In deserts and gardens. (Or, why I’m at the Mayo Clinic.)

I've been keeping something from a lot of you. Not out of malice. But I want to let you in now.

I'm writing today's blog not from home. Not from my office. Not from a coffee shop. Not even from my (now) home state of Texas. No, right now I'm staring out the window and seeing the cold streets of Rochester, MN. Not the most beautiful place for the beginning of March.

It's why I am here that's important. I'm at the Mayo Clinic, the premier health facility in maybe the entire world. It's where people go when all the other doctors can't figure out what's wrong with you. It's a place for the perplexed but hopeful.

But I am not the reason for the trip. No, I'm here for my wife.

See, Last April, my wife was in peek health. She had just finished a triathlon and was creating a training schedule to start her first Ironman. Then came May. After dropping off our son at daycare, she was in a car wreck that wasn't her fault. It messed up her spine, caused nerve damage down her leg, and she was diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury.

While receiving treatment for all of that, her injuries began manifesting in her gut. Her GI track essentially began shutting down. She began having attacks that included severe abdominal pain, dizziness, nausea, weakness, and some other things I can't and won't mention. She's lost an extreme amount of weight.

These attacks are so intense they leave here screaming and crying on the floor. Many days and nights I have turned the corner to see her on the floor. That's when I begin the process of literally picking her up off the floor and getting her to the bathtub or the bed.

In the fall, her gallbladder failed. She had surgery to take it out. It didn't help. Her decline became more severe, with extreme pain on a daily basis. She even had to go on a liquid and IV "diet" for two months because she couldn't handle solid foods. Solid foods are still an "adventure."

Amidst all of this, she became "too complex" for local doctors since she didn't fit into any of their boxes. They don't know what to do. They don't know what's wrong. She's been on 20+ different meds and had more tests than I can count. And still no definitive answers.

Finally, in December, after a dizzy spell lead to a fall where she hit her head on the coffee table and an ER visit, I contacted Mayo. That full story in and of itself is insane, and I'll share it later. But after several emails and phone calls, we got an appointment with one of the country's leading GI specialists.

That's where we find ourselves today. We start 10 days of every test imaginable, along with countless doctor appointments. Ten days away from our kids and work. Ten days of morning to evening hospital visits.

But we are grateful. We just want answers. We want this season to be over.

This morning during my journaling time with God, I brought him my anxiety. My frustrations. My hopes and desires for my wife, for this trip. My wife was doing the same. As we were sitting in our hotel room, a song came on. It's a song that I've heard before, but this morning it took on new meaning. It's from Red Rocks worship and it's called "Good Plans." The chorus includes these lines:

"He has good plans. He has good plans, for me. So I will take heart in deserts and gardens."

Deserts and gardens. I'm not going to lie: this season feels like a desert in many ways. Especially for my wife.

But...

He has good plans. I'm not sure what all he will use this season — this struggle — for, but I know he will. You know what that means? I will take heart in this desert. My wife will take heart in this desert. And I have so much peace about that.

As I closed out my time this morning, I was reminded of Psalm 23:6. The famous Psalm 23. In the last verse of that classic, it says, "surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life."

Friend, God's goodness is following us. It's chasing us. It's running after us. Think about that for a moment. That's incredible. I imagine a pack of wolves tenaciously chasing their next meal. That's what God's goodness is doing.

That was the comfort I needed this morning. Maybe it's the comfort you need, too. It's that type of comfort that allows us to take heart in deserts and gardens.

(Pic: The view out of our hotel in Rochester, MN.)