Oh HEY, blog.  Life has been on the verge of straight-up ridiculous these days, hence the silence.  BUT.  You guys.  Shoulder surgery #2 was this week, and I’m fixed!  Ish.  I mean, the surgery went great, but I have a heckofalot of rehab ahead of me.  Again.  Y’all, I was at my physical therapist’s office just hours after my surgery.  This was about as much fun as it sounds, and tears were most definitely shed.

But here’s the thing- my arm can actually, legitimately MOVE again.  My surgeon promised instant gratification from this surgery, and she delivered.  It can be moved up and down and out and in, and I am just so happy.

Now that motion is being regained in my arm, I’m supposed to push through the pain and actually move it.  A lot.  This is where it gets tricky at times.  Remember, for the past four months, I haven’t really had the ability to lift my arm.  And apparently, my arm muscles have forgotten how to do arm things.  Reaching, for instance.  Reaching up to the cabinet to grab a coffee cup requires intense focus and results in shaking limbs.  Flicking off a light switch?  Allow me a full 60 seconds.   It’s laughable, for sure.  But it’s also progress.  And progress is good.

Oh and I had a birthday.  It happened to fall on surgery day.  Or surgery day happened to fall on my birthday.  I’ve lost track of all of those details, but suffice it to say that it was… unique.  Forget the scalpels and sutures- what really did me in was having to go without food and drink for the first 20 hours of a day typically marked by celebratory indulgences.  I don’t recommend it.  Though, I do have very distinct memories of my already-half-drugged self laid out in the OR, begging the anesthesiologist for “the good stuff since it’s my birthday”.  I don’t remember anything after this, so I’m pretty sure my wish was granted.

The good thing about going under the knife on one’s birthday?  Waking up nauseous and in pain but knowing that HEY!  My 33rd year will just get better from here on out!  It’s gotta.  So help me God.

So, here’s to a year of health and strength and not even coming CLOSE to meeting our deductible.  (Oh, let a girl dream.)  A year of living life with my hands open and palms up.  Because this life, after all, isn’t mine.  A year of resting in the sufficiency of Christ.

Our pastor often says, “Past grace points toward future grace.”  I’ve always loved this.  The past few months have been nothing short of ridiculous, but God’s grace has abounded.  And as I look forward to the coming year, I know with more certainty than ever that the cisterns of his grace are bottomless.  His grace and goodness and love, they won’t run out.

So, bring it, year 33.  Show me whatcha got.  That is, unless it has anything to do with orthopedic surgeries.  In that case, I don’t even want to know.