Step 28: The pause in the middle.

Kathy Gallagher
Mar 2
12 min read

I suppose a year from now I’ll look back and have a clearer view of where exactly we are right now, but for now it just feels like small steps that are going somewhere. Somewhere uncertain.

On May 23, 2024, my husband, Jim Gallagher, entered the E.R. he worked in for 15 years, this time as a patient. Within days he was fighting for his life as an infection that began in his foot raged throughout his body, and on June 4th, his leg was amputated below the knee in order to save his life. This is an ongoing log of our journey.

We find ourselves at the intersection of broken and whole, past and future, what was and what will be.

Our days and roles and abilities gradually shift and move like beach sand at the coast. Changes from weather and constant tides are expected, but their impact on the shoreline can only be known in retrospect. Similarly, Jim and I know that change is behind us and change is ahead. Physical therapy and new steps of progress are the landscape we currently dwell in, but where that will lead us and what the view will look like a year from now just cannot be guessed.

Instead, like beachcombers, we collect little souvenirs of today. We note them, write them down. We hold the wonder of beauty in one hand, and the restlessness to know what the future looks like in the other. The newest step we are learning to take is relaxing into this tension a bit, and making this in-between space of Growing-Not-Knowing, a place of beauty and rest.

(Okay, and can I just say that the Cortado I’m sipping right now at Starbucks is as scrumptious as advertised? It does not disappoint! MMmmmm.)

Bucky’s is becoming a second office to me. Office? Is that the right word? Retreat, maybe?

And can I just highlight the fact that my life now includes luxuries like stepping away from home smoothly, without leaving Jim high and dry? The slow, tidal progress of therapy and recovery continually brings micro-changes that make life smoother for us both as we 1) inch in the direction of normal, and 2) learn to relax in this liminal space. This--the freedom to occasionally move out for a few hours to Bucky’s and dream, or write, or chat with a friend--is one of those beauties right now.

Yes, I still want a peek at the future script. Where will we live? What dreams or projects will be ours to do, and which will wash back out with the tide?

(Mmmm. Cortado. You are my new friend!)

But I feel God’s continual pull back toward faith, trust. “May grace and peace be yours in abundance,” 2 Peter 1:2 says, and after encountering the “grace and peace” phrase over and over in scripture, Grace and Peace became the official name of my 2025 journal.[1]

Can we talk about that for a minute?

In my current messy moment, I again ask God for these two things to be mine: Grace. And peace. Outward kindness. And the inward settling of my spirit.

Grace.

Grace was my grandmother’s name, and she was the perfect picture of it, rolling with life’s punches and somehow making a beautiful, calm life out of it all, her little, white head bobbing along through the raspberry vines clear into her 90’s.[2] Any word that conjures up her soft, steady wisdom and her ready laugh is a picture of soft grace.

I wish for grace to be mine in every sense of the word:

1) Smoothness and elegance of movement: I’d love that to be the physical experience of me, but even more, the posture of my spirit. Unruffled. Relaxed. Accepting. Gracious.

2) Courteous good will: Yes, yes! The kind response, instead of the bristling, self-protective one. Open. Leading with forgiveness.

3) The free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings: THIS! This is where grace arrives, displays itself to us, and illustrates its healing power: undeserved kindness and goodness. Lord, may this somehow become the posture of my own heart. The way you put those religious folks in their place, yet wrapped your arms around the sinners they rejected. May I get there someday.

Peace.

This is the hard one--that illusive ability to be restful when you don’t know what is coming. This kind of okayness comes when one is confident in the sovereignty of a God whose love and power allows only that which is for our ultimate good, weather it is storms or warm breezes that sweep over our beach. It requires confident, quiet assurance in the goodness of God.

Perhaps this kind of peace also requires a lifetime of watching who God is and how He works. Now that I am (ahem) “older”, I have a greater vantage point from which to see the steady goodness of God. And maybe also the steady messing-it-up of Kathy, and my need for rescue.

In my current messy moment, I again ask God for these two things to be mine: Grace. And peace. Outward kindness. And the inward settling of my spirit.

