The Cruel Entwined the Beautiful

It was late, somewhere close to midnight, as I lay in the hospital bed a few hours after surgery staring up at the TV and thinking how much I admire Rachel Green’s hairstyle throughout Season 1 of the ‘90s sitcom, Friends. Though I know her iconic haircut is now dated, I think it’s just fabulous. Jennifer Aniston is rumored to have hated the trademark hairstyle of the character she played for a decade, but every time I catch a Season 1 episode on Nick at Nite, I mutter to myself: hair goals.
 
While this time was no different, it had certainly been a different sort of day. Prefaced by a week-long stomachache, the day had taken an odd trajectory: breakfast; work; Urgent Care; home; Emergency Room; testing; Operating Room; emergency gallbladder removal surgery; recovery; hospital room.
 
It had become clear that my gallbladder needed to come out while I was alone in the ER, lying in bed staring at my feet and thinking how grubby my beloved, and nearly decade-old, light blue Converse sneakers looked against the crisp white sheets.
 
But then my sister found me there in Room 16 and got me laughing harder than I believe anyone ever has in the ER.  And my parents, who were twenty minutes from boarding their flight to Miami for their 40 ^th Anniversary cruise, cancelled their whole trip to be with me. And one of my best friends came to the hospital as soon as she left work to check on me. And a dear priest friend picked up my parents from the airport, brought them to the hospital, and administered the Anointing of the Sick to me. And every nurse and doctor were exceptionally kind and raved about the expertise of my surgeon, a man who had been a perfect stranger to me hours earlier.
 
And after waking sore and lonely from the anesthesia and being transported to my room, feeling half dead as my teeth chattered furiously, my parents were there waiting for me, exuding this quiet confidence and peace.
 
C.S. Lewis said: “God’s presence is not the same as the feeling of God’s presence and He may be doing the most for us when we think He is doing the least.”
 
I didn’t feel terribly pious that day. I know I uttered prayers throughout the day but I barely remember them now and they were definitely nothing fancy. It was step-by-step survival mode and I can’t say there was one moment when a sense of feeling God’s presence overwhelmed me.
 
It was a million little moments. The countless instances of beauty in the pain showed me that God was there, working amid the chaos.
 
It was the pink petals enduring amidst the brown twisted thorns. It was the wood of the cross and the stone of the tomb and the white cloth of the resurrection. The cruel entwined the beautiful and I breathlessly watched.
 
So as I lay there somewhere close to midnight, I’m quite certain that the post-surgery tangle atop my head bore the least resemblance my hair ever has to Rachel Green’s perfect, bouncy, layered hair. I didn’t mind. In that moment, I was just happy, so happy. As I fell asleep, I remember thinking: it’s a beautiful life.