Soft Landings

“So everyone fits on this thing?” I chirped as I slid off the gurney and onto the slender operating table.  I heard a laughing-snort from the nurse and she responded that, yes, the table fits everyone even though it looks no wider than a sliding board you would find at a pre-school playground.  I had my doubts that I would fit but she was adamant that I would be surprised at how well they could get everyone to fit the lone table in the operating room.  I guess if you are here you are going to conform in one way or another.

Being careful not to snag my IV line or expose myself to my audience I gracefully maneuvered into place where my giant hospital gown draped over me and down to the floor.  I looked like a lumpy picnic table.

“Put your arms slightly out to your side with your palms up.” I complied, took the position, and let out a nice long breath.  An oxygen mask was lowered over my mouth and then it was nothing.  I was out of every option but rest.

When you hit a certain age you start looking at your life in “seasons”.  How would you describe the season you are in currently?  What was a memorable season you’ve endured?  How about one that was full of good surprises?  Seasons aren’t a set period of time; some can seem like a few weeks while others last years.  But a “season” isn’t really about the weather outside, it’s about the environment you are living through in your heart and head.

Besides losing nearly all of my dignity with my hospital gown I was forced to have a ride to the operating room.  I felt fine, other than wearing a king sized sheet for clothing and could have easily walked down the hall and plopped myself down on the operating table.  It’s how I roll; when there’s something to do and it needs to be done rest assured I’ll find a way to do it.  But here I was lying on a silly cart getting shuttled down the hall.

The last 6 years I would classify as a really difficult season.  Like it has been more difficult than it’s needed to be.  If I was a classic rock band this would be a greatest hits album of adversity.   That’s not to say it’s been bad or nothing amazingly good hasn’t happened.  It’s just been tough.  Have you been there?

It’s run the gamut, from being emotionally and physically spent from working in the grind for so long.  Then there was the hopeful change of a new beginning when we left that behind but there were changes in relationships that were painful.   There’s been a huge garage fire where we lost a lot of stuff and nearly our house.  Jan changed teaching positions twice.  Both of my parents were diagnosed with cancer at the same time.  Then there was the whole Covid thing we all had to deal with.  The latest in this season was my own diagnosis of a cancerous tumor.  We just added it to the list.  Many of you have had much worse and I know you understand.

And yet through it all I did what we all think we are to do.  Keep digging.  Keep going.  As I like to say, “Keep Pedaling”.  So that’s what I did.  Even after rejection letter after rejection letter for jobs I applied to…just kept coming.  I kept applying and kept getting rejected.

When we had a semi-truck smash our truck on a western road trip I found a way to keep going.  Duct tape everything and cut off anything that was rubbing.  We had a great trip because I found a way to keep going.

I found a lot of comfort in training and doing a few races along the way.  Training was more for clarity than for producing big numbers or the pursuit of place.   And yet, nearly every race was either isolating or full of adversity.

I panicked in the Pacific ocean for an Ironman and had to calm my nerves and navigate giant swells for over 2 miles.  Once on the mainland I was depleted and still had 138 miles to go.  I remember walking along the Queen K highway just physically shattered and drawing on what little emotional energy I had to get myself to finish that silly race.  I didn’t want to be the whole way in Hawaii and quit.

I won a regional gravel bike race last year.  It was amazing to win and I’m grateful.  But less than halfway through that race I rolled off the front, looked over my shoulder and no one came with me.  Now in bike racing terms that’s a gutsy move because a pack working together is much stronger than an individual.  It’s best to have some help to cover the miles is what I’m saying.  But it’s also silly to give away a chance to ride to a win. So for the next two hours I rode like a hunted animal and squeaked out the win.  And this was after declaring before the race that I would just ride around with the pack.   A win is great but oh my it was difficult. 

I was winning a local triathlon and had a flat front tire with 6 miles to go on the bike leg.  I rode the flat tire, giving up time and losing my ambition in the process.

We found ourselves in Leadville, Colorado for a bucket-list mountain bike race.  It was amazing and also really difficult.  I found myself really rolling through the field of riders on the second half and making time.  Things were going great until I underestimated my energy needs.  So I pedaled squares and really dialed back my effort until I could get my hands on some food at an aid station.  The race was still on and I did great; it just had a really tough, dark, spot in there that I had to keep pedaling.

Career-wise I was floundering.  I enjoy people, meeting their needs, and encouragement.  I enjoy this; writing to a reader with some words that can inspire and encourage.  But my job was hard to pinpoint…it just wasn’t fulfilling but it was flexible for all of the other things I had going on in life that needed my attention.  Like rebuilding garages, helping parents with their cancer battle, and doing virtual school with the boys since in-person school wasn’t a thing for almost 2 years. 

Oh seasons.  Some are hard.  Some are sweet.  Some bring you to the absolute bottom, not by a crash landing, but by a gentle, sleepy, turbulence-free positioning to the place where you will eventually start back up and return to a new space, a new altitude, and with a new attitude.

Before the sleepy gas hit my system I did everything I ever knew how to do.  I kept going.  Kept pedaling.  Kept sawing off parts of my truck so we could keep going.  More bad news?  Keep making something good come from it!  All of this mattered and is admirable, except that eventually I was going to run out of go-juice.  And that’s by design; we are made in the image of God, not to BE God.  A season of adversity has to end either by giving up on your purpose (not recommended) or by surrendering yourself to be built up and made new by God’s hands.

I reluctantly went in for surgery but knew that the only way forward to was to slow down enough for this surgery to happen.  And that meant getting pushed in a bed, wearing a stupid gown, and committing to a night in a room listening to beeping and loud patients down the hall.  But I didn’t expect to lay on a table and have to put my arms out, palms up, and surrender.  And as soon as I took the position the mask came down and there was no more pushing.  A cease to striving.  No more determination or manhandling.  No questions.  Just surrender and sleep.  Letting go in my case had to be surrender followed by a mega-dose of anesthesia two-tenths of a second later.  No time for questions or arguing.  Just surrender and sleep, Josh.

A soft landing at the bottom of a long season.   Necessary even when the world says it’s not needed because, well, we are supposed to be “your name here- STRONG”.   When the withdrawals eventually outweigh the deposits that’s the bottom.  And it’s not always a crash landing but rather an invitation to stop and rest. 

A surgery was the end of a season for me.  And now a week removed from hospital-humbling things feel different.  They really do. 

What’s your season looking like?  Do you feel like there’s an invitation to rest?   Will you surrender that last little bit in order to experience rest?  Surrender sounds like what losers do quite frankly, but I can tell you that while it is losing in one regard it’s most definitely a start to something else.   You just have to be at the bottom to actually start!  So, if you are close to the bottom and willing to surrender, God can you bring you down softly.  It doesn’t have to be a crash landing.

You don’t have to do it on your own, you don’t have to do it for God, and you can’t do it without God.   It might require anesthesia, but there’s something to laying down, putting your hands out, placing your palms up, and surrendering.   The soft landing at the bottom of a long season.  It’s where the surrendered start anew.