“Cease striving,” His spirit calls to me. “Be still, and know that I am God.”[3]

So right in the middle of everything—the progress, the work, the storms and chaos and unanswered questions—stillness is at hand, and I reach for it. That invitation comes from Psalm 46. Hop with me into that crock pot and stew in these delicious, comforting words, as true as true can be:

God is our refuge and strength,

an ever-present help in times of trouble.

Therefore we will not fear,

though the earth is transformed

and the mountains are toppled

into the depths of the seas,

though their waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake in the surge.

Selah.

There is a river whose streams delight the city of God,

the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her; she will not be moved.

God will help her when morning dawns.

Nations rage, kingdoms crumble;

the earth melts when He lifts His voice.

The LORD of Hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Selah.

Come, see the works of the LORD,

who brings devastation upon the earth.

He makes wars to cease throughout the earth;

He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

He burns the shields in the fire.

“Be still and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted over the earth.”

The Lord of Hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Selah.

(Psalm 46, BSB)

Be still.

"Be still." That’s the same thing Jesus said to the actual physical waves he created, when his disciples woke him during a storm on the Sea of Galilee while he lived here among us:

“Peace! Be still.”

The scene is almost comical, but I relate so much to the panic of his followers, who were wondering how in the blazes Jesus could sleep while they tried to keep the boat afloat! This is from Mark 4:37-40:

And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion.

Seriously? ASLEEP ON THE CUSHION?

And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

I’ll bet it was more of an accusation, or maybe a panicked scream.

And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!”

And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

. . . . . . . . . .

Grace and peace can be elusive when we keep one eye on the storm.

So, why are you so afraid, little Kathy?

As it was for Christ’s disciples, each storm I survive grows my confidence in this amazing Savior who manipulates water and the laws of chemistry and meteorology and my own stupidity like it’s just another day at the office. But still, I tend to lean toward panic like it’s all up to me.

“Peace! Be still,” his soothing voice reminds me, never with even a hint of eye-rolling, always with a smile of welcome recognition.

Grace and peace can be elusive when we keep one eye on the storm. So, like Jim building stamina and muscle and nerve connection one step at a time, I’m consciously working on exercising my grace and peace muscles. I want to “sleep on the cushion” in the middle of the storm.

Work at resting sounds like an oxymoron. But like the pain of Jim’s daily workouts to remove the future pain of immobility, peace is a prize worth fighting for.

“Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest.”

Hebrews 4:11 BSB

Steps in the middle.

You remember your baby’s first step, but you probably don’t remember their eighth.

It’s getting harder and harder to name the forward steps in this journey of ours back to a rich and full physical life for Jim, and back to surrender and confident trust for Kathy. But pausing to look back, we can name some things that have shifted slowly, and now are quietly making a big difference in the shape of our current landscape. Here are five changes:

In the spare room where the hospital bed once stood, we now have a calm workout space where Jim and I both exercise. No need for the hospital bed anymore! Jim sleeps now in a normal, queen-sized bed, with piles of pillows cushioning the body parts that have a hard time getting comfy.
Jim keeps walking laps with his walker around the interior loop of our home, only now we find his cadence less measured, more natural. His right leg (Shorty) hardly pauses to calculate what a step should look like. I strongly suspect that right thigh muscle is now controlling at least some of the movement; it’s not the “throwing leg forward” movement the rest of his body contributed to in the early days of relearning how to walk, now with a prosthesis. Last week Jim took that same lap around the house six times in one day! Kind of like it was no big deal. And today he walked on the porch using the railing and a walking stick!
He stood in church last Sunday. Jim has stood there before, but this time there was no chair to hold onto in front of him. Instead, the arms of an old friend and a gracious stranger wrapped around Jim and supported him, sharing their strength, confidence and joy with him! Thank you, kind friends, new and old! You moved me to tears. Keep on being men who lift others up!
Jim fell once last week as well, but he fell well—rolling so that his body didn’t really take a beating. Even that experience became a useful tool as PT Troy taught him the best way to fall, and how to stand up from a prone position. That’s going to be a useful skill moving forward. Baby man-steps. We’ll take ‘em.
The other day I found Jim standing in our kitchen, searing a roast just the way he likes it in the electric skillet like it was no big deal. It felt too beautifully normal for words! If Jim is cooking, Jim is living.

Standing by.

