Another beautiful Lord's Day morning with the sun shining and leaves floating through the air. This is my very favorite season of the year, even if it is followed by my very least favorite season of the year. I love the colors, the crisp air, pumpkin everything, apple cider, bonfires, hot cocoa, scarves, boots, and annual family hiking trip in the Kettle Moraine. My breakfast this morning consists of coffee and chocolate pie. It's that kind of morning. 

But this particular Sunday morning I woke up in pain and depression and just sobbed and sobbed on my pillow. I sobbed until my incisions hurt so bad that they made me sob even more. It was ugly and snotty and painful.

Sometimes being "strong" backfires. Because at some point the strength is completely gone and you break and break hard. And there are tears (upon tears) and sometimes there are hard words and difficult conversations when you least want to have them.

In this journey through life, we are hit with pain time and time and time again. It's part of being a fallen human living in a fallen world. Generally speaking, pain isn't an option. It's just part of being human.

But it's how we respond to that pain that determines the kind of human we become.

There are times that I wonder if I'm honest enough when I write. Generally speaking, I like to focus on the positive and maintain a grateful outlook. At the same time,  I do try to share about the very real, very difficult, daily struggle to maintain that focus. I never want my boyfriend or my family or my besties, the people who see me at my worst and at my ugliest, to read my blog and think I'm a hypocrite, that I'm only sharing part of the story, part of myself.

Take this past weekend for instance. It was a rough one. I was an emotional mess, stressed, snippy, impatient, silent, less than fun. I had to say sorry and I had to say it more than once. 

Part of the painful process of purification and sanctification and growth, is screwing up and repenting.

Over and over and over.

I'm blessed enough to have people who stay by my side through the painful, even when the painful brings out my ugliest.

I have a Savior Who loves and forgives and picks me up.

Pain is not pretty but it is precious.

This morning I was just saying to someone I would never change the pain and suffering of the past decade. It has been awful. It has been horrible. There have been so many times I didn't want to go on. Even at this moment, I am struggling through the aftermath of the physical and emotional trauma of the week in the hospital following my surgery and it is a much more painful process than I could have anticipated. 

But the lessons I have learned, the things God has taught me, the relationships that have deepened, these are worth more than physical comfort. It is in the fires that gold is refined and it is in the fires of life that relationships are strengthened and proven and purified. It hurts and it gets ugly but the beauty that it produces is worth each painful moment.

It's now 4:30pm and I'm sitting at my absolute favorite local coffee shop on my favorite couch with my feet kicked up on my favorite coffee table and I'm sipping my favorite go-to coffee. I like this day. The boyfriend and I are headed to his parents later for dinner. (I love it when they feed us. I have this thing for food. I feel the need to tell people that because it's something I usually hide about myself. *ha*) My roomie drove us here and is sitting on the couch across from me. We both have our feet kicked up and I'm just so thankful for her and her friendship and that she moved across that giant pond (aka Lake Michigan) to live here.

I'm thankful that today held a little less ugly, amidst the pain. 

And I'm thankful that even if tomorrow is full of ugly, my God can paint a gorgeous canvas from it.

Praise Him.

Or, I really could just begin with this summer. I started dating the most amazing guy and only a few short weeks in, I started feeling sick again. (No, I do not blame Justin, even if he blames me for his one little gray hair I spotted a couple weeks ago. But I digress.) Being in a new relationship, I was a little terrified. Was I worth putting up with when I had so many issues and was really really not very fun to be around sometimes?

For sure and for certain I could begin with sharing of the unbelievable goodness of my God in giving me a man that loves and cares for me better during sickness (and health) than I could have even imagined. I could write about the incredible difference it makes having his love and peaceful presence. I could mention that sometimes I actually cry out of sheer gratitude to my Savior and my man.

,Apparently I'm being too long-winded because now it's 6am and I just had to take a break and make some peanut butter & honey toast and some throat coat tea & honey. I've given in and switched my Spotify station from my favorite sleepy one to my favorite writing one.

I'll try to stop dragging this story out so much but no promises so bear with me.

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Whoops. Got distracted by Jimmy Fallon and toast eating and picture choosing. Now it's 6:30.
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I'm going to jump to August 20th now. First of all, August 20th was my bestie's 25th birthday. So that's awesome and the first thing that I think of.

The second thing that comes to mind, is going to a routine doctor appointment down in Madison with my GI specialist and having the wind knocked out of me when he recommended surgery.

Say, what?

Isn't that what we've been AVOIDING with everything we're worth over the past several years?

I was shocked. I was a mess. I was scared.

He thinks I should have a bowel resection? He thinks it'll only get more dangerous if I don't?

NO NO NO NO NO, is what I wanted to say. But thankfully I have Jesus and a boyfriend and a family and a church family and the bestest besties any woman could ever ask for and they helped me clearly think this thing through from every angle.

And after meeting with the surgeon and having a really not-fun test, I knew it's what needed to happen. So, September 29th had "SURGERY" written on it, which happened to be only two short days after a long trip to Montana.

Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed and freaking out. But God's Word is powerful and having those closest to me speak its Truth into my mind and heart helped bring some of that peace that passes all understanding.

Tuesday the 29th I got out of bed, finished packing my hospital bag, took a shower with that special surgery soap, drank my surgery prep drink, jumped in my car, picked up my mom, and drove down to Madison. Honestly, I wanted to cry but I really was at peace. I knew it was the right thing to do. I knew God's hand of protection was upon me, no matter the outcome.

IV was put in (after some work...dang veins), vitals taken, blood drawn,  pharmacist's questions answered, anesthesiologist met, and then I just waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Surgeries don't start on time, guys. Just in case you're wondering. And they can't give you happy, chill out meds until you meet with the surgeon, which you can't do until she's out of the previous surgery.

Yeah. It was a fun few hours.

On the upside, that meant that both my dad and my pastor got there in time to pray with and for me before surgery began. God is good.

Then all of a sudden I was being wheeled into surgery and I remember the anesthesiologist telling me to dream happy dreams and then things went black.

The next thing I knew was waking up in the recovery room and crying and sobbing in pain and agony. I still can't believe how much it hurt right away. And I couldn't see anyone or anything because I didn't have my glasses. The one thing I clearly remember is the nurse holding my hand while I bawled my eyes out. In fact, remembering those moments has me crying tears into my lap while I type at this very moment. 

Eventually I was moved to my hospital room and my boyfriend and parents were able to come be with me up there. I really remember nothing from that evening, except that they were there. And really, that's enough.

The days following were some of the very worst of my entire life. My surgery itself went wonderfully (praise GOD!!!) but my first week of recovery was a nightmare. Much longer, much more painful, much more nauseating than anyone anticipated. Apparently my body hates surgery with a passion.
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Words cannot express my gratitude to each and every person who was praying for me. Knowing so many were lifting me up before the Throne of God is what kept me going during a week that felt a month long. Thank you. Just thank you.