Life’s Little Milestones

The little milestones. How often do we just gloss over the successful completion of part of the trail because we’re focused on getting to the summit? We have such tunnel vision that we miss those moments of celebration… those times when our Lord reaches down and shows His hand of protection as we move forward on life’s switchbacks.

About six years ago, a DME company wheeled a brand-new wheelchair into my hospital room. Two separate orthopedic surgeons recommended that I no longer weight-bare on my now Avascular Necrosis[1] filled knees. Over the coming months, we would make accommodations to my family’s home, while learning this new world called “accessibility.” Before going anywhere, I was suddenly faced with asking the question, “Are you wheelchair accessible?” We knew I would need multiple joint replacements before I might walk pain-free again. But there were other medical requirements before I would be eligible for those needed replacements. So life in a wheelchair was mine for the foreseeable future… and maybe for the rest of my life. As time passed, my ortho surgeon team wasn’t optimistic that I would ever walk again without some aid.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. I slowly tried to reconcile the life I wanted with the life I had been given. And, honestly, I failed at multiple attempts to reconcile and accept this new life. I set my sights on the summit and lost all joy in the trek to the top – because of the multiple switchbacks the path required. I lost my ability to acknowledge the mile markers along the way.

I have an app on my phone that is a countdown to big events. I used it quite often before getting sick. But after the day that upended my life, it lay dormant. It’s still there… even to this day. It’s this blaring reminder of the life I used to have. Before “that fateful day”, my daughter and I flew around the country visiting family and friends. I was planning a trip to my second home outside of Osaka, Japan, the next year. (“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”[2] But my expat life in Japan is a story for another blog one day – a blog I look forward to writing and sharing with you all!) The point is, I had the travel bug and planned to raise my daughter to visit every state and as much of the world as I could afford! But after my diagnosis, that all changed.

Within months, we could no longer live alone in the little house I had called home since my daughter’s adoption. Anaphylactic asthma had me literally fighting for my life. To what event was I supposed to countdown? I lost my job. I lost my house. I lost my income. I lost my independence. There wasn’t any fun event planned out in my future. There wasn’t a summit to be reached. If I was alive without a serious asthma event that week, that was my new “win.” If I survived the bone pain without IV pain medication, it would be a “victory.” I lost track of what the summit even looked like. And, honestly, the summit was a constantly moving target. Each time we had a medical goal, something else came up that needed to be addressed first. Joint replacements had to be pushed back again and again until I wasn’t considered a steroid-dependent asthmatic. When my medical team finally realized that was unrealistic, we then discovered multiple vertebra fractures in my spine. Those had to be repaired with two 16+ inch titanium rods and over 25 screws by one of the top neurosurgeons at Mayo Clinic. It was only then the Ortho team would consider replacing my joints; which by this time had moved from two joints to four. But you get the picture. There were so many switchbacks that I didn’t know where or what the summit was anymore. My count down to the big day app sat unused for years. I guess I could have used it for a surgery countdown but that seemed a little morose!

And then, about a month ago, I looked down at my smart watch and it said I had taken 600 steps that day. I honestly thought that it had messed up its count. I decided to watch it over the next few days to verify. My dear readers, ya know what? It was accurate! Now, I know full well the average America walks between 3000-4000 steps per day. So 600 isn’t a huge success story. But ya gotta remember the back story. I was told I may never walk again. And by this point, I have a full-on arsenal of wheelchairs and walking aids. Each one is used for different situations… allowing me to participate in ordinary activities, as much as possible. (Truly, the Lord has blessed me with amazing gear through the financial gifts of so many.) So 600 steps felt like a big accomplishment. But not really one you post on Facebook ‘cause for my average friend… well, 600 steps is just downright lame.

But I started taking note. I’m right at 18 months since my first neurosurgery. I’m 55 days post-op from my first joint replacement. And ya know what? I walked 15,474 steps this week! Guys, I walked! Did I make it to the summit? Is life all peaches and cream, or rainbows and unicorns? Nope, nope, and nope! But I walked over fifteen THOUSAND steps.

I’ve been doing a deep dive into the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. There’s a point where the Children of Israel have finally made it back to Jerusalem. In one verse, the Bible says that you couldn’t differentiate between the cries of sorrow and joy, as they looked at the temple’s destruction and saw the vision of its restoration. Friends, I’m learning that joy and sorrow can unite in my heart. I can sit in the ashes and mourn that I will never be able to travel around the nation with my daughter. But also rejoicing that I walked over 15,000 steps this week! Both can coexist in the tank of my emotions. And both are acceptable to our Father.

So what’s the moral of my little stories? If we’re not careful in life, we whitewash those small victories. My big-day countdowns may look awfully different these days. But I think I’ll start counting down to little goals and dreams and celebrating them in the Lord. Setting my sights on the attainable for my life, as He gives vision. Giving myself something to rejoice in, even from the ashes. After all, King Solomon, one of the wisest men in history, said, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.”[3]

Look to the Summit.

Don’t forget to celebrate the trail markers on life’s way.

Wonder at the wildlife.

Smell the flowers.

Offer a word of encouragement to fellow hikers.

Savor the little metamorphosis’ in life.

Soli Deo Gloria! [4]

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[1] “Avascular Necrosis is the death of bone tissue due to a lack of blood supply. It can lead to tiny breaks in the bone and cause the bone to collapse. Avascular Necrosis is also associated with long-term use of high-dose steroid medications. ” Taken from www.MayoClinic.org [2] Quote by Miriam Adeney [3] Proverbs 29:18 [4] Soli Deo Gloria is a Latin term for Glory to God Alone. It has been used by artists like Johann Sebastian Bach and George Frideric Handel to signify that the work was produced for the sake of praising God.