Earlier this evening I watched from the porch as my husband helped our Leah practice riding a bike without training wheels.
I leaned over the porch railing.
Watched her wobble. Stop and start.
I shouted encouragement and clapped when she made it a few feet.
I thought about how I feel kind of like my daughter.
Her daddy kept saying, Keep your feet on the pedals! Don’t stop!
By the time I went in she was making it half way down the driveway.
Shaky. Scary. Exhilarating.
She’s ready, you know?
She’s ready to ride and pump those little legs for all she’s worth.
But in order to feel the breeze against her skin she’s got to keep her feet on the pedals. Be willing to ride a bit wobbly at first…
What a momentous week I’ve had!
Some moments washed over my heart in ways I can only express this way. As I sit alone in my living room to write and share.
Scrubs and badges. Classes and computer training. Check-offs and check-ins.
Walking hospital halls that I walked a thousand times over in my earlier life.
Seeing faces familiar and stopping to explain what I’m doing back.
Meeting my long time, sweet and crazy nurse-friend for lunch in the cafeteria like we did countless times in the past.
Thinking about things I hadn’t thought about in a long while.
Talking about medical stuff. Nursing stuff. Policy and procedure and passionate care.
Today I slid on black scrubs and my cute red clogs and set out for the CICU office day on my itinerary. I was intermittently confronted with next week. And the many weeks ahead. So much to learn. Re-learn. Study. Practice.
But I’m keeping my feet on the pedals.
I’m going somewhere.
As I walked past patient rooms my heart lurched to see sights I’ve seen many times before.
And as we toured the unit I choked up at one point. Couldn’t talk for a second.
Thought, My new manager is going to think I’m totally dramatic…but then I realized her eyes held a sheen of their own.
She got me.
It’s been a few years since I laid my hands and heart against someone so sick. So hopeless. So close to death.
A precious thing.
This willingness to wobble to get where you’re going.
More than once this week I’ve absorbed the fact that I’m doing this again. You have to understand how almost certain I was that I would not return. It was not my calling.
Maybe it wasn’t.
But now it is.
I know because of the butterfly wings that brushed against my heart. The whisper that grazed my insides.
I’ll put you back in CCU.
So ridiculous I almost dismissed it. Except I’ve walked a similar road.
The Unexpected. The Impossible.
The place He reigns supreme.
I can wobble and be okay. Because just like watching my daughter tonight, I know I’ll soar, just like her, in time.
And it will be all because of Him.
The unexpected, impossible way is humbling.
It’s the reason we keep our feet on the pedals.
Maybe you feel a tug…a pull…to something or some place unexpected. Perhaps unwelcome. Maybe you cringe at the thought of wobbly riding when you walk tall and proud on your present course.
But my friend, amazing comes with risky riding. Soaring comes with trembling trust.
We learn and grow and go in supremely shaky ways.