Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing, fresh from the word
And then there is this from Nick Drake's "From the Morning":
It was my sister, mom, dad and I all staying in one room the size of your standard hotel room.
The night before I was nervous about what would happen the next day, but in a lot of ways I just felt like I was going to have a nice, enjoyable long sleep.
And hopefully I would wake up. But if I didn't, I was certain about where I would be headed. I was really sad for my family having to go through this again. Actually, I should say, I was sad for my family having to go through this all my life. I mean, this was only my second major surgery, but they have lived through my first two surgeries as a baby, my life dealing with a kid who had yearly heart check ups, monthly blood draws, minor dietary restrictions, etc., and I was still pretty much all boy. I don't think I ever really took my own health condition that seriously. That changed after the surgery in 2000.
And my poor little sister had to deal with an older brother that already loved being the center of attention getting even more attention.
At any rate, I spent some of the evening writing out some of my favorite scriptures on a small piece of notebook paper. I used to carry a notebook in my back pocket. I used it to jot down ideas, poems, quotes, etc. I wrote these scriptures as a meditation exercise, but also to give my mom something to focus and read while I was in surgery. There was a good chance she might be nervous.
I remember waking up in darkness the next morning, possibly around 4:45 AM. I don't recall if it was to the alarm or not, but I slept pretty well so I may have actually just woke up. I walked into the bathroom, took off my clothes and jumped in the shower. I then got ready to prepare my chest for the surgery. The doctors and nurses told me it would help if I could shave my chest (which is funny because I have hardly any chest hair), and also swab down my chest with the iodine rub. I think that's what it was. I also already had a hospital gown that I could wear over my jeans on my walk to the hospital.
So I stood there in front of the small mirror and shaved my chest. It was kinda fun, I guess. And then there was the next step, which just felt weird. I opened these packets of iodine and rubbed the cool, orange liquid all over my chest and belly. A lot of it dripped into the sink and onto the floor. I repeated this process until I looked like a Jersey Shore wanna-be. At that time I would have called it a fake'n' bake. I think I then slowly put on the hospital gown shirt thingy, underwear, jeans and socks.
My parents and sister were up and getting ready.
As I reflect on it, I'm certain everything felt surreal for all of us. For my parents, well, they had been through this before, so they really knew what I was getting into. My sister really had no idea what would happen, but I think she was just devastated by the whole thing. I was at peace. I believe God gave me this peace, but I also believe I had no idea what was going to happen (as I said, I was a baby during previous surgeries). And maybe that was part of the peace God gave me...the unknown. I wanted more than anything to transfer this peace to my family, but I had hoped that my sense of peace would help them feel at peace.
I remember joking about things. About my chest being orange. Should I just wear my pajamas?
I remember receiving a phone call from a friend, Walt Howard, I believe, because he had just found out about this. I felt horrible I hadn't let him know, but I was so appreciative of his call. I think someone else may have called too, but I can't remember.
We left the house. And this is the part that I remember really well. Or at least, my mind has retained this image of my memory, but it may have been altered over time.
As we walked across the road, I looked to the east and caught a glimpse of the morning sky. I don't believe the sun had started to peak over the horizon yet, but it was illuminating the sky with grey, white and purple colors. I remember feeling this sensation that I often felt at rather inspired moments in my life. It's this feeling as if the world is lit on fire.
Elizabeth Barret Browning said it better than I ever could:
It was a morning that felt like the first morning and the last morning. It was a time when I was completely in the now. My past was behind me. My future was uncertain, so there was no point in planning, making to-do lists, or anything like that. I was on a precipice.
I have shared this moment with other people. I've journaled about it as well. I still find that my words fail me, and they fail you. This moment was a gift.
A day once dawned, and it was beautifulOne of my most bittersweet and beautiful pre-dawn morning was on the morning of September 8, 2000. It was the morning of my second major open-heart surgery. My family and I were staying at an auxiliary house associated with St. Louis University Hospital for families visiting patients. It was right across the road from the hospital, where my surgery was to take place. I had been hospitalized a week before due to some heart-related issues and so they just let us stay in this house after I was discharged.
