I worked in the yard for five hours this afternoon/evening, the length of my labors due in part from growing ill as I worked and in part because my yard was an utter mess.

The person who had been tending it for me has not been available of late. I kept putting off the work, hoping not to have to do so myself, but today I dove in for the distraction it gave me.

I actually had to edge twice since the sidewalk had become significantly obscured by the overgrown junk grass growing along its border. I also had to weed the front bed since you could hardly see the mulch between the rose bushes for all the grass and weeds and sprouts that had overtaken the entire bed. And my beloved variegated euonymus bushes were wildly out of control, a central mass of growth rather than separate bushes. The roses, too, were quite scraggly and were in great need of a whack job and feeding. Then there have been four bags of mulch sitting about that needed spreading for months on end now. So, I divided the work between weeding and pruning and pushing the mower about the lawn and topped it all off with lugging those too-heavy bags. My tomato red face is still radiating heat nearly four hours after I finished!

After a couple of hours, I started throwing up and worked to rest more in between the tasks. It was probably stupid to finish, even though having the utter mess all cleaned up is a balm to me. But more so than savoring the beauty in the order I wrought from chaos, the lengthy labor helped keep my mind off of Monday. For on that day, much to my dismay, I shall be put asleep again for yet another procedure.

I read in an address recently that fear is unbelief. I am not sure I quite understand that, but I do know that reading so made me feel quite discouraged. For I am afraid about Monday. I am fearful because the last time was such a distressing, disturbing, crushing experience. I am fearful because I will be alone, because I will not have anyone whom I could trust to watch over for me. I am fearful because I know what is coming and yet I do not.

I know that waking up will be difficult. I know that I will not be able to control my limbs or move my body for a while even after I am awake. I know that the recovery will be agonizingly slow.

I do not know if I will have a nurse who has compassion or another like the one from the last surgery--a woman who would not even pull my gown up to cover my nudity because she was certain I could do so myself if only I tried harder, a woman who wouldn't even shut the door while I was in the bathroom and brushed off my distress at the traffic outside, a woman who ridiculed my clothing as she was dressing me when I was finally strong enough to leave.

I am afraid.

And I am discouraged.

I heartily wish that which I believe were more paramount in my heart than the fear I feel. I am a sheep of the Good Shepherd, the Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one, the Shepherd who braves the wolves instead of protecting Himself. I am a sheep of the Good Shepherd who is with me every moment of my life. And yet I am afraid.

This will sound ever the departure, but I purchased a ticket to see Sugarland in concert next Thursday. One. One ticket.

Someone asked if I were going to see them, assuming I had secured my seat as soon as the tour schedule was announced. Here? Sugarland is not coming here, I replied. I was most certain that the nearest concert was two and a half hours away and I had been unable to get a ticket, much less find someone to drive me there and make sure I was safe with all the singing I would be sure to do. She was equally certain Sugarland would be at the Verizon Center.

After their ABC special and the ensuing acquisition of their newest offering (a most wonderful combination of a CD of live songs--seven of them covers--and a DVD of over an hour of concert footage--I watched it three times the first night with more than a few nebulizer treatments and one Epipen), I thought I would check just to see if perhaps, somehow, I had actually missed a nearby concert. I had!

So, I visited the ticket seller to see what the prices were. Somehow, I got a ticket for $17! That is a mere fraction of what the last concert trip cost and all I have to do is hop on the metro, nebulizer in hand.

One. One ticket.

This will be my first outing alone. Being alone is something I have been thinking about a lot over the past two weeks. After being hit, I felt more alone in the ER than I ever remember feeling. To be honest, I think that hurt more than the damage to my face. Given that I was quickly given Percocet and sent home with a prescription for an entire bottle of those pills, that is saying a lot.

I felt so ashamed and still do. The bruises are finally small enough to hide with sufficient make-up, but I still know they are there. I still cannot face looking into the mirror.

Walking past a window or a mirror, I catch a glimpse of my face and I am reminded of the turmoil I have not been able to shed. I am reminded of the inescapable conclusion that this assault was a correction from what I had hoped to be to what I am.

In the past two years, I have asked four different women who live near me if they would be willing to meet me at the ER when I have an asthma attack. All four readily agreed, affirming they would like to help. But each time I tried, each time I called, it was never a good time to come. I tried each person three times before giving up.

That night in the ER, I called someone, but it wasn't a good time.

It never is. That is who I am.

So, I bought just one ticket without a second thought.

On Monday, it is required that I have a driver. I do. Someone I know, but who is more a stranger than a friend. Someone who I would not chose to be there, but who is all I could get so that I could jump through this 1,001th medical hoop.

I have to be brave once more. But I am afraid. And I am alone.

Yesterday, when I went to read the prayer for the day, I lingered over Wednesday's and then finally decided that perhaps I should just read that one as well as the one for Thursday. When I read it aloud, for but a moment, I am able to lay aside the turmoil and savor who God is rather than struggle with who I am. The prayer brings to the fore that which matters most, that which should consume me, and I revel in the rightness of the words on my lips.


Prayer on Wednesday

O Lord, have mercy.
O Christ, have mercy.
O Lord, have mercy.
O Christ, hear us.
God the Father in heaven, have mercy.
God the Son, Redeemer of the work, have mercy.
God the Holy Spirit, have mercy.

Be gracious to us. Spare all the dying.

From all sin, from all evil;
From the devil's might;
From the devil's wiles;
From Your wrath and from hell's torment;
From sudden and evil death: Good Lord deliver them.

By the mystery of Your holy incarnation, by Your holy nativity;
By Your agony and bloody sweat;
By Your cross and Passion;
By Your precious death and burial;
By Your glorious resurrection and ascension;
And by the grace of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter: Help them, good Lord.

In the hour of death;
On the Day of Judgment: Help them, good Lord.

We poor sinners implore You to hear us, good Lord.

To comfort all the dying;
To forgive them all their sins; to lead them out of this misery into eternal life: We implore You to hear us, good Lord.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, we implore You to hear us.

Christ the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us.

Christ the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us.

Christ the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, grant them your peace.

O Christ, hear us.
O Lord, have mercy.
O Christ, have mercy.
O Lord, have mercy.
Amen.

Holy Lord God, holy and mighty God, holy and most merciful Redeemer; God eternal, leave us not to bitter death. Lord, have mercy.

Holy Lord God, holy and mighty God, holy and most merciful Redeemer; God eternal, allow us not to lose hope in the face of death and hell. Lord, have mercy.

Holy Lord God, holy and mighty God, holy and most merciful Redeemer; God eternal, keep us steadfast in the true faith. Lord, have mercy. Amen.

I believe. I am baptized. And I believe.

~~~~
Thank you, Bettina, for the Scrabble games...