When I curl up in my brown, leather chair to savor morning coffee, I often rehearse a litany of thanks. My husband loves me. My family surrounds me. And compared to many around the world, my above-average quality-of-life buffers the daily grind I face living with a rare disease.
But after ramming my right foot into a piece of furniture
while playing with my cat, Eggs, Thursday night, I woke to a swollen,
discolored toe, and a wave of overwhelm that even my best morning prayers couldn’t
counter.
With two weeks of non-weight-bearing still ahead (after falling in the
shower just over a month ago, and partially tearing a tendon in my left foot), I
prayed for divine bubble wrap.
There’s got to be some.
As I limped to my car to meet up with my mom and sister later
that afternoon, I thought about Ken, paralyzed in his wheelchair. Unable to feel anything from the waist down, he would gladly endure the pain of a broken or sprained toe.
My thoughts then drifted to Pastor Andrew Brunson, a missionary jailed in Turkey.
About my age, he’s another who would love to spend a day surrounded by family, even
if rolling around on a scooter with awkward feet.
Throw in kids with cancer, teens exploited in the sex trade,
and the countless stories of hardship that cross my FB feed, and I know my toe thing
pales in comparison.
But after fighting in earnest to win the perspective game, my heart still lagged behind. It wasn't just the toe. It was the years of walking difficulties that slowed
my pace and resolve.
While I can normally rise above, today I realized that if I
don’t open my heart and address the inner ache, my platitudes will fall flat. So I cried out to heaven, “Hold me.
Bubble wrap me, Jesus. And keep me from harm.”
And then tonight my husband, who's reading Bonhoeffer,
by Metaxas, read this quote, “Pain is a holy angel who shows
treasures to men which otherwise remain forever hidden; through him men have
become greater than through all joys of the world.”
Talk about some upside down thinking. Pain... a holy angel?
While some might say, "Fight through it. Push beyond it. Or stay strong," I've decided to stop rationalizing my way through the pain and
disappointment this week, and rather embrace it.
Perhaps in my constant quest for perspective and hope, I've missed the treasure that's right here, in the midst, waiting to be found.
My toe and tendon will heal. And my feet will move forward again. But if I run from the lessons buried in pain, I may never truly live.
In closing, since tomorrow is Rare Disease Day, I’ll ask you to consider donating $28 on the 28th to the
Foundation for Mitochondrial Medicine. But since I value
you more as a reader than as a donator, please don't succumb to unintended pressure.
Only give if the Spirit moves by heading over to:
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