Yesterday I was sitting in pre-op in a hospital gown, exhausted from fasting all day and not even being allowed to drink water, when my surgeon walked in and said:
“I think maybe we should wait and see.”
Not exactly the sentence you want to hear moments before a procedure
I was having a small procedure to remove a lipoma in my leg, and he explained that he wasn’t completely sure the location marked was correct. He only had the radiology report, which didn’t include the exact location, and sometimes, he told me, they open someone up and can’t find the lipoma at all.
And honestly? He was pushing pretty hard for me to cancel and wait.
So there I am, suddenly standing at a crossroads.
My massage therapist, Lotem, was actually the first person to identify the lump months ago, and for one second I thought maybe I should call her and ask her to explain exactly where it was.
And then I remembered my phone was with my husband, Evan.
There was no phone-a-friend lifeline.
I couldn’t ask my husband. I couldn’t call Lotem.
Nobody could make this choice but me.
And I was like:
Okay Hashem… what do I do?
Do I take this as a sign to walk away?
Do I move forward?
Am I forcing something?
Am I supposed to trust that You brought me here for a reason?
It was just me standing there deciding whether to move forward.
On the one hand, it felt delusional to choose the surgery route because the doctor was repeatedly asking me if I was sure. On the other hand, it felt wrong to have waited all this time, done the prep work, and then not go through with it.
My only option was to choose.
So I did.
Thank God, everything went well. He found it. The procedure was successful. I’m sore, but okay.
Between you and me, as I sit here writing this, I’m overcome with emotion and crying a little from relief and gratitude because I am so deeply grateful that Hashem guided me to move forward and allowed this chapter to close.
Because it could have gone differently.
I could have gone through the uncertainty, pain, recovery, and stress and and still walked away needing to monitor it and do this all over again later.
But this is what faith is: being emotionally vulnerable.
We talk about faith like it’s always comforting. But in real life, it often feels terrifying to make a choice, even a small one.
Faith means moving forward without guarantees, but understanding that Gd always has your back.
Even if it doesn’t work out the way you want, it is still for the best.
I am always reluctant to ask Gd for things because what I want is for Him to always do what is best for me. Sometimes the way I hope things will turn out isn’t the best for me.
So in this situation, I simply made the choice, asked Gd to do what was best for me, told Him why I thought this was the right path, and trusted the outcome was for the best.
The Jewish People in the desert had every reason to believe that everything Gd did for them was for the best.
They had tons of proof that He always had their backs.
He brought them out of slavery, saved them from the Egyptians, split the sea…
This week in Israel we read Parshat Beha’alotcha, the story about the Jewish people receiving the ma’an.
Every day Bnei Yisrael gathered exactly what they needed.
Not tomorrow’s portion or next week’s portion.
Just enough for today.
If they took more, it would rot.
Except for Friday.
On Friday they had to take a double portion.
And honestly?
It sounds delusional to believe that Shabbat would somehow be different after watching extra weekday ma’an rot.
But that was the lesson.
The ma’an was never just about food, it was about trusting that even though it may be totally delusional to think that Shabbat would somehow be different, the past showed them that Gd had always taken care of them and that they should trust He would continue to do so.
Even if it wouldn’t work out the way they planned.
Sometimes we forget how emotionally vulnerable trust actually is.
We want guarantees, certainty.
We hold onto things because we think they protect us from uncertainty.
But the ma’an teaches us something important:
There is a difference between preparation and panic.
Bnei Yisrael still had to gather the double portion of ma’an in preparation for Shabbat and have faith that the extra wouldn’t rot.
I still had to schedule the procedure, do the preliminary testing, fast, and show up.
Eventually there comes a point where preparation ends and trust begins.
Part of decluttering is realizing no amount of stuff will ever completely remove vulnerability from life anyway.
Sometimes peace comes not from avoiding vulnerability, but from finally being willing to move through it.
Make a choice and have faith that you will get exactly what you need, no matter how delusional the outcome may seem.
What are you holding onto because it makes you feel safer, even though deep down it’s really fear?
Sometimes the hardest part of decluttering is not the physical act of letting go.
It’s trusting that you will still be okay afterward.
That there will still be enough.
That future-you will be okay without the extra papers, linens, or food you have been hoarding.
That Hashem will continue to provide what you need when you need it.
Sometimes we need support while we practice that.
You do not have to do this alone.
Support is what allows us to finally take the next step instead of staying stuck in fear. If you’ve been meaning to finally deal with the things you keep avoiding, this is your reminder not to wait until life forces the issue.
The current Tidy Together package pricing will be going up soon, so if you’ve been thinking about joining, now is a good time to lock in the lower rate before it changes.
You don’t have to figure everything out before you start. Take the next step even when it feels scary!
Here to practice faith right next to you,