“…Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall, and our sins sweep us away like the wind.” Isaiah 64:6
Imagine cutting up a priceless painting with an X-Acto knife and Scotch taping the pretty parts on modern, mass-produced backgrounds to make children's trading cards. Picture sorting through all those tiny little fragments taken out of context and deciding which ones carried the most significant value independently. Curate a strong collection of the greatest fragments for distribution and discard any visual information which does not stand firm as a 'part' out of context from the 'whole.'
It is absurd—the idea that arrogance could cut apart a masterpiece and expect to create something of equal or greater value with the leftover shards. Much in the same way, it often hurts my heart when people quote bible verses out of context—assigning them to photographs, wearing them on t-shirts, making stickers for their cars, waving them around without a care.
It quickly becomes manipulative, condescending, and misleading if not done with deep respect. I suppose it is like most things—there is not really a right and wrong—it is more about the spirit in which the action was done. And well, I guess that was never up to me to judge.
But here I am, sitting by the water's edge, watching a leaf float down the river. All I can think to myself is, "… Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall…." Sitting in the moment, I recognize with a heavy heart I have become all I have judged.
It has been a year since I have written on this blog. This has been a humbling journey; I was not comfortable talking about it. I can finally walk my two miles—but it is not always pretty. In fact, I walked two miles to get here, and I have another two to finish the loop. It was slow going today, and I know I will have to rest by the water for at least a half hour before I can make it home. Still, it took almost a year of training, a pacemaker, and meds every four hours to get to this point. While I celebrate the success, I still quietly mourn the loss. Autonomic dysfunction is no joke.
I wonder if I will ever run again. Or stand up without feeling dizzy. Or digest food without getting sick. Or be able to draw standing up. Or be able to read a book without getting confused. Or talk with my family in the evenings without slurring my words. But I know I cannot compare myself to myself or yesterday to today.
I am ashamed to say I have been bitter about this process. I did not handle the stagnant grief well, and in desperation, I hurt the people closest to me. I did not allow myself much of a support network, partly because no one understands this disease, partly because I was tired of people trying to 'fix' or 'heal' me, and partly because I was humiliated by how far I had fallen.
I have indeed fallen, and like this leaf I am slightly discolored and full of new holes. (A couple cardiac ablations burned at least a dozen…) However, grief was responsible for the most extensive tears in my heart. As grief soured into anger, it scorched thousands of tiny new holes in me. I am ashamed of the ugly emotions which bled out from those holes. Rage is corrosive, and desperation is not attractive.
This leaf is my heart—not only full of new holes but disconnected from the source, totally adrift.
Still, it is a beautiful day, and the water glimmers in the light. I have worked unbelievably hard to be here. As I sit here in the sun, I realize I am somehow still afloat, on crystal clear waters, with a gentle current carrying me to an unknown destination. And for now, I have made peace with that.