I sometimes fall, too, on this journey. I cry and I whine. I get back up and exercise weak muscles (literal and figurative) and build new strength. I reach again and again for grace, and for peace.

What do we call this kind of progress? It’s not something totally different, but it is a new, slow-emerging confidence and ease, which equals new independence for us both. It is that soft change in the landscape, not entirely new, but constantly altered. When we stop to notice, there is always a kind, gracious beauty to acknowledge.

More changes lie ahead, unknowns we keep wishing for, like selling The House That Jim Built, and figuring out where the next chapter takes us. I’ve been retired for five months now, and I am just beginning to move from reacting to planning what this new stage of life might include. For me this is an ongoing conversation with the Jesus who controls all storms and knows just who or what is waiting on the next shore.

I’m sure you’ll hear more about this Kathy journey as it unfolds, but for now He keeps calling me back to this simple thing: “May grace and peace be yours in abundance.” (1 Peter 1:2)

Find grace and peace on the shifting sands you’re on, friend.

Feel the wind in your face.

Stop to savor the wild beauty.

Trust the One who made the waves in the first place and knows just where the shore lies.

That’s the beach I’m on. Join me! We’ll take it…

One step at a time.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Journal prompts for further reflection:

A journal is a record of your journey.

While I’m usually generously wordy in my journal, keeping things short at night helps me get right to the point. Your own reflection can be small and quick, or a long, cozy God-conversation, whatever matches your need, energy, or time.

Here are the six, simple, one-word journal prompts I am currently using in the evening to help me lean into grace and peace.

. . . . . . . . . .

Grace and Peace Journal Prompts

Appreciate:

Negativity bias is our tendency to dwell on the bad things that happen, and therefore to feel them more profoundly than the good things. “Beauty spotting” is one way to notice and highlight the goodness of God. Name some beauties from the day behind you. Not all days are equal, but there was beauty somewhere! Call those things to mind.

Sample from my own journal:

You, too, may have a lot of exclamation points in this section 😊.

Confess:

Confession is like taking out the trash at the end of the day.

Psalm 62:8 says, “Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts before Him. God is our refuge.” And, Honey, I pour out. God, who is waiting like a refuge to shelter us, hears our honest confession, and his grace, like the incoming tide, washes it away. This prompt helps me keep short accounts with God.

No samples here, for obvious reasons! I keep my confessions honest, simple, quick bullet points. And then I pause to grieve if I need to and listen for Christ’s response and receive his forgiveness. His posture may include a warning, but most often it is one of smiling, welcome acceptance and wide open arms. Forgiveness is assured: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)

May this section in your journal NOT include a lot of exclamation points! 😊

Forgive:

Again, no public examples, for obvious reasons!

Pausing to notice if I’m holding resentment or bitterness has become a helpful step in cleaning the slate. You feel how you feel, and sometimes you have genuinely been wronged. Giving those wounds to God helps me to give up my right to hurt someone back for hurting me. And pausing to listen to the Holy Spirit also gives clarity if further action is needed.

Plan:

It could be an ADHD thing or maybe just an OLD thing, but sometimes I’m utterly oblivious to what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Listing the goals, appointments and tasks I hope to conquer tomorrow saves me time in the morning when my foggy brain is still firing up, and assures that the proper alarms are set. It’s also an opportunity to pray over the things that may be hard or scary, which I do in the next prompt.

Here’s a sample:

Trust:

This might be labeled “Pray”, but for me “Trust” reminds me that I can not only ask God for help, but I can then let this go. It’s one shift I’m making as I pursue not just the answer I need, but a heart posture of grace and peace. I ask, and then I let go, meditating on God’s strength and love, and pausing to feel the peace in my own body. God can carry this. I can let go and sleep.

Sample:

Intercede:

The intention to pray for friends, family, and those who have special immediate needs a place to park, or it can slip from my memory. This last prompt creates space to do just that, and to move me on from my own concerns to lifting others up to Jesus.

For example (with names changed to protect the innocent):

. . . . . . . . . .

Journaling is a huge part of my mental and spiritual health practice. I hope these prompts will jump-start your own journaling, and prompt new growth in your faith journey. You’ll hear more on journaling from me in the future.

Here are the six Grace and Peace prompts in one simple list for you to copy: