I have two pictures that I took the day before my mastectomy. I hardly ever look at them. It is strange to look at them and it makes me cry. They stir up this emotion that I have often tried to avoid. But this morning I took a look (two years ago Friday I took the pictures)
I had never taken topless photos before (now I have taken hundreds, thank you cancer). But I realized rather in panic at the surgeons office that if I did not take a picture that day I would have nothing to look back at. So I did. The photo is pretty funny to see. I am making a goofy face, probably to hide the fact at how odd I felt taking a photo topless and I have purple pen marked all around my chest, indicating where the doctor would cut.
That is what makes me the most sad. A part of my body that became merely place of sorrow, a place I became afraid to look at. The lines indicated that cancer was there. A small x marked on my left breast (cancer side).
The morning of my surgery I won’t ever forget. I was in the shower. I looked down. Cried as the water rushed over me. I remember looking up letting the water cover my eyes, trying to convince myself to pull it together. I think it was a plea. A plea to the God that I was certain was faithful and good but that this part of the story I just simply did not understand. I pleaded in fear. I was afraid. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but things were going to be ok. I wasn’t sure how or what “OK” would look like but it was. It was going to be “OK”.
I only write these words today to say that it is ok if you are not understanding some part of your story. If your story you wish you could somehow change. If you are pleading that things would be different. Maybe it is that that certain someone is no longer around, if that job you felt called too did not come through, if you find yourself alone in the evenings wondering how to do another day, if you feel defeated. If that child you so depsperatley have longed for has yet to show their face.
I may not know your story but I know what it is like to plea asking why your story is the way that it is.
Give yourself some permission. Some grace. Its ok if you don’t understand.
Some things we just are not meant to understand.
“The depths are what make the heights so beautiful”