In Which We Find a New (Possibly Temporary) Normal

You know how dearly I love a new year, and for this one, I worked hard to develop a plan that would help me be more purposeful in running after goals and better habits. It was all nerdy and color coded. Ridiculously wonderful is probably the best term for it.

And then, you know. Emergency Room visits and doctor appointments and all manner of things that had not been pre-scheduled in any color on the pretty pages of my planner. (I told Ryan yesterday we should probably just throw in the towel, buy a pill sorter, and go on with our lives.)

Suddenly all the meals that I had so carefully planned out and shopped for had to be modified, because right now, Ryan can't have...well, it's probably just fastest to say most foods. We eat a lot of Mexican spices and tomato-sauce laden foods, and pretty much all of that is out right now. No sloppy joes. No turkey burgers. No lasagna. No chicken taco soup. No nachos and cheese during football.

And my wifely skills were taking a pretty sharp beating with every single can of chicken noodle soup I popped open and dumped in a saucepan to heat up.

While I've been banging on the door of Heaven begging God for healing/answers/anything that pushes us in the right direction, I've also been struggling with satisfaction with our now.

All 26 alphabetical dates that I pre-planned last year and we were supposed to start this week have to be put on hold because they all contain foods Ryan can't have right now.

All my menu planning had to be redone. In fact, it straight up felt like all my cooking skills had to be re-learned, because suddenly, he can't have anything we ever eat.

All our days had to be scheduled at the last minute, because I never knew if we might have to pause for a new doctor's appointment or another ER visit. (And I'm the kind of girl who will pull an all-nighter to finish crossing stuff off my list because I can't abide by undone to-do lists.)

So this past week was a great opportunity for God to reshape my spirit a bit. A chance for me to relearn what really matters, and none of it includes my plans. A chance for me to find joy in serving Ryan through learning to cook new dishes and learning to put aside the things I've been so excited about to make room for new, more urgent focuses, like finding healing for the long haul and a semblance of normal for our now.

Yesterday I happened upon this post by Josh Buck, who I've known almost my whole life, but who I know most from interviewing him and his wife a couple of times back when I worked at WBCL. Josh was paralyzed in an accident ten years ago, and he has struggled with multiple health problems in the time that has passed. The post tells of his latest hospitalization and the extreme, horrific pain he's encountering. I read every line, about all the medications, all the decisions that have to be made, all the ways one thing affects another, and suddenly, learning to cook chicken in 34 new ways really didn't matter anymore.

And because I've read enough of what Josh's wife has written, I know her normal has been changed about a million times, and yet somehow she approaches it with grace and see it as an opportunity to serve and find a new angle to keeping the vows she made years ago.

So our days don't always go like we plan them (in color) in our pretty planners. And sometimes we have to find a new normal. Or a temporary normal. And it may feel awkward at first, but it really is a privilege in its own way. The key (which I will not claim to have mastered yet) is to look at it that way.

I'm grateful for Ryan. I'm grateful for our life. And if I need to learn to live on chicken for the foreseeable future and if we have to postpone our fun alphabetical dates for a while, we'll do it. Because what matters most is his health and finally seeing a smile on his handsome face.