Let the training begin.

“We are always on the anvil; by trials God is shaping us for higher things.” –Henry Ward Beecher

When I woke up on the surgery table, I thought it was all a dream. The white plaster walls. The IV drip in my arm. The periwinkle gown. None of it was real.

The moment I realized that I was awake, that this was really happening, I burst into tears. Couldn’t stop.

The nurse comforted me with a glass of ice water while the anesthesiologist injected a nerve block into my knee.

“That will keep your leg numb for about 24 hours,” he assured me. “You won’t feel anything.”

Except he was wrong. I felt… many things.

Fear. Shame. Regret. Anxiety. Mostly fear. So much fear.

Fear of the wall of pain that I knew would descend once the block wore off. Fear that even with a metal plate affixed to my bones they would never fully heal. Fear that I wasn’t strong enough to handle all of this. Fear that I would disappoint everyone who perceives me as “the brave one.” Fear that I would disappoint myself.

As I write these words, it’s been 32 hours since I woke up and wished I was dreaming.

The block has worn off. The pain is excruciating.

I am still afraid, but a fierce little animal in my psyche is fighting back with something stronger:


I trust that this experience is a form of mental & spiritual training — a PhD course in courage. Re-shaping me in ways I can’t understand yet. Shaping me into a better, more capable version of myself.

This is my training ground.

While I didn’t voluntarily step onto the field to receive this particular training, while I would love to avoid it, or postpone it, while I would love to flee this temporary discomfort, here I am, and here we go.

Sometimes you enroll in an educational program willingly — and sometimes God hits the “registration” button for you.

Either way: you’ve got lessons to learn.

Let the training begin.