Yesterday I had my checkup at the hospital. For the first time in over a decade, my levels were normal. I was ecstatic.
After the appointment, I jumped in on a work call and answered some emails. I was energized.
Being energized, I hit the treadmill. I crossed the 1-mile marker for the first time in a single workout since the surgery. I was pumped.
After that “fierce” workout (sarcastic quotes) I took the last remaining bandages off my suture. I was, well, I was grossed out. But I was also psyched.
“It feels good to be getting back to normal.”
The minute I said that I got sick to my stomach.
Let me back up. Just two weeks before, Rock – my cousin who, along with my sister Janelle, lived every second of that hell with me there in the hospital. Rock (yes, that’s his real name) and I have always been close, but those weeks together in the hospital bonded us in a deeper way than I can ever communicate. There was sleepless night after sleepless night. In sleep’s place were tears and the only kind of talks that have lasting and meaningful impact in this life. There was none of the typical FB status-type talk (no offense meant, I do it too).
We talked about Ryan’s life. We watched in amazement as news agencies picked up the story and people started to take notice. We got our breath knocked out of us with each physical setback I had – thinking I was going home then told it would be another day or two or three. He literally lifted me out of bed and helped me walk to the bathroom at all times of the night.
They were bittersweet days of physical, emotional and spiritual rehab. We started to hate those four walls, that bed and the hard “couch” he slept on. I had goals on a board that I had to meet each day, and Rock, and Janelle made sure I was getting after it. It was up to me when I got out of there.
When “we” were finally released, I never wanted to go back to that place ever again. Not for checkups, not for ER visits, not for anything in this world.
Fast forward to yesterday. I was actually celebrating normal. I was pumped to be normal. The second I said the word “normal”, I wanted back inside those four walls.
See, when we’d sit there at 3am staring at the ceiling, we’d talk about how Ryan’s death had changed us and how we see life’s landscape now. We’d talk about the things we don’t want to continue doing, things we wanted to start doing, and how we could never let ourselves slip back into the ruts we’ve created over a half-life.
Then Rock said it.
“My greatest fear through all this is that we are all affected by it but then eventually just go back to normal.”
I hate normal.
Now... I get it. Some times normal is ok. Getting back in shape is good. Re-engaging in work is very good. But there’s a slippery slope just beyond that and I feel like I’m at the edge of it trying to figure out how to get around it.
I’ve been in the church my whole life. I’ve heard that we are to live an “in-your-face-to-the-extreme-on- the-edge” kind of life. I’ve even had some experiences on mission trips where, for a suspended moment, I’ve felt the surge of that kind of life.
But that’s less than 1% of 1% of real life. What about when you have kids, jobs, mortgages, and in-laws? I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO NORMAL. How do I stop it from happening? I don’t have the answer. And to be honest, if you comment back saying you have the answer, I’d ask you two questions: 1st: where can I pick up your NY Times Bestseller, and 2nd: How come nobody’s reading it?
My point is, if it really was that formulaic, we’d all be doing it. Everyone has their own answer they swear by. Well, I’m no different. I offer this: After hashing this backwards and forwards in my head, I think it has to do with seeking out what you believe and then living that out unabashedly. No great revelation. For me, I’ve found two examples for living an un-normal life that I plan to model.
First – From the Bible, the apostle Paul. He wrote to the people in Philippi that he wanted to know Christ. To know him and the power of his resurrection as well as to share in his pain and sufferings. That’s not normal.
The second one, well, you can probably guess that one. My “little” brother. You‘ve heard about Ryan living life to the fullest. Hunting, fishing, 4 wheeling...but if that’s all you get from his life, I’m sorry but you’ve woefully missed it.
Living life to the fullest means loving, giving, committing to the maximum extent possible. Living fully means being emptied. And even beyond Ryan’s earthly years, his life symbolizes knowing Christ and making him known.
I can’t inspire anyone other than myself to live un-normal. Heck I can’t even inspire myself. I need friends who care enough to get me off my back and out of bed and help me back up when I fall on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
More than that, I need to put down roots in God’s words and embrace His promises to me – the Bible. Cliché? Maybe. But it’s the only bestseller I’ve found that offers a way to the new normal. Now I just have to live it.