Today or Tomorrow

I’d love to start this post by updating you on what I’ve been doing since I retired from my job at the church. Catching up on the piles of magazines that I haven’t had time to look at for months, floating in the pool or at least sitting by the pool, cocktail in hand (only at the appropriate hour of course, which is 3 o’clock when you retire, right?), completing projects around the house, and reading at least a couple of books.

I’d LOVE to say all those things, but in reality, per usual, I had set unrealistic expectations as to where I would be right now, a month in.

Week 1 –a fun holiday week, full of summertime activities, overeating, etc. So far, so good. Week 2 – volunteered at VBS (RH version = The Best Week Ever). Super fun but oh-so-exhausting. Midway through Week 2 started having some belly issues, and ended up spending all day in the ER on Sunday. ER visit – stat bloodwork – CT scan; to find out I had an acute attack of diverticulitis. Week 3 – lying around, unable to do anything but catch up on those piles of magazines and read a couple of books but not by choice but because I couldn’t do anything else. I don’t remember when I’ve felt so crappy. Physically and emotionally.

Week 4 – finally starting to feel better, but I still have some residual pain and it’s freaking me out. Because did I forget to mention that when I got really sick it was 2 weeks after I traded my excellent health insurance for an outrageously expensive policy with a HUGE deductible? Oh, yeah and I also gave up my salary…!

So. Last week I spent a lot of time lamenting, second-guessing my decision, wondering why I felt like it was a good idea to leave my job and insurance before I can qualify for old-people’s insurance (I must have thought I was too young to get old-people diseases), wondering how in the world we are going to pay for all of this.

You see (especially if you’ve read any or all of my previous posts), once again, I had felt entitled. To what I’m not exactly sure, but clearly getting sick and racking up ginormous medical bills wasn’t in the plan. I felt entitled to what I thought everyone gets in retirement: a life of rest and fun and exercise and being super retired and NOT sick. At least for a while anyway.

The other day God used this to “help” me remember the things I always forget. It’s from the book of James, chapter 4:

Look here, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year. We will do business there and make a profit.” How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.

Wow, kind of harsh, right? But isn’t it so true?

A few years back, my friend and former pastor, Todd, asked me to share at church on this passage. It was after my family had gone through years of incredibly challenging personal trials, and just when we thought we had conquered it, and it was all behind us, I found out I had cancer. And then right after my diagnosis we learned that my unborn granddaughter had a chance of having Down syndrome and we wouldn’t know until she was born.

People. I didn’t just think I was entitled to something good after all that suffering, I thought we had earned it. This can’t be possible. No more pain or worry or stress or grief, thank you, we paid at the door. Only goodness and light from now on, K?

But even though I was remarkably misguided, something good did come out of it. A lot of good. Not just the granddaughter that was born perfectly healthy and myself being cured from cancer, but everything that happened in the midst of it. I truly wouldn’t change any of it.

Do you do what I do? Run so fast down the road of your personal expectations and are super surprised and pissed when you hit an obstacle and your vision and plans for the future are interrupted? I’ll share with you what I’m learning; that we’re not entitled, really to anything, and that we don’t know, good or bad, what will happen tomorrow. I’m choosing to look forward to the future with positivity, but a healthy dose of realism (aka loosening the death-grip of control of my plans), and not putting too much in ink.