THE DEPARTURE POINT

In 2001, after more than 20 years of living as a professing Christian, I finally found the departure point for my journey of surrender.  All it took was two words—brain surgery.  God used those words to turn my focus to Him.  It was at that point that I saw myself clearly for the first time.

I’d known for a few years that surgery was a possibility, but when possible became impending, I did what came natural for me—I jumped into “I got this” mode.  I was determined to learn everything I could about the surgery and what, if anything, I could do to help guarantee a successful outcome.

Two surgeries would be required: the first to map out the brain and the second to remove the part of the brain where the seizures were originating.  In the process of educating myself about the surgeries, I couldn’t help but consider the possibility of something going wrong.  Researching soon gave way to soul searching.

Questions arose that caused me to examine the “Christian” life I had been living. Questions like:

What if something happens and I’m not the same person after surgery?  I believe with all my heart that God created me with a purpose in mind.  Am I living as the woman He created me to be?  Have I been for my kids, my husband, my friends and family, everything that I, as a Christian, am meant to be?  Not even close.

What if the unlikely happens and I don’t make it?  When they reflect on my life, will they remember me as someone who lived for Christ or just someone who tried to be a good person?  I think I knew the answer to that one too.

There was a part of me that so wanted to be the kind of Christian we’re called to be, but for most of my life I found excuses to place a commitment to Christ on the back burner.  Excuses like not wanting to alienate fiends and family who wore different Christian labels than I did.  Or not wanting to become the kind of Christian that had kept me from wanting to become a Christian in the first place.

I tried to walk a fine line between being acceptable to God and accepted by others.  Acceptable, did I just say acceptable?  Was I really okay just getting by with a passing grade as long as other people liked me?  As long as they weren’t offended by my “Christianity”?

Then there was my yearning for happiness.  As early as my teenage years, I was convinced I knew the recipe for a perfect, happy life.  And I was so focused on trying to become the woman I thought I needed to be in order to create that life, I didn’t ask God who He wanted me to be.  

Well, I was finally asking.  My Christianity was clearly a label, not a lifestyle.  I owed God so much more than that.  And I wanted to be more for my husband, children, family and friends.

So I did what I had always done when life got beyond my control—I called on God.  But this time, I prayed in a way I had never prayed before.  I wasn’t just asking God to fix the problem at hand; I was asking Him to fix me.

Sure, I wanted to be healed physically, but in light of recent revelations, physical healing was no longer my main focus. I was broken spiritually.

I no longer wanted to use God; I wanted Him to use me.  I needed Him to be in charge of my life if I was to become the woman He created me to be.

The only question remaining was . . . where to begin.  I continued praying, asking God to guide me.