A day once dawned from the ground
It was my sister, mom, dad and I all staying in one room the size of your standard hotel room.
The night before I was nervous about what would happen the next day, but in a lot of ways I just felt like I was going to have a nice, enjoyable long sleep.
And hopefully I would wake up. But if I didn't, I was certain about where I would be headed. I was really sad for my family having to go through this again. Actually, I should say, I was sad for my family having to go through this all my life. I mean, this was only my second major surgery, but they have lived through my first two surgeries as a baby, my life dealing with a kid who had yearly heart check ups, monthly blood draws, minor dietary restrictions, etc., and I was still pretty much all boy. I don't think I ever really took my own health condition that seriously. That changed after the surgery in 2000.
And my poor little sister had to deal with an older brother that already loved being the center of attention getting even more attention.
At any rate, I spent some of the evening writing out some of my favorite scriptures on a small piece of notebook paper. I used to carry a notebook in my back pocket. I used it to jot down ideas, poems, quotes, etc. I wrote these scriptures as a meditation exercise, but also to give my mom something to focus and read while I was in surgery. There was a good chance she might be nervous.
I remember waking up in darkness the next morning, possibly around 4:45 AM. I don't recall if it was to the alarm or not, but I slept pretty well so I may have actually just woke up. I walked into the bathroom, took off my clothes and jumped in the shower. I then got ready to prepare my chest for the surgery. The doctors and nurses told me it would help if I could shave my chest (which is funny because I have hardly any chest hair), and also swab down my chest with the iodine rub. I think that's what it was. I also already had a hospital gown that I could wear over my jeans on my walk to the hospital.
So I stood there in front of the small mirror and shaved my chest. It was kinda fun, I guess. And then there was the next step, which just felt weird. I opened these packets of iodine and rubbed the cool, orange liquid all over my chest and belly. A lot of it dripped into the sink and onto the floor. I repeated this process until I looked like a Jersey Shore wanna-be. At that time I would have called it a fake'n' bake. I think I then slowly put on the hospital gown shirt thingy, underwear, jeans and socks.
My parents and sister were up and getting ready.
As I reflect on it, I'm certain everything felt surreal for all of us. For my parents, well, they had been through this before, so they really knew what I was getting into. My sister really had no idea what would happen, but I think she was just devastated by the whole thing. I was at peace. I believe God gave me this peace, but I also believe I had no idea what was going to happen (as I said, I was a baby during previous surgeries). And maybe that was part of the peace God gave me...the unknown. I wanted more than anything to transfer this peace to my family, but I had hoped that my sense of peace would help them feel at peace.
I remember joking about things. About my chest being orange. Should I just wear my pajamas?
I remember receiving a phone call from a friend, Walt Howard, I believe, because he had just found out about this. I felt horrible I hadn't let him know, but I was so appreciative of his call. I think someone else may have called too, but I can't remember.
We left the house. And this is the part that I remember really well. Or at least, my mind has retained this image of my memory, but it may have been altered over time.
As we walked across the road, I looked to the east and caught a glimpse of the morning sky. I don't believe the sun had started to peak over the horizon yet, but it was illuminating the sky with grey, white and purple colors. I remember feeling this sensation that I often felt at rather inspired moments in my life. It's this feeling as if the world is lit on fire.
Elizabeth Barret Browning said it better than I ever could:
Earth’s crammed with heaven,I had this incredible sense of God's presence and the beauty of life all around me. I think I smiled. I remember looking at my family and smiling as we walked into the hospital.
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
It was a morning that felt like the first morning and the last morning. It was a time when I was completely in the now. My past was behind me. My future was uncertain, so there was no point in planning, making to-do lists, or anything like that. I was on a precipice.
I have shared this moment with other people. I've journaled about it as well. I still find that my words fail me, and they fail you. This moment was a gift.
