Dance in the rain; Buy a hat!

I’ve mentioned that we are presently enjoying a week of vacation, traveling around Oregon visiting friends and family.  What I haven’t mentioned is what happened the day before we left on vacation.  I wish I’d gotten a picture in order to prove how awful it was…but Jeff, my parents, and Joy and Joel are my witnesses that I’m not exaggerating.

I mentioned before that I had this strange cyst that developed when I was pregnant with Dutch.  Now, three years later, they finally decided to remove it.  In the last few weeks it had actually improved somewhat so by the time I went in for the surgical procedure I was feeling pretty good.  It was probably a centimeter in diameter, not too bad. I figured they’d carefully slice it open, remove whatever, put in a stitch or two (or maybe I wouldn’t even need stitches? I was optimistic), and then I’d be on my merry way.  Sure I’d probably have a little slice mark but we were leaving on vacation the next day and I was sure by the time we got back it’d be gone.  Even asI type this I’m laughing to myself and shaking my head.

Oh was I wrong.  When I went in, the surgeon proceeded to tell me that because of the way it sat the had to make a 2-inch long diamond shaped cut and remove a huge chunk of my face (that was my translation) so that as she sewed it back together it wouldn’t bunch up (so my face wouldn’t look like an old pair of nylons).  Now I have given birth to two children.  I am not squeamish in the least.  I don’t mind needles, shots are fine.  But as she described this and then proceeded pull out a needle and dig it around in my face pumping me full of anasthetic until my eyeball started twitching, I got so light-headed I just sat there and prayed in my head, over and over, “Please Jesus don’t let me pass out. Please don’t let me pass out.”  Then, as the room spun, they led me to another room, where she covered my eyes and said, “You’re going to feel a lot of pulling and tugging.”  Oh dear Jesus, please let me not pass out.  Call me a wimp, but I would rather push a baby out than go through that again–trying to make polite conversation as I can hear and feel the snipping of scissors as she cuts up my face.

So when she finally finished the inevitable moment of truth came and the nurse handed me a mirror.  They both looked at my with pity, then the doctor said, “You’re still beautiful.”  It was kind of her yes, because what I saw was scary.  I’m a wimp, but it was startling to see my face with a huge two-inch slice, purple and blue with bruise, with ten big fat stitches squeezing together the bulging edges of my incision.  Wow.  When Jeff picked me up he looked scared.  Joy was sweet at punch, but Joel’s face gave it all away–I’ve never seen his eyes that big. 🙂  He gets squeamish just watching people cut vegetables so I didn’t share any gory details. My dad goes, “Oh my gosh!”  And Dutch ran over to me as I walked in the door, then stopped and looked concerned and said, “Mommy got owie!”

So you can imagine how excited I was to go to Corvallis and see people we haven’t seen in years then go to Jeff’s family reunion, and give an explanation 150 times, at least, that no I hadn’t gotten in a bar fight or a car accident…

But all in all that was no big deal.  People were polite, no children ran away in horror, and the worst part was just that it hurt to smile and whenever the wind blew my hair would get stuck inthe ointment or the stitches and then I’d have to excuse myself and pull my hair out of my face. 🙂

But when we got to Bend I realized the bummer part–we are on vacation and my incision can’t be in the sun–at all.  No water, no sunshine.  So much for waterskiing, swimming in the lake, or basking in the sun.   Yesterday I savored a day in the shade, watching the boys playing out in the wading pool.  Then today I thought about the rest of the summer–how would I play with the kids, sit at softball games, enjoy the last summer barbecues.  Then I remembered something I heard while in Corvallis.

Some dear friends of ours who are going through an extremely heart-breaking trial, responded to the question “How are you doing?” in this way:  God’s not taking us out of this storm, but He’s teaching us to dance in the rain. Now a silly little surgery on my face is NOTHING compared to what they are going through. But I love the lesson.  Dance in the rain.  I knew that had application for my silly little trial.

So I bought a hat.

Not just any hat.  Jeff took me to Ross and I bought the most humongous, wide-brimmed ridiculous sun hat you can imagine, the kind that necessitates wearing enormous sunglasses and sipping a tropical drink with a little umbrella.  In fact, if I put on bright lipstick and stand on my tip-toes and hold my arms at right-angles I look like a desperate attempt to be totally tropical Barbie.  So now, armed with my ridiculous hat, I can handle any angle of the sun.  And if it kills me I will don that silly thing with all the confidence in the world, grinning from ear to ear–well, maybe not that big because it still hurts to smile… but you get the idea.

So now I must go.  My little hat story may be silly, but I pray for the grace to apply the lesson even when the trail isn’t trivial, when it takes all the faith in the world to dance in the rain.  I’m thankful for my friends who show me how it’s to be done.