It was the middle of the night and I woke up with the urge to pee. I tried to ignore it because I was nestled warmly in my bed next to my children, but I could not fight it any longer. I had to go. I quietly pulled the sheets down and crept out of bed slowly. It was dark and I was half asleep. I could see the shadows of objects on the floor… ugh probably toys. I tried to slither by like a cat and then… Bang! Crack! Ouch! If I wasn’t awake before, I certainly was now. My right foot was in pain, but I didn’t think much of it. I tried to shake it off and go back to sleep. I woke the next morning with my foot throbbing and I could hardly walk on it. Panic set in.
I was in Canada visiting my parents with my two children, while my husband was back in Texas working. I frantically started looking for flights back to Dallas because something didn’t seem quite right. I found one flight two days earlier than I was supposed to fly back. I arrived at the airport with two children in tow. I probably should have requested a wheelchair but I was too proud and I also thought I was probably overreacting. So, I hobbled around the airport with my one year old and three year old, trying to wrangle them as best as I could.
The next day I went to the doctor. I figured he would say that my foot was just bruised, or at the worst, slightly sprained. After the x-ray, the doctor came into the room, he asked me some questions, he gently touched my foot and… OUCH! Oh boy, did he hit the spot. Alas, my doctor broke (no pun intended!) the news to me: I fractured a bone in my foot and I would need to wear a boot for the next 4 to 8 weeks. I was kind of in shock. I was in denial. Surely he had looked at the wrong x-ray and it was another patient that had a broken foot. Nope, it was certainly my foot.
Now, things can always be worse, a broken foot is not life threatening and I was optimistic about being out of the boot in four weeks time, but nonetheless, I felt sad; I felt weak; I felt limited; and quite literally, I felt a bit broken. Over the next weeks I continued to go back to my doctor for check-ups, and each time my foot began to heal more and more, until the eight week mark hit and I could finally take the boot off and slowly start again with walking and light physical activity.
Psalm 147:3 reads: "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."
At first glance, you might read the above verse and assume it’s referring to emotional or spiritual brokenness, but if you read it further, it also leans towards physical pain and suffering as well. Just as a doctor tends to a broken bone, setting it, checking on it regularly, allowing for it to heal properly in time, so too does our Lord gently, skilly and patiently, fix our brokenness.
On the other side, my responsibility as the patient was to follow my doctor’s instructions and guidance to continue that healing process. Sure, in my human nature I may have veered off the path from doctor’s orders from time to time (like when I would occasionally not wear my boot at night after I had put my pyjamas on, or early in the morning to make my way from the bed to the shower), but deep down I knew I needed to continue to pursue my doctor’s instructions if my broken foot was going to heal well.
My epic #momfail of tripping over the toys in the dark is a funny (in retrospect) example, of how pain, suffering, and brokenness extends to all of us emotionally, spiritually or physically, and even with a silly example like this, it serves as a reminder that we can all find renewed strength in Him, no matter how big or small are alignments might be.
Isaiah 40:29-31 reads, "He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."
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