Journey of surrender

John and I made plans for a getaway in July right after the move to Atlanta before the kids started school. I planned the trip (like I always do :) for Glacier National Park in Montana, a desire of mine for years. The trip, unbeknownst to me, lined up the day before my next eye appointment would be. After moving to the Atlanta area in June, my eyesight seemed to get progressively worse quickly. I know stress can induce decline in this diagnosis, but I also wondered if it was also being in a new place where I didn't know my way around the house, the roads, or anywhere. There were moments I would miss a stop sign or hit a cone. I immediately shifted conversations with John, full of grief, that we needed to discuss me giving up my license. I hadn't cried so hard in all of my diagnosis journey as in those conversations. I remember pulling into my driveway one afternoon and ahead of my in my windshield was a beautiful sunset, and in my rearview was the darkest gray rain cloud. The two images were at direct contrast. Beauty, Pain. Peace, Heaviness. Both coexisting but both speaking to different places in my heart that was feeling both in such juxtaposition. In those moments, it was so clear God had led us to Atlanta, and so clear he was continually drawing me in to his peace and beauty, but the sharpness of losing my independence felt so close and for the first time I felt such resistance to it. I didn't want to move to a new place and immediately give up my license. I wanted to find my back ways to school and the grocery store, find what gym I would join and learn the ins and outs of carpool, drive the kids to their first day of school and hear all about it at pickup. I realized, a lot of my really special unplanned conversations with the kids happened in the car, and the idea of losing that felt crushing. 

July 23- Around this time, our trip to Montana came. We flew out there and enjoyed a beautiful first day, surrounded by the most amazing sights I have ever seen. Unparalleled beauty at every turn of the trail. Waterfalls, mountains, glaciers, clear lakes, tall cedars. I drank it in like it was my last sight and I marveled at God's creation each minute. That night we got in bed and John reminded me he had a 4 hour meeting he couldn't miss the next morning. I was instantly hurt and angry, we only had 5 days here and now one would be wasted. Quickly I felt the prompting of an invitation from God- this is what I had for you, come with me. Surprisingly John got off the hook easily and I told him that would be great I would drive into the park when we started his meeting. 

The road into the park is a road (Going to the sun road-rightly named) that winds along a glacier lake, towering trees, and winds its way up mountain after mountain, waterfall sprays right onto your car as you pass, and continue upwards as you hug a cliff on one side. As I navigated the tight turns and watched carefully for brave bikers and slowing cars taking pictures, I wondered if this would be my last drive. After all, the day I got back I went to Duke for my eye appointment and I became sure that was going to be the day my doctor would tell me it is time to hand over the keys. I drove, windows down, music loud, crying (literally sobbing) out to the Lord, both at the beauty my eyes beheld and the grief and fear which was taking hold of the transition coming. MI turned my music louder and song after song came on- Worthy of your name, by Passion, right into Even when it hurts by Hillsong. I wept my way through the songs, windows open, words belting out, as my heart told God I would surrender driving if that is what he asked of me. I felt metaphorically my knuckles loosen over the decision. I knew he was still good even if that is what was next for me. But, as only a daughter could, I simultaneously asked for one more year. Please God, one more year. I will surrender my license if you ask for it, but if I could ask for anything it would be just one more year of driving, learning my way around, enjoying these special moments with my kids in this new place. But I told him, even if the answer to that request is no, I told him He is still good, I still trust him and I know he has a plan for even this, which is for my good. I thought of the many times I will have to keep laying things on the altar as they come and give them to Godin surrender. I don't know what next weeks appointment holds, but he has prepared me and given me strength to be ready for it. He invited me into that drive so clearly, he had an experience waiting for me.

This diagnosis has been a beautifully hard gift for which I am so thankful. For these moments in the car that day, which normally I would've just let pass by unaffected outside of that minute. God uses his creation to speak. God uses these mountains to draw our eyes up from our circumstances and see him in his power and beauty.

July 28- The trip sadly ended and on to Duke I went the following day after returning. I cried myself to sleep the night before the appointment. I was sitting in the grief of what I anticipated hearing that next day. I walked into the appointment Tuesday and got the normal tests, scans and pictures. The doctor walked in and pulled up my visual field test and said "Well I definitely didn't expect THIS!" I had GAINED some vision BACK! With this diagnosis, this does not happen. He attributed it to the injections taking down the swelling on my optic nerve, but I attribute it to Jesus alone. He looked at my results and said "Well you are definitely safe to drive, for at least one more year, we will check again next year." One. More. Year. The three exact words I begged God for on that Montana road. God said yes, to his daughter, hands open in surrender but heart begging for her Father to move. This diagnosis journey has been marked with surrender. Sometimes he will take it as I surrender and sometimes he will give it back, but always he just wants my heart in the right posture. I thought of Abraham on that mountain, surrendering the unexplainable to a God he trusted more than his circumstance, and instead of take his offering, God provided another way. He gave the offering himself. Just like he would thousands of years later. Thank you to the God who provides, the father who hears and answers, the Almighty who is big enough to create the mountains yet intimate enough to respond to our exact requests. It is all just too good.

(The picture on the left is July 28, 2020 and one on right is end of 2019. The purple means no vision in those areas, even with a bright light. Red means medium lights weren't seen, but bigger lights were. The fact that there is less purple on the left image shows the improvement to that day's test from the previous year)