My friend Sandra Heska King is a deep-see diver. I’m so happy to share her with you today. Please be sure to drop by her place for more of her amazing stuff.
Of Feet and Faith
The screeching startles me from a deep sleep.
I smack my husband. “FIRE! The smoke alarm’s going off.”
I’m already at the head of the stairs.
Because I’m the mom, and I have children to protect.
But I miss the last two steps in the dark, hear the crack when I hit the floor, and look up to see Superman bound over me to shut off the weather radio.
My family stands above me as I roll and moan. Abby gags at the blue balloon inflating on my ankle.
I just know I’ve shattered it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I whimper. Because I don’t want to be an inconvenience, a burden.
I’m the burden bearer.
A consultation ensues as to who will take me to the emergency room. My husband wins, and the kids pull me up.
“I think I’m going to faint,” I gasp.
My son, a high school senior who’s taking a health education class at the community college, rolls his eyes. “She’s faking.”
While my husband dresses–ever slow–Jeremy and Abby half carry, half drag me down another short flight of steps, across the breezeway, through the garage, and throw me into the van.
And they leave me. In the dark. Alone. While the thunder cracks and lightning flashes.
I feet the faint coming on again. D strolls out to the van.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
He leaves me again. And finally comes back with a towel and a pail.
After x-rays, the doctor pronounces only a sprain. They twist and yank and manipulate my ankle into a splint and wrap it while I yelp. They wheel me out with drugs.
The van lights reveal my upchuck pail. It’s the same one D uses to scoop dirty cat litter in to carry out to the field. I’m not sure he ever washes it.
Later that morning, my sis-in-law takes me to my doctor.
“So how come it hurts right here?” I point to a spot on the side of my foot.
He hmmmm’s, and my sis-in-law wheels me across the parking lot to an adjacent building for another x-ray.
The tech zips him the film and puts him on the phone.
“So?” I ask.
“Ewwwwwww!” he responds.
The orthopedic surgeon decides he can treat the break without surgery and places me in a hot pink cast. I can’t tolerate the cast, though, so he replaces it a week later with a big ugly boot.
I pretty much live in the basement, camp out on the couch and continue to work on my laptop. I only fall a couple of times—maybe more–in water Rose Dog drools on the vinyl. I call for help. Nobody comes. They don’t hear me. And anyway, my husband didn’t hear the alarm. How would he hear me two floors away.
I clean house for my son’s 18th birthday by crawling up and down stairs. I do the same to cook and wash dishes. I learn how to pick up clothes from the floor with a crutch and toss them one by one in the washing machine.
I can do it myself.
But here’s the real deal. When our feet don’t work, shouldn’t we allow others the opportunity to put feet to their faith? Share our burden?
We can’t do life ourselves.
We need help. We crave help, but we won’t ask for it. Or worse, we reject it and then we feel sorry for ourselves. We get cranky because others can’t read our minds and take care of what we need before we know we need it.
We’re so silly.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Anyway, I’m so glad there’s One who knows what we need before we do and stands ready to take care of that need even when we don’t ask.
But sometimes He wants us to ask. And He’s never too far away to hear.
Because it’s all about relationship and about giving up and giving in.
About leaning in and holding up.
And sometimes it takes a breaking to realize that.
P.S. The bone fragments were displaced, and I didn’t believe they’d heal without surgery. But they did—side by side—and the bone is even stronger now than before.
“First pride, then the crash—the bigger the ego, the harder the fall.” (Proverbs 16:19 – the Message)
Do you ever have trouble asking for help?