I have no idea how prayer works. Candidly, this bothers me. But, I have no idea how the differential on my all-wheel-drive truck works either. That doesn’t bother me. I just appreciate it. So, I’m trying to engage prayer like I utilize my truck: Just go with it.

Thank you for praying last week about the maladies in my spine. Surgery was a best-case scenario, the scenario the surgeon didn’t bother covering because he didn’t see any point.

My low back was more of a mess than he anticipated except for the tumor on the MRI. The tumor turned out to be a shadow from the rogue discs.

The good news is that there was no fusion of the vertebra. Fusions solve one problem while creating another: a levering action against the joints above and below. So, that’s wonderful news—and from what my surgeon described, it sounds as if his hands and skills were indeed divinely guided.

The bad news is that Dr. Siadati stood over my hospital bed pointing at me. “Preston, these discs are not the only discs in your back that are problematic. You have a lot of miles on your spine. I’ve done all I can do for you. The future of your back is up to you. Treat it more kindly or you and I will meet here again.”

I don’t know yet what the doc meant. For the next month or month-and-a-half I’m wearing a brace and have strict instructions not to “BLT”—bend, lift, or twist. Sometime in May I will visit the physical therapists I discovered last summer when I had my knees replaced. I figure they will tease from my worn spine what I can and can no longer do.

I figure I can start by shedding fifteen pounds or so. That’s fine. I won’t miss them.

But then, I start making the mistake Jesus warned about in His sermon on the hillside: “Therefore do not be anxious for tomorrow, for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Yesterday, I went to the garage to find a zip-tie. I stopped to stare at my mountain bike—orange frame of aluminum and composites, blue wheels, Crank Brothers hubs. I suspect my last ride has occurred. I’ve probably carried my green Osprey pack for the last time, raked leaves the final time, shoveled spring planting the last time, kayaked my final paddle. You get the idea.

I resolve to follow my Older Brother’s counsel: to worry about today’s problems. There are plenty, enough to tax my resolve.

When I stand up, I must pull cables that are integrated into my brace and synch the brace around my incision and weakness. It’s actually a comfort. Then I begin walking to wherever it was that enticed me to stand. My left foot doesn’t work. It splats when I walk and my leg genuflects to accommodate my foot’s weirdness.

I stop. My soul that finds its solace stepping silently through dense woods, navigating a scree field, or fishing a rushing stream panics and commands my brain to dictate that my left foot respond. Now!

But there’s nothing.

Again I trip over my Older Brother’s counsel. “Little Brother, don’t be anxious about tomorrow. I’ve got you today and I’ve got your tomorrow. Trust me today.”

Step. Splat. Step. Splat. Step. Splat. It’s difficult to trust when there’s noise, especially a cacophonous splatting.  

I make my way to the patio where Dianne will not witness my tears, and snotty nose, or the collateral damage of my frustration. And in truth, not see the small measure of my faith’s incapacity to trust God with abandon—Like Christians are supposed to, the accusing voice [of sin] contributes in my head.

And so, for today—I don’t know about tomorrow—I ease into my patio chair, release the corset clutching my waist, and begin the labored sequence to regroup, to gather my wits about me again, and refocus my soul’s determination. I fall back, retreat. I withdraw in my thoughts from a tenuous hold of verse 34 to a more secure purchase of verse 25.

“Do not be anxious for your life, Little Brother.”

“Consider the dove sitting on the wire.”

“Don’t be anxious about the brace or the humility of calling for help to pull up your underwear.”

“The dove. The Jonquils. The roses. Brother, these don’t worry. All creation groans under the labor of a sin-splintered world, but the birds and the flowers are not anxious. There’s no need for you to be either. You are my Brother. I care far more for you than I do the Sparrow bathing in the bird bath.”

There is a spark of momentum.

I stand up. It’s a hard labor. Pain has no guile. I synch my brace. Step. Splat. Step. Splat. Step and I limp my way down the drive to touch the tender leaves on the Japanese Maple. It is here today, covered in new green. So am I—in a new and tender today. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Today is demanding enough.

Within my soul, the Spirit wields a double-edged sword. He swings, and thrusts, and parries slicing between joint and marrow, spirit and soul, flesh and redemption. He glances—that wild, relentless, singular look that believes in me, confident that I too am a warrior, amply equipped to engage in the great battle between flesh and spirit, the duel of now and then, broken and new, useless and treasured.

My soul rallies with the infusion of His belief in me, the one transformed, the one in whom the divine dwells, whose heart is etched with God’s desires. Summoning my spiritual wherewithal, I tighten my corset, unsheathe my weapon of warfare, and engage—flat-footed in one foot.

But engaged!

Today!

Tomorrow will care for itself.  

I have no idea how prayer works—and that mystery bothers me. But you prayed. I received. I am grateful. If you have time, would you please continue? I’m still in the thick of things. In truth, my prayers are mostly unutterable.

Napoleon Bonaparte said, “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

I’ve attempted to create a picture of words portraying spiritual warfare. It is not graceful, or merciful, or loving, kind, patient, or temperate. It is scary-blurry, desperate-dark, humbling-humiliating, tear-stained, teeth-gritted, sweat-salty, but full of life. It is in many aspects unspeakable. But it is true.  

A few moments ago, you began making your way through this article. It’s just about a thousand words long. My intent is that the word-picture of tumult and engagement will foster resiliency within your soul and confidence in your spirit.

Today.

Tomorrow will care for itself.