog have endured the loss of a spouse (through divorce or death), a child (through death or rebellion), a loss of health, a loss of employment, etc. and have had to find ways to work through the phases of adjustment. Perhaps you'll be able to relate to this overview of my last 16 months.

Phase One of my journey could be called "Shock and Awe." I didn't believe and then could barely comprehend what was happening to me. I was a healthy guy with healthy habits born with healthy genes. How could I spend my 48th birthday on my death bed?

Phase Two started while I was still in the hospital. I'd call it "Survival 101." It looked like I was going to live, but I had a long way to go if I was going to have the quality of life I had once enjoyed. Unable to talk, unable to walk, unable to eat, unable to do virtually anything for myself, I had to accept my dependence on others while striving to regain my strength and abilities. It was an emotionally and physically demanding phase.

Phase Three started in Rehab. I'd call it "The Trajectory of Hope." I felt myself improving almost daily. I was able to read again, walking with a walker and speaking with increasing strength. I was able to participate in the Groundbreaking Ceremony for Broadway Commons on February 7, 2009 with great encouragement. I was back with people I loved and had good reason to hope that my health would continue to progress steadily.

Phase Four came in like a weather front. I'll dub it "Faltering Hope." I don't think it was much different than what the ancients referred to as "the dark night of the soul." For months my physical progress stalled and at times worsened. My "every day I'm getting a little stronger" motivation turned to "maybe I'll always be this way, maybe I'll never eat again, maybe I'll never lead again."

The prayers of the saints across the world seemed to go unheard. My friend told me, "We had a powerful time of prayer for you at the C&MA Council in Kentucky. A couple thousand people were calling out to God for you at the same time. It was amazing." Yet, I distinctly remember sitting alone in my chair that very night feeling horrible--physically, emotionally, spiritually and any other "ally" you can think of. "Wonderful. They are having an inspiring time with God but I'm experiencing none of it." I felt mocked. The Word rubbed against my soul like sandpaper. I sometimes felt I had no reason to get out of bed, nor strength to do so. I asked for a re-assignment from my position so the church could move forward and it was readily accepted.

My world was changing, but all I could see were losses. The world around me was moving forward, but I was stuck in an ugly place.

Phase Five slipped in with the stealth of spring after a long winter. Let's name it, "Hope Springs Anew." Nah, that sounds like one of those Christian romance novels. This was no romance. How about, "Four Wheel Drive Faith." That's better. Somewhere in the muck, I found some traction. My wheels finally hit something solid and I began to inch out of the crud. It was very slow and it was a combination of factors that inched me forward: a renewed effort at exercise, changed medications, young adult friends of our kids gathering around to pray for me, continued time in the Word, frequent and honest conversations with my wife, doing the right thing even when it was the hard thing, etc. All of these factors converged to gradually lead me to a better place in all of those "ally's" mentioned above.

I'm still not swallowing anything, but in most other areas there is evident improvement: I'm exercising better, speaking clearer, working harder and feeling less pain than I have since becoming ill. All answers to your prayers.

But now I seem to be turning the page to a new chapter. Medically, I've taken a new level of pro-activity and am pursuing specialists and therapies I haven't yet tried. Spiritually, I'm praying and studying with new zeal and consistency. Physically, I'm pushing hard to do what I can to recapture some of my past strength. I'm trying new homemade concoctions for my feeding tube. I've re-engaged in my efforts to complete the doctoral program I was in. I'm knocking on every door that looks like it might have potential. I'm doing what I can.

Yet my heart seems to have lost some of its ability to hope. When one is filled with hope and expectancy, it often leads to a sense of direction--we think we might know where life might be heading. But when hope is in recession, a sense of direction subsides with it. Like Abraham, I'm moving forward, but have no idea to where. Keep one foot moving in front of the other, even though you have no idea where the trail leads. Keep moving. Keep moving.

Will I ever swallow again on this planet? Will I ever join my daughter and run again with these legs? Will I ever play a competitive set of tennis again with my boys? Will I ever be free to do all that is in my heart to do? I pray so, but I don't pretend to know His plan. Based on dreams and faith, some around me are confident that all of this and more will happen. Their hope encourages me. Mine, however, has worn a little thin.

I get to preach again this weekend at Salem Alliance. One question I will be asking in the message, as a point of application is, "Will I keep doing what is right, even when I don't get the results I expected." The question arises from the text in Jeremiah that I'll be addressing, but it also arises very personally in my heart at this time.

I'm not discouraged. I'm not slipping back, at least in this phase, into the dark night of the soul. But my hope has no specificity. I cling to Christ as I think I've always tried to do. But I'm accustomed to clinging to "Christ and a hope of a better tomorrow." Now it is "Christ and I don't have a clue about tomorrow."

Maybe I'm four wheelin' in the dark. Maybe this is just where I'm supposed to be right now.

More on this Monday. Thanks for traveling with us,
John