Last week I had surgery to remove a non-compliant gall bladder. Apparently, in my gene-pool, the gall bladder has much more of a limited warranty than other body parts. Both of my sisters have also had theirs removed. So, it was my turn. The thought of going under anesthesia gave me a few moments of feeling my mortality. Everyone has heard the stories of people who have had trouble coming out of the drug-induced sleep. A former parishioner of mine worked as a surgical nurse in a local hospital, and she talked about having to attend a deposition, because they had "killed" a thirty-two-year-old man while removing his tonsils. He had been given too much anesthetic, apparently. I have noticed a relationship between the telling of such stories and the increased rate at which they are told the closer that one gets to the date of surgery.
So, as I was being wheeled to the operating room, I searched for some scripture to be of some comfort. I had been doing really well about all of this, and even imagined how my family would react if I did not survive the surgery, telling everyone, "You know, he never acted as if he was scared at all." I was, to a degree, more peaceful about the whole thing than I had thought that I might be. But, as I was being wheeled down the hall, I retrieved the words of Psalm 121, "I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help." I was surprised at my choice of passages, as I had not given any thought to what passage I would recite. Why not Psalm 139? Certainly it would have been very comforting to think that the one who had "knit together my innermost parts" was also the one from whom I could find no separation. Why not some good stuff from Matthew, about the lilies of the field, etc? I cannot say. What I do know is mountains have always held an almost supernatural fascination for me. I was raised in the foothills of the Chestnut Ridge of the Allegheny Mountains, so my frame of reference for my very existence has always been tied to mountains. The times in my life when I have been least happy with my living situation have been those where I was surrounded by coastal plain. We lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia for several years, and it was an other-worldly, wildly beautiful experience. When I finally visited the city of my birth in Utah, when I was in my forties, I was awestruck by the site of the Wasatch Range. Though the hospital where I was born is long gone, a park sits on the site, with a plaque commemorating the hospital that once stood there. From that vantage point, one has a breathtaking view of the mountains. It occurred to me at that moment that mountains have been the touchstone of my mortal existence; for most of my life, the mountains and I have co-existed in a most peaceable way.
I am very happy that the words of Psalm 121 came to my conscious mind that day, just as I was about to place my living self in the hands of others. For me, the mountains have always been, and will always be, a symbol of God's presence and care in my life. At that moment, lying flat on my back while viewing the blandness of the fluorescent lights overhead, I was given a vision of the mountains that have been there since I took my first breath. My life will have its perfect ending if I am allowed to see them as I take my last breath. Thanks be to God.
No comments:
Post a Comment