Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

Advent is a different experience when it comes at the same time as a shattered disc.

In late November, I had a two-fer – my first broken bone and first time under anesthesia. I decided to go big for the first time, or rather my body did: A disc in my lower back shattered, lodging pieces into the nerves, which made the doctors pretty nervous. I’m still numb from the waist down from the nerve damage. Apparently nerves take a long time to heal.   

I need to be patient, the neurologist says.   

But I’m not good at waiting. Sure, the first week or so, I caught up on every TV show, even ones I hadn’t watched before. And I slept a lot, and at times, I was pretty hilarious in my painkiller-induced fog. But at three weeks out, I’m ready to do. To wrap presents and decorate the house. To finish shopping. To bake Christmas cookies. To go to parties—and church. I want to be back at work (seriously) and pick the kids up from school. I want to help my husband with the mountain of laundry and spell him from the pressure of handling all of the household chores, plus the frenzy of Advent for a priest.   

After all, who am I if I’m not able to do these things?  

And perhaps this is where the real healing needs to occur: in my heart and mind, in the place that insists on doing, who is obsessing with online shopping, the person who goes back to the office ten days after surgery. 

During this forced period of rest, I haven’t once let my soul rest. I’ve been busy feeling guilty that I can’t do more, feeling like I’m letting my family and co-workers down. Engaging in a little self-pity here and there because both feet feel perpetually asleep. 

Apparently this “doing” mindset takes a long time to heal. 

I need to be patient. 

In editing a book this weekend (yes, another symptom), I came across a passage that offered some needed guidance for a way forward, for a way to embrace an expectant Advent with the right spirit, with patience and with an uncluttered heart. 

Use Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.” Close my eyes. Repeat the phrase several times. When my breathing is settled and my mind is clear, drop a word or phrase: Be still and know that I am. Be still and know. Be still.

And finally, gratefully, with no to-do list lurking in a corner, just be.