Yesterday was really a good day--so good that I began piecing together something coherent from the numerous blog posts I've begun this week.
Two months have passed that I'm glad to see gone. My hospital stay was lifechanging but difficult. I was eager to come home, but now I'm here it's hard to deal with all the tasks and dull realities that come with college life. I'm looking for an apartment for next fall and simultaneously looking for ways to outlive winter and productively enjoy spring and summer. Today and yesterday I made steps towards both of those goals, and that is a good feeling.
Daddy leaves this afternoon for Austria. He took me apartment and grocery shopping this morning and hugged courage into me. I'm so glad he came; his help has meant so much to me.
On one wall of the hallway leading to the hospital unit where I stayed, fluid black lettering reminded both incoming patients and visitors to "be kind, for everyone is fighting a great battle". I've thought about that quote a lot since coming home. Besides my family and three close friends, no one knew where I was or why. Most didn't notice my absence, and I'm certain that I wouldn't notice theirs. I am not that observant. I'll try to notice more now, though.
The night before entering the hospital I reached one of the lowest points of my life. Ironically, when I needed help most was when it seemed hardest to request it, so although some close friends and my bishop walked past while I lay in the cool grass crying, I didn't call out to any of them, and none of them stopped. Later two friends told me (before hearing that anything had happened) that they felt impressed to check on me, but never got around to doing so. I wonder what I would have done if our roles had been reversed. I fear I would have been too hesitant and shy to check on any of my friends. Now that I have been the one beaten by the roadside, I'll try to act more like the good Samaritan.
Becca was my healer that night. She took me to my Bishop for counsel and a blessing and then took me to her apartment for comfort and safety. I entered the hospital the next day. The first night was the hardest; from there forward I have seen new mercies every morning (see previous post for the song which lent the title for this post). I gained a reputation in the hospital for being their most popular patient; I credit my incredible family for that title and thank you all for your love and support. Flowers and phonecalls, visits and prayers--all brought courage and cheer.
I'm doing well now. I thank God for his faithfulness and thank you for your love, and as I move through these long weeks I strive to remember to be kind, for everyone is fighting a great battle.
Thanks for helping me fight mine.
