Convalesce

Convalesce - To become strong via resting. To mend. 

This convalescing malarkey has got me napping like a 90 year old on a Georgia front porch in June. I find myself unexpectedly at the mercy of the recliner and a disheveled heap of word search puzzles. My latest adventure has really been a continuation of the past couple of years, only this time the trauma is more unsettling and my emotions a bit more fragile. Mending takes more effort than one might expect but given the nature of the condition, it comes as no surprise that I am playing it safe and trying, without any success, to weigh up my options. I've always been a reluctant patient in spite of my unnerving amount of reasons to be one. I don't rest or relax well and in my skewed reasoning, I believe I have the ability to heal faster than expected and do more than necessary in the process. 

My mind is cast back to my childhood when one had to take to the bed, or couch, at the onset of an affliction such as tonsillitis or stomach bugs. Sprains meant a week of rest and any surgery, no matter how minor, was a good 6 weeks in recovery and rest before one would even think about returning to work or normal duties. Major surgical invasion required being shipped off to the coast to breathe the sea air and regain one's health and strength through rest. I wish. I'm not by the coast and there are no waves crashing onto the shore outside my window. I do have a pond frequented by several hundred squawking geese and a glimpse of the sky as it changes hues from blue to gray, but the air isn't salty like the seaside and there are no yachts drifting on the horizon. 

These days we are in a race with an invisible force driving us to get back to normal, whatever that is, as quickly as possible. The long silent hours of mending are crowded out with a plethora of mental stimulation and I tend to overinflate my own self importance that somehow I must get back to the job of healing and back into the rhythm of my life. But what if this interruption is designed to minister to a far deeper need within. Endless wheel-turning ground to a halt. A lifetime of striving ceased in a moment of illness and the cacophony of to-do lists hushed with the wielding of the scalpel. I don't like that my body has called the shots. I don't like that I have to surrender to its need for rest and I don't like that there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. As my logical mind tries to drown out the drone of responsibility, the only thing I can do is embrace my situation and allow God to nourish my soul and refresh my spirit. It's always easier when I let go. My life, however important I think it is, will still be there when I'm ready to go back to it. Time may not stand still, but I must. You can't hurry healing no matter what the self professed experts think. And as my struggling gives way to surrender, peace takes up residence, and the need to conquer the giant of sickness and disease is slain once more.