My body seems to be healing after the surgery, but my soul is still undergoing a lot of spiritual repairs, and it's still not in perfectly good shape. I'm not entirely sure that it ever will be, given that I am imperfect and constantly making mistakes; but there is hope, considering the improvements that have been made. The only reason why there is any grain of goodness or bit of hope left at all is because of my faith and what it's allowed me to experience.
As I reflect back on my life, it seems I should be one of the following (at least statistically speaking): an angry feminist that hates men, pregnant with one or more kids already in tow, a completely hardened individual that refuses to acknowledge that God or any kind of goodness exists...but, again, thanks to my faith (or, I should say, a belief in a God that is perfect Love), I am none of these. Instead, I am simply a damaged human being that acknowledges their broken state and a need to be healed; someone who still believes in love because they are restored by it on a daily basis.
I could blame all my supposed "wounds" on others, it would be easy in my case, considering the fact that I was born into a family with its own set of wounds, those lingering from childhood abuse and also, in my mom's case, spousal abuse. I could say that it's all her fault for marrying my drug-addicted, alcoholic father, and then later choosing to marry another man who ended up causing psychological instead of physical damage. I don't want to do that, though...so I guess I can turn the pages in the book a little further back, to the chapters that cover the reasons why, exactly, my mom's self-image was broken enough to marry such hurtful people. If I did that, there would be even more reasons for me to point the finger.
Basically, the ripple effect definitely took place in my mom's family: One person's pain drove them to sin, eventually causing all their children (my mom's four sisters, her mother, and pretty much all the grandchildren) to suffer heavy blows in life...it's a tragedy. An outsider would view all of us as hopeless cases; they wouldn't leave any room for hope. They probably wouldn't even blame us for all hating God, or even questioning his existence. After all, some might argue, why would any loving God even "allow" that kind of suffering to go on? Well, we're not the only ones, the damage extends beyond our family...everyone belonging to the human race understands what it's like to suffer as a result of someone else's mistakes. So I guess WE ALL have our reasons for denying God's existence while refusing our hearts that little mustard seed of faith.
As far as my life is concerned, I'm one of the "grandchildren" still trying to get up on their feet, definitely not on my own, though. There is no way I would've made it this far without keeping faith that in the end love would prevail, and that it would find me even when I couldn't see it moving in my life. I'm sure some people out there might even think "Psh, that's all you're dealing with...well, at least you have your health." Isn't it funny how, when things get bad, we always find ourselves saying to each other, "at least you have your health"? Well, I can't say that my health is entirely where it should be...considering I just had surgery. It's been tough, I have to admit; the medical bills are piling up, I still have my college debt to pay-off, I lost my job, and though I have a tad bit of support from those in my family who are still trying to be loving people after experiencing their own bits of hell... yeah, I get down. I even get pessimistic...
So who am I to preach about faith? Well, how can you have faith without a trial to test its authenticity? It's easy to believe in goodness when it's in season, but like every other fruit, we can’t pull it off the tree whenever we want. That's how I'd respond to the someone who says I don't have enough faith. And, no, I am not going to believe anyone if they tell me that I'll be healed, or even that my life will suddenly be perfect, if I just have "enough faith". Faith is like money in the sense that if you have enough of it, it still won’t buy you happiness. Quality not quantity definitely comes in to play; it’s what the faith is made of that determines whether or not it will get you through the tough times. I’ve always been determined to keep my faith; even in the low points, I refused to deny the existence of God. I know that God is an experience that can’t be explained in words, considering the words would then limit him and he is not supposed to have any limits. But I also know that God can be felt, and if he moves someone else and they’re standing close enough to you, then you’re also going to feel something.
With me, it’s always been “the perfect timing” scenario. As soon as something awful takes place, something better happens to counteract the negative. It’s not a coincidence; there have been too many situations like that for it to have happened by chance. Sometimes I find myself reflecting on all those incidences, and the most recent one has changed my perspective on life and God the most. It has definitely been a blessing. Its occurrence has actually brought me to say that I would undergo every single ounce of physical and emotional pain again in order to get the opportunity to experience it in the exact way that I have. The years I spent keeping my faith and putting it into action by refusing the reign of negativity in my life proved to be worth it. Instead of becoming a rebellious child under my parent’s care, I still obeyed them even when I disagreed with how they chose to live. But I never let myself be disrespected to the point that my self-image was entirely destroyed; I eventually had to leave a lot behind to avoid that from happening, including health insurance and money.
Still, even when I didn’t understand how God could possibly allow me to be placed in that kind of situation, I realized that even though I had lost so many things, I did not lose my ability to experience the intangible: Love. I was still a human being that desired to love others because there were/are still many with worse hurts than my own; I was also someone who had the ability to receive love. As long as we’re alive, we all have a purpose. Even if we lose our health, no one can destroy our soul or its ability to give and receive love. We’re the ones who truly decide how blessed we are, since love is the ultimate blessing that we can give to others, or even ourselves. That is precisely what all the evil I’ve seen and experienced has better allowed me to feel and give. I would’ve taken so much more for granted if I hadn’t lost so much.
I’ve let love replace the loss. Of course, there are still wounds that need to be healed from all the losses, but they cannot be soothed by other things that can be just as easily lost. Superficial relationships don’t last, a steady income doesn’t last, money doesn’t last…you get the picture. Though I’ve been stripped of some meaningful things, there are other things, like my health insurance and job that can be easily replaced. Even when I lost something meaningful, like the ability to trust someone I loved, someone else reached out their hand and helped me. I know God moved in their heart to act, because I believe God is the one who allows love to exist in anyone’s heart.
The greatest blessing love has bestowed upon me thus far is the relationship I now share with my future husband. Not only have I seen him offer real love to others, by going so far as to donate a kidney to his uncle in order to save his life, I’ve also been able to see God in his heart. Even though he (my fiancé) experienced his own hard knocks in life, he kept love alive in his heart, and that’s exactly why he was able to save his uncle’s life. This act has made him an inspiration to me, and his honest claim to loving me, like remaining faithful and telling me I'm beautiful when I haven't worn anything other than pajamas in weeks, is another way he inspires me to believe that love endures when it's real. Even when I am sick and underweight, undergoing surgery, etc., he not only stays by my side (though that alone would make him worthy of praise) but he continues to encourage me when I start losing sight of the goal, love. If it wasn’t for this awful gallbladder illness I’ve been suffering from, I wouldn’t be able to see the depth and sincerity of his love. In the past, during other difficult times when I prayed that God would sustain me with love and continue to make it known to me, I didn’t realize that I would gain the greatest understanding of that love during one of the hardest situations I would ever be faced with. My faith is stronger now than its ever been, even though my body is weaker than before.
Lately it seems things have taken a turn for the worst. Other than the usual post-operative pain, I was doing great the first few weeks following my gallbladder surgery. I was able to eat "normal" again, and not feel like a geriatric 22 year old. Sadly, that's no longer the case. I've progressively become more sick these past couple of weeks. I haven't left my apartment in days, and I can't eat much either. It's incredibly frustrating because I was hoping to return to my normal life after getting my dysfunctional gallbladder removed. Now, after I eat, even though I might've been hungry beforehand, I end up feeling like I'm being punished by my own body afterward, with stomach pains that don't subside, bloating that leaves me feeling like a blimp, and nausea that lingers like bad breath after eating too much garlic.
