A (Very Dramatic) PolitiChick’s Swan Song?

I took a trip to the emergency room over the weekend. Truly, I thought I was dying from a heart attack. I was so freaked out, I couldn’t even begin to remember the words to “Jesus Loves Me”, much less silently say a prayer for mercy. Horrific pain and fear paralyzed me. As I begged the nurses and doctors for help, all I could think about were drugs… drugs to ease the pain, drugs to numb my mind, drugs to save my life.  I so wish that I could tell you that my thoughts were on my spiritual state, that my overriding concern was, not for myself, but for my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. As much as I hate to admit it–ashamedly so–my only thoughts were on how quickly I could get immediate relief. The medical staff could have hit me over the head with a brick and I would have thanked them for putting me out of my misery.  How’s that for honesty?

The good news is that I obviously did not die (or have a heart attack). Yay. Thank you, Jesus.

There’s a sense of dread after an experience like that. You don’t want to be or feel alone (or at least I don’t). At every twinge, every throb, every nerve spasm, I ask, “Is this for real or just my imagination? “ while steadily finding more electrodes littering my body to pull off from the EKG they administered. (Who knew that sticky discs are perfectly capable of reappearing and multiplying?) And, of course, I feel guilty for my fears and paranoia. As a Christian, after all, I should have peace in all circumstances, right? I keep telling myself that, but…

Then, there are the hard questions about my own mortality that I have asked myself since this incident–melodramatic, I know, I know.  But, for what it’s worth, if you have followed my writings for the past two years, you have seen me grapple with a lot of different issues as I have tried to find my voice. I have honestly shared with you the changes in my priorities, my self-examination as far as my motivations in writing politically, and how I have struggled with self-doubt and whether this was really God’s will for me.

Is anything that I write or say truly making a difference? The more questions I ask, the stronger the realization becomes that it doesn’t really matter what I think or what you think, the only opinion that matters is what God thinks. I have been asked numerous times why I chose write in a political forum. My best answer is that God opened doors and I stepped through. Only God knows how effective I have been in planting seeds, educating, and informing.

My consolation, in the event it has all been for naught, is that hopefully I will be remembered, if remembered at all, as someone who stood up, spoke out, lost a lot, gained a lot, but never backed down from my own truth…even though most of the time I was nothing more than a quivering jumble of nerves. (Don’t believe me? Just ask my editor!) In other words, if God is willing to use such a mess as me, imagine what He can do with you.  Let’s live to fight another day for our great country and for our future generations. Are you with me?