Bits and Pieces Come to Mind...

Today I remembered that on the morning of the crash I was at a half marathon to benefit