Gratitude

February 23

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

On this day…. after months of research and testing and anguishing over decisions to be made, I held my hands wide in the biggest surrender of my life, standing by weak-kneed as a lauded young surgeon cut into my husband’s brain. Mercy flowed like a river on that day, down this mountain we’d only begun to climb.

The road that followed left it’s scars- some on heads and some on hearts, but today he is driving, seizure-free, and the proud owner of his own private practice.

When I hold my hands high on Sunday morning- in prayer, or surrender, or praise- my fingers sometimes find their way to the curve of the back of his head. And like braille, I read the reminder that miracles still happen and hope blooms even here.

The Friends That Stay

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

 At a recent conference I honed my craft and spent precious time with friends both old and new. Some I hadn’t seen in twenty years, but in the breath of “Hello,” time collapsed. It is one of life’s great blessings to have friends like that. You know the ones? The ones where it doesn’t matter that twenty years have come and gone, and picking up right where we left off is as natural as the laugh lines that now crease our faces.

We spoke of everything and nothing. Children born, life lived, friends we missed, victories won, and lessons learned. 

We laughed til we cried, talking into the wee hours of the morning as we rushed to fill the gap of years in the span of days, yet lingered over conversations poured out like wine that time might move more slowly. 

There is a sacredness here. In the celebrated and mundane. In sharing a meal and breaking bread- whether at the trendy hotel bistro between sessions or around a campfire in the Canadian Wilds when all we had was time. It shows up when we commit ourselves to community, to living up close and in the real. Somewhere in the sweating and the swearing and the striving and the praying and working towards a common goal, a gift emerges. 

Come as you are, let down your hair, pull up a chair, and stay awhile, only friendship is being served. Through reminiscence, new adventures, clinical and philosophical discussions, loud card games, and late night talks, we unfold our lives in turn. There is no hiding here. And no need for it either. They earned the right to speak truth into my life long ago, and that doesn’t fade with time. 

“We collect people,” one of them said, speaking of her own life, and where it’s taken her. This humble statement whispered, both simple and profound, catches me off guard. Collecting people, I can’t help but think, what’s more beautiful than that? As we go through this life don’t we all, if we’re wise, find a few souls to pull close and pour into? And in so emptying ourselves, are filled in return, a blessing pressed down, running over.

Fear-Stained Heart

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

I have lived in fear of this day for over a decade. First in the abstract- a distant bridge to be crossed some day. When we’re older, wiser, more prepared. And then- in these last few months- as an end date. A day of unknown trepidation to which we were marching with ever gaining momentum. Could this really be the fix we’re looking for? That seemed too big a thing to hope. A promise too far away, and the cost too much to pay.


Was it worth the risk? How could we choose optional brain surgery? But was it really an option anymore? His seizures were getting worse, technology better, and we’d run the gamut of medications. Dare I trust my person- this wonderful husband of mine- to the lauded hands of the handsome young surgeon?
But then, it wasn’t just his hands at all. As the prayers and well wishes poured in, the wise words of a nurse and friend seeped into my fear-stained heart. “Good news is that the Lord has a steady hand.” Deep breath. We’re going to do this.


And the one who formed the oceans knows my name. Who spoke the stars into existence steadies the hands of the healer, and heals the parts of us no surgeon’s hands can touch. “Lean in and trust, close your eyes and fall, I’ve got you,” His voice seemed to whisper. My knuckles clenched. I swallowed hard. Tossed and turned in the sleepless nights as fear turned to resolve. Ride the wave. Trust in Him. Stay the course.


The body of Christ rose up and around me. My tribe showed up and answered the call. Held my hand a 5am, cooked meals, and watched my children. Cried big tears with me, helped me laugh out loud, and made me feel sane, even when I broke apart. They sat the watch, held their breath, celebrated the victories, fed me, cared for me, and prayed over me with love. Peace descended. Fear deserted. Hope overcame, and I knew I was not alone.


And the surgery? It went great. He sleeps peacefully in his bed tonight. Vitals are good, wit and humor intact. His grip on my hand is strong, his steady breathing balm for my soul. “He’s still him,” I confided to a friend as I hugged him tight. His eyes glittered with quiet understanding as they looked back into mine. I’d whispered my fears to him days ago, and we’d both cried. Friends filled the room, laughter trickled down the hall, and the road to recovery began. With my heart a little braver, my faith a little deeper, my love a little stronger. And my gratitude- as wide as the sky.


As for physical healing? We shall see. But oh, how I believe! For He healed something sacred in me.