Preparing for Iona: A Surgical Sidepath

This is a blog written whilst on drugs–prescribed painkillers, that is. 

I had some minor surgery on Tuesday, and have spent these last few days with ice packs, soft foods, and lots of sleeping. I am blessed with good health, but the very few times I’ve had anesthesia it does leave me rather cotton-brained. 

I pretty much cleared my week and good that I did.  I’ve had holy time this healing. I’ve laid in bed with earphones on and listened, really listened to music–iTunes had a free download of the new U2 album, and I’ve also enjoyed the new discs from Francesca Battistelli and the Rend Collective. 

I’ve had time to pray the Hours with the new book of prayers from Church Publishing, Daily Prayer for All Seasons. I’ve also worn my Pearls of Life prayer beads on my wrist and prayed using them (these prayers were very helpful as I went through my surgery and the recovery, by the way;  Yeah! centering prayer). 

I’ve watched movies and read a novel. I’ve prayed for a lot of people. I’ve worn the prayer shawl made for me by a dear parishioner years ago from yarn she had left from other prayer shawls. 

Friends have restocked my refrigerator with yogurt and eggs. I even had a burst of energy and thought how good pudding would taste. And then I thought of my mom’s chocolate pie, and thought–we’ll that’s pudding, and actually made one without the crust!  Smoothies, mashed potatoes, guacamole, soup, and Harriets’s baked oatmeal–ah, the world of adult food that doesn’t have to be chewed!

I feel surrounded by love and care.  Texts of prayer; a few cards; a phone call from my mom; sweet emails and notes on Facebook (a lavender labyrinth photo from Katie+). 

I’ve missed some things I loved/wanted to do, but I’m full of joy for the unexpected time to do some things I never, or hardly ever do. 

One of which was remembering a friend from seminary, Patricia Clark, a poet who died a few years back, as I prayed a prayer she wrote a night or so ago:

Hidden God, ever present to me,
     may I now be present to you, 
            attentive to your every word,
            attuned to your inspirations,
            Alert to your touch. 
Empty me that I may be filled with you alone.  

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