My first question to the receptionist when they set it up was -- do I have to go all the way in that ridiculously small tunnel? -- to which she calmly responded -- yes, all the way and you also have to get an iv and injection during the 45 minute procedure. I don't think I hid my fears well.
Be still my not-liking-teeny-spaces heart.
There's a radiologist and a doctor that will be helping me out. The dye? Visibility. As if a mri isn't enough, now I get to start in the teeny tube -- get some images of that pesky shoulder -- be pulled out and get injected with some dye into my arm -- and then get pushed back into it.
Again, be still my not-liking-teeny-spaces heart.
And my not-liking-needles-too-much heart. Or dye.
So this morning, I'm trying to meditate on the truth of the Lord. I'm reading verses of peace and am prepping myself for that hour in the mri where I will truly have to rest in Him.
Be still my soul.
I've been looking at pictures of the ocean -- of the wildlife -- and the waves -- and of me on our trip -- carefree and rejoicing and am filled with such gratitude for the seven days I was blessed there. In some ways it was a preparation -- although I didn't know that -- for the weeks to come. When I sat in the waves I remember realizing that I needed the truth of Jesus -- of His power and love -- to replace all those worries and anxieties that clouded my thinking.
Today, at 2:45 pm, while they push me into that teeny space I will remember.
I'll remember a week where I raised my arms freely.
{amy and me, with my crazy south carolina curly hair, on the dolphin cruise}
And I'll thank Jesus for His peace.
And for that teeny mri space -- even though I don't like it that much -- I'm still grateful for it.
And I'll be still. Still for the images and praying for stillness in my heart.
And I'll be still. Still for the images and praying for stillness in my heart.
Be still my soul.
