Waiting with hope

Thank you for waiting.

In life, waiting is one of the hardest things we have to do. Be it frustratingly standing in line to pay for the weekly shop, or excitedly anticipating the arrival of the delivery driver, who you know is bringing you a gift from a loved one. Whether you’re travelling towards something you want or something you would rather avoid – waiting is difficult.

On the 30th March, I got married and for the past few weeks, Mim and I have been enjoying this new adventure we’re on together. The month or so leading up to the wedding was full of waiting. But it was a good waiting. Waiting full of exhilaration. Full of elation. Full of enthusiasm. Full of eagerness. An eagerness to get to the front of the Church and wait for my beautiful bride.

I have experienced good waiting before, but on that day, as I waited for Mim to arrive, I was bursting with love, joy and hope for what was to come.

One year ago today, on the 24th March 2018, I was coming to the end of a very different kind of waiting. My open heart surgery had been delayed on more than one occasion due to emergency cases. Those delays were frustrating, however, with the greatest respect for those patients who needed the surgeons more than I did, it was quite nice to not be the emergency for once.

The adventure of 2018 was full of silver linings and just one of those was that, because of the delays, I got to see my big brother (and some friends) run the hottest London Marathon on record.

My surgery was scheduled for the Thursday, so I’d been asked to arrive on the Wednesday at 16:30. Much to my surprise, after all the delays, I received a phone call on the Tuesday asking me if I would come in later that day as a surgery slot had opened up on the Wednesday.

The season of waiting was almost over. It’s hard to explain what that season felt like. It was definitely nothing like the feeling of waiting for a wedding. Quite a lot of the time I just felt numb. People would ask us if we’d started planning the wedding yet and I wasn’t sure how to answer. How do you answer questions about next year if you’re not even sure you’ll be there?

I’m actually writing this at the time I would’ve been in the car on the way to St Georges the day before surgery. I remember arriving at the hospital and having a few tests done. Mim arrived straight from work in time for us to have a meeting with the assistant surgeon. He took us through what would be happening the next day: before, during and after surgery.

I was taken to a pre-surgery ward and shown to my private room. It was like no other place in the hospital. It was really quiet and peaceful. I had already said goodbye to my parents just after Mim had arrived, so Mim and I had some time alone in my room. We prayed together and I played her the song that I had chosen to be playing while I was being put under anaesthetic.

It was quite late by this time, so Mim couldn’t stay for too long. As she left, we had what would be our last hug for quite a while.

Now, I’ve been left alone before, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite as lonely as I did that night. Once they’d made sure my antibacterial shower had happened and shaved my chest (with a bic razor until I suggested they found something a little more powerful!), the nurses left me.

I didn’t get much sleep that night. I read some of my bible, asked God to keep me safe and help the surgeons do a great job, and listened to the song I had chosen to be playing whilst I went under the following morning. It was on repeat so I’m not sure how many times I actually ended up listening to it. Each time I listened though, I felt the truth of the lyrics being firmly secured deep down in my soul.

I did eventually fall asleep, and as I did, I felt ok. I felt that peace I’ve described in previous posts. That peace that goes beyond all understanding and reminds me that, God is good and He is in control. I’d like to tell you that I felt an assurance that I would make it through the surgery. But I can’t. I can tell you though, that I knew everything was well with my soul.

I was, and am now even more convinced of this one thing; one thing I believe may just help you when life takes a turn or two or three for the worse. That the hope and life offered by Jesus is and always will be more powerful than even the fear of death itself.

On the morning of the 25th April 2018, I had no choice but to fall into a deep sleep, as I listened once again to these song lyrics. May they bring you the same hope I had on that morning.

I have this hope in the depth of my soul.
In the flood or the fire, you’re with me and You won’t let go

As I walk this great unknown, questions come and questions go
Was there purpose for the pain? Did I cry these tears in vain?
I don’t want to live in fear. I want to trust that You are near
Trust Your grace can be seen, in both triumph and tragedy
But sometimes my faith feels thin, like the night will never end
Will You catch every tear or will You just leave me here?

So, whatever happens I will not be afraid
Cause You are closer than this breath that I take
You calm the storm when I hear You call my name
I still believe that one day I’ll see Your face

Click here to listen to the song on youtube