Finding Healing in the Emerald City

A Series on God With Us in the Midst of Trials

Now that Scott and I understand the symptoms of an unhealthy liver, we also know that he has been impacted off and on for many years. While this came as a great surprise to us, it did not surprise God.

I don’t fully know what God understands about the future but the following is how it seems to me: It is likely much more like quantum physics where there are many possible outcomes but God is leading us to a good one—and our choices are the creators of the how the story plays out. A poor choice doesn’t befuddle God, it just brings a new set of options. God is always working for our good and sometimes that means helping us overcome the random or not-so-random events in our lives.

Those who have followed our story over the past eight or ten years (or more), likely groaned when I shared that Scott would need a liver transplant. While there is no quota on hardship, we had our share, both as children and adults. Yet we always seemed to land on our feet. Those feet were wobbly but we excelled at surviving.

In A BRAVE Life, I shared the story of how Scott and I unceremoniously landed in Washington State shortly before the pandemic hit just as the book was published. It is a story of survival after childhood trauma and acknowledges the impact on me as an adult. I did not share Scott’s story in the book aside from our story together.

Symbolism and nods to children’s literature—a course I taught for 33 years—always show up in my BRAVE books. In this one, Dorothy of Oz helps me narrate the book and the cover illustration symbolizes an important part of my healing—writing—and our journey to the Emerald City of Seattle.

In the book, I discuss arriving at the Emerald City in general. If someone asks where I live, it is easier to say, “Seattle” or “South of Seattle.” I knew it was important to say that I had reached the city of Seattle! I share about touring a hotel and standing at the window looking over the city.

“There the road was, clear as a sunny Seattle day. The Yellow Brick Road wound past Mt. Rainier, through the Puyallup Valley, along Puget Sound and appeared to end at the foot of the Space Needle—right in the heart of the Emerald City of Seattle.”

What I didn’t know it that if I had looked the other direction, I could have seen the campus of the University of Washington and the Medical Center where Scott’s life was saved. Not only

Though we knew absolutely nothing about transplants before landing in this situation, we now understand that both of the italicized statements work in tandem and were profoundly important to Scott’s story! (See Source)

Trusted Experience

Our top-rated surgeons have performed more than 2,000 liver transplants to date and our patients spend less time on the waitlist than the national average.

Results-Driven

The survival rate of UW Medicine’s waitlisted patients and transplant recipients is among the highest in the U.S. Among critical patients, the survival rate after waitlisting was 100 percent.

The quality of the medical expertise is essential but only part of why being in Washington State was what made this possible. Our adult children, Scott’s brother and wife (where we are currently staying) and our RockWall Cottage neighbors also made this possible. We are also grateful for the financial support of many others! This may have been the most difficult thing I have ever traversed, but my Sunday glimmer is that I knew I was never alone!

Who knew that a liver donation was what was at the end of the Yellow Brick Road? This is one of those times when I know—without a doubt—that God did.

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Addendum: I found this in my “unused pieces from books” file and the memory fits so well with this piece that I am adding it here! Here is where the journey began—or was it when I was nine?

Following the Yellow Brick Road to the Emerald City

Two years before I began my healing journey I spent a week with my sister-in-law in Seattle. We took a day and rode the ferries from Edmondson to Bainbridge and then into the port of Seattle. As we rounded the turn and looked across at the Seattle skyline, she said, “You should see this at night. It is beautiful. That is why they call it the Emerald City.”

I stared at the Space Needle as something stirred deep within me. In that moment, I knew that I was going to move to the Emerald City. I just didn’t understand why.

Now I understand why I decided to move to the Emerald City and why that dream would not leave me. Yes, my son and his wife lived there; yes my daughter and grandchildren had moved there; yes I had spent so much time there that it was my second home—but the longing had begun in this nine-year-old child who read the Wizard of Oz. That day on the ferry, she realized that she had found the Emerald City that she had longed for all her life. I didn’t know how I would get there, but I knew that when I did, I thought I would have finally accomplished flying over the rainbow and leave the cloud far behind me.

If I just kept following the yellow brick road to the Emerald City I might one day be happy. If bluebirds could fly over the rainbow, surely so could I.