Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Conquering the Curb

I once flunked tennis.  At the time, I just assumed that I really was hopeless at P.E.; however, a later trip to an optimologist identified some severe depth perception issues.  Even with my very strong eye glass prescription, I still misjudge distances, especially when I am walking up and down stairs or other elevated surfaces--CURBS, for instance.

On October 4 of this year, I and the curb near my dumpster had the ultimate showdown, and I lost. The morning dawned lovely and brisk at the Hunkey-Dorey coral, and shortly after seven I had all my little cowboys and cowgirls out for a walk.  We returned from our stroll near 8, and upon getting everyone back inside the door, I thought to myself, "Well as long as I have my shoes on, I'll take out the trash and save myself a trip later."

In the weeks that followed, it often occurred to me, that if I had just been a slacker, none of my sad story would have happened.  But it did, so I digress.  I left the baby securely fastened in his stroller, told his sister to sit with him, and asked my six year old to carry a couple of small boxes for me, while I carried the big trash bag.  After picking up my keys, and locking the little ones in the apartment, we were off.  It should have taken two minutes, but it changed the next two months.

It happened so fast, I'm still not sure what exactly transpired.  All I know is that I had just heaved the trashbag into the dumpster, when I felt my right food slip off the curb and roll. On my way to the ground, something snapped, and pain sparkled in front of my eyes.  When I stopped rolling around on the asphalt, I could see that my foot had already double in size.

Little Wade was my hero that day.  He stayed cool, calm, and collected; and off he trotted to tell our upstairs neighbor that I needed help.  My neighbor had to carry me back to our apartment on his back, and that was only the first in a parade of indignities.  I couldn't walk without crutches, couldn't go potty or put my pants on without help, and had to ride in the little driveable carts at Walmart.  I also couldn't carry my baby (who still didn't crawl or walk), couldn't cook, or do laundry, or drive.  And then there were the pain pills that made me drool.

Not cool.  Not cool at all.  And then, of course, there were the kindly meant questions.  "Oh, what did you do, dear?!"  Do you know how stupid it sounds to say, "Well, I was taking out the trash when I fell off the curb . . . "  This response also horrified my poor grandma, who had kindly come to stay.  "Dear," she would whisper to me, "Don't tell people you fell off the curb!  They'll think you were DRINKING!"

So I suppose I ought to get to the point.  In 2010, much to my surprise, I discovered that I love running.  When I heard that ominous snap, I really thought that part of my life was over.  I was afraid of what kind of consequence I was going to carry with me into future years, that's for sure.  I faced surgery, and now I have a pin in my foot; but last week--four months after my fall--I ran my first mile.  I had no pain.  I ran two more times later in the week, and still had no ill affects.  With thanks to God in my heart, I say, "I conquered the curb!"

Of course, all that running and no multi-vitamin may have been why that ham on Wednesday night looked so, so good.   However, even though I ate all that ham, the Lord still saw fit to send me a miracle.  For the last three weeks, I have had consistent anxiety related chest pain.  We have been in the midst of some decisions and I have been over-tired due to some insomnia.  Off the cuff, in the presence of some church friends, I said, "I need some laying on of hands or something; I feel just awful."  I was half joking, but also a little serious.

My friend Cecilia didn't need further prompting.  She waved over some of the other ladies nearby, set her warm hands on my shoulders, and started to pray a deeply heartfelt prayer for my strength and well-being.  In that moment, I really believed, that if He wanted to, God could make me stop hurting right then.

Anxiety related pain is not mind over matter.  In fact, you can get your mind and heart in order and still have residual pain for a week.  It's like a shot of poison that takes a while to work its way out of your body.  But on Thursday morning, my pain was gone.  It hasn't come back either.  I've experienced restored energy and mental clarity.  I am so thankful to God for his healing!

And finally, the positive change I mentioned, is the young lady who has started to help me for a couple hours on my husbands long work days.  She chases my monkeys for me, and does some light housework--while I get some writing done.  Hopefully, this means you'll be hearing from me on a regular basis!

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