Broken
Two years
ago, I fell on the ice and broke my wrist. I was rushing down a hill in our
backyard that I had rushed down hundreds of times, but this time there was
snow. And the snow had turned into ice as it sometimes does in our strange
cold-warm-then cold again Iowa winters. I had dashed out coatless and shoeless
(I was wearing slippers--maybe that is why they are called that) to feed the
hungry dog. All of a sudden, my feet slipped
out from under me, and I caught myself with my left hand. Being cold and in a hurry, I quickly jumped
up, grabbed my watch, which had snapped off of my wrist, and proceeded down the
hill and into the dog’s kennel. When I
got to the concrete below, I noticed that my arm was throbbing, and I looked
down to see my left hand sitting atop my left arm in the place where my wrist
had been (I have graciously spared you the picture.). Needless to say, all was
not well. I went ahead and fed the dog
and then walked back up the hill and went inside. Then I called Brent on the
phone and said, “I did something bad to my arm.
It looks really deformed.” Within
20 minutes, he had arrived, and we were heading to the Emergency Room. When I presented my deformation to the girl
at the desk, she gagged slightly and then got me into a doctor ASAP. When the doctor saw my misshapen limb, he proceeded
to send me to X-ray. The X-rays showed
that I had broken my very first bone at age 50.
After a
few weeks in a huge cast from my armpit to my hand, my bones were not healing
correctly, so surgery was scheduled. My
body wasn’t able to align my bones itself, so a surgeon--with a mask and power
tools (I heard them in my twilight sleep)-- had to place a plate and some screws
inside my arm to hold my wrist in the right position.
What would
have happened if I refused surgery and let my bones heal on their own? If I left the cast on, took extra vitamins
and visualized it as “all better” ? My
bones actually would have healed, but incorrectly; the structure wouldn’t
be the same as before and I would have probably lost some use of my wrist--maybe
even my entire arm. I couldn’t properly
fix my wrist all by myself. I needed a
physician’s help. My wrist
is nearly perfect now (though I can see the embedded plate move when I wiggle
my fingers back and forth; ask me to demonstrate sometime)…because I sought
help from without. Relying on my own
methods or practices would never have fixed the effects of my fall.
Sometimes, I treat my feelings the way I was tempted to treat my wrist; I try
to manage them on my own because giving the control of them up to “Someone
else” seems too scary. But it is only
when I submit to this Someone--this God who made me, weak wrists and all--that
I can truly use my emotions correctly. You
see, my emotions are also broken because of the Fall; in my natural responses to life, I want to nurse my grudges, elevate my opinions, and play the victim when things don't go my way. When I react with
my default mechanism (which for me is self-pity over submission), I am unable to
use my feelings the way that God designed me to do.
It takes
deliberation and practice to walk as a child of God. And falling is inevitable. But faith in the Great Physician strengthens our
resolve and keeps us on solid ground.
Amen and amen.
“Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world but
be transformed by the renewing of your mind; then you will be able to test and
approve what God’s will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will.” Romans
12:2
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