As mentioned in an earlier posting, I had elective surgery recently. I’ve been recuperating at home ever since. I’m progressing nicely, but surgery by nature is invasive and an assault on the body, so recovery is a slow process. There’s been a fair amount of physical limitation and stress during the healing process, including limited movement, flexibility, energy, weight bearing, and overall comfort, with impacts on sleep and various other daily functions we normally don’t think much about. I’m a lot better now, but for the first week especially, I was unable to do much on my own, and was very dependent on my wife Helen’s loving care. Given that I had not had surgery or major illness since I was a child and was very used to taking care of myself, this experience of helplessness and loss of control was a bit of a shock.

My initial impulse was to resist the experience and feel miserable, frustrated, and impatient about it. But my recent focus on transformative change, in the worship services I’ve led, offered me a different path, and I felt inspired – even compelled – to practice what I preach. Rather than fighting or indulging in the helplessness, I’ve been practicing

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Last week, I had elective surgery done. The first surgery of any kind for me in 55 years, since I was a child. Although I didn’t have any life-threatening condition, the procedure required being put under by general anesthesia. And I found myself utterly terrified at the prospect of never waking up – which is a relatively rare result of anesthesia, but it does happen. I was terrified of my life ending abruptly, and all the things undone and the goodbyes unsaid.

Fear of death is something I’ve been dealing with for most of my life, as many of us have. As with all fear, what’s essential is to embrace the fear of death, to lean into it, to see what there might be to learn from it, rather than reject or avoid it. I took this to heart as the time grew closer to when I would receive the anesthesia, I felt my life up to that point take on a deeper glow, like how the color of the landscape changes as sunset approaches. Huge gratitude for all my years on Earth. And I felt my present life slowing down and more deeply inhabiting each moment that arrived, being IN the moment, rather than focused on its passing. And, with the encouragement of the Zen Buddhist chaplain that was with me, I visualized my Self, my basic Gary-hood, dissolving ever so gently, sort of like falling asleep at night. Not ending, but dissolving into something bigger, far bigger than the fear of what might be coming. In a sense, nothing was coming, only that I was expanding into the future, into whatever was there. All very subtle, but quite real. There was nothing to resist. It all felt okay, very okay, very peaceful. The anesthesia entered me, all thinking stopped…and the next thing I knew it was three hours later and the surgery was done. And here I am…Alive and lighter.

Spring is a time of rebirth and renewal, and deepening connection with the Divine (however we experience and name it), as beautifully expressed in this A Springtime Prayer by “spiritual midwife” and writer, Joyce Rupp. Happy Spring!

Ever-renewing and energizing Creator, Come, stir in my dormant spiritual limbs.

Wake up my tired prayer. Revive my weary efforts of care. Sing hope into my discouragement.

Wash my dusty, drab attitude with the cleansing rains of your vision.

Go deep to my roots and penetrate my faith with the vibrancy of your grace.

Shake loose the old leftover oak leaves of my tenacious ego-centeredness.

Coax joy to sprout from my difficulties.

Warm the buds of my relationships so they bloom with healthy love.

Clear out my wintered debris with the wild breeze of your liberating presence.

Nudge me, woo me, entice me, draw me to you.

I give you my trust and my gratitude as you grace my slowly thawing spirit.

Light-filled Being, my Joy and my Hope, let the greening in me begin.