FRAMING
Jules Painting “Annie Oakley” by Artist Howard Weingarden
Mark and I often talk about how we frame the events in our lives. When Jules was little, his condition (short bowel) was so serious that we traveled to Boston for a lengthening surgery. The procedure is intense—they make small slits in the intestine to encourage it to stretch and grow so it can absorb nutrients more effectively. We were fully prepared for this major operation. I had a room reserved at the Ronald McDonald House, arranged for a sitter in Boston, and planned every detail. It took so much thought and energy.
The day of the surgery arrived, and we braced ourselves for a long wait. We even started a load of laundry at the hospital—just something small to keep our hands busy and our minds distracted. (Funny the things that stay with you.)
But not long after the surgery began, the doctor called us. Our hearts dropped; we were convinced something terrible had happened. Instead, he told us they couldn’t perform the surgery because Jules simply didn’t have enough intestine to work with. The doctor’s eyes filled with tears as he shared the news, but you know what? I didn’t feel a single second of regret. I knew, immediately and deeply, that he had saved Jules. Had they tried to stretch what little intestine he had, it could have been deadly.
It all came down to how we framed it. I could have been overwhelmed with sadness, disappointment, or fear about what the future might hold. I could have blamed every future issue or setback on the surgery that never happened. But I didn’t. In that moment—and even now—I know things unfolded exactly as they were meant to.
Life has given me so many moments where I could have stayed angry, bitter, or heartbroken. But I’ve learned that our peace often comes from how we choose to frame our experiences. Not saying this doesn't take time, it does sometimes take a long time.
