A Fresh Start With God

I’m guilty of overlooking prayer far too often. Sadly, when I face a trial, challenge, or hardship, my first response isn’t always prayer. Such was the case the day I met with an orthopedic surgeon after he reviewed the MRI he ordered of my right shoulder. I watched his eyes, noting the slight change in his facial expression and demeanor sensing the inevitable. “You need rotator cuff surgery,” he said candidly. “I’ll schedule your surgery for early December. The hospital will be in touch with details,” he continued, leaving the exam room before I could ask the rush of questions racing through my mind.

His assistant measured my arm for the post-surgery sling and shoulder immobilizer. “The surgeon will put this on you after surgery. You’re to wear it 24/7 for six weeks, even while sleeping. Remove it only to shower and to complete physical therapy. Carefully follow the therapist’s instructions and learn to trust him. Learn to use your left hand. Remember, you’re not to lift, twist, bend, or otherwise move your right arm or shoulder. Do you understand?”

I merely nodded yes, too stunned to speak.

“Do you want a morning or afternoon surgery time?” he asked rather matter-of-factly as if I was scheduling a routine manicure or hair appointment.

I suddenly felt disconnected from what was happening like I was watching a movie of events unfolding rather than actually being there. My brain stuttered for a moment while my thoughts caught up with me. “Uh…morning,” I stammered. “…the first surgery of the morning. I don’t want to wait all day.”

“Seven a.m. it is. The hospital and the anesthesiologist will reach out to you a week before surgery with all the particulars.” He escorted my husband and me out of the exam room towards the lobby. “You may message me through the patient portal with any questions you may have,” he said handing me his business card. “The portal information is on the back of the card.”

Questions? Of course, I had questions—a gazillion of them.. Since I’d never had major surgery, I spent the weeks before surgery worrying, curious about so many questions, most of which had no answer: What will surgery be like? What about that breathing tube that the anesthesiologist inserts down my throat? Will it be painful afterwards? How will I react to anesthesia? What if there are complications? What if I die on the table? Who will take care of my husband? What about my mortality? What will post-surgery recovery actually be like? Who will my physical therapist be? What exercises will I do? How will I cope with long-term pain and being dependent upon my husband 24/7 for four to six weeks? Are my husband and I up for this challenge?

All of these unknowns plus a host of others swirled around in my head often keeping me awake at night. I had a lot of vivid ‘surgery’ dreams. In one dream, I heard a sound like a bird flapping its wings in a panic. Maybe it was my heart, for all I knew. Have you ever seen a wild bird trapped in a cage, looking for a way out? Well that was the way I felt and how my mind was reacting to the situation. In the weeks prior to surgery, I worried endlessly becoming increasingly restless, agitated, anxious, and terrified. I neglected prayer and seeking God’s guidance and reassurance. Instead, I became dependent on prescription anxiety medication to get me through the day and a sleep aid to get me through the night.

I awoke after surgery without any recollection of the anesthesia, the surgeon, or the surgery. I glanced at my bandaged right arm; it was in a sling with a thick, cumbersome, uncomfortable shoulder immobilizer pillow. Once home, I was unable to use my right arm and hand for even the basics like eating, brushing my teeth, showering, dressing myself, etc. Sleep alluded me; and pain, silent as grenades, was my constant companion. At times I thought I’d feel the knives in my shoulder and arm forever, the long blades slicing into my sensitive flesh. Some days I existed as a matter of will power not having enough emotional energy to even read the Bible or other books at my bedside. Every day was a battle between losing hope and having faith in healing and physical therapy.

One painful, sleepless night, I came to my senses remembering the power of prayer. I sat up in bed and prayed. “God, I’ve ignored prayer and seeking You in times of need. I come to You now asking for your forgiveness and mercy. Thank you, God, for giving me this body in which my spirit resides, but my body is weak and is in pain from the surgery. Please relieve my body of this pain. Ease my suffering and soothe my muscles and mind so that I may fully rest and recover. Grant my body more strength. Send peace and comfort to my mind. Help me to learn the lessons I need to learn from this experience. Bless both my husband and me with faith and patience while I fully recuperate.”

God heard and answered my prayers. From that day forward, I recommitted to daily prayer, reclaiming my relationship with God and His power. He heard and answered my prayers, giving me the patience, strength, and power to deal with my pain, to slowly heal and become stronger eliminating the need to rely upon the pain killers and anxiety medication.

I reached a fuller understanding of the power of prayer. It was not my power or might that made prayer powerful. The power of prayer wasn’t in the words I uttered, how I prayed, or what I prayed about. Praying to God is a conduit to His power. It’s like a lamp. The lamp doesn’t have power although it shows light. The cord doesn’t have power either; it’s just the conduit. Prayer is a conduit to His Power. Through living a prayerful life, I communicated with the very source of my existence. The power of prayer is, quite simply, the power of God, who hears and answers prayer.

I liken prayer to my daily talks with God. Prayer is blessing; it’s a joyful act of faith and one that gave me a fresh start with God, one that transformed me giving me inner strength through surrender and patience by listening to and knowing God better.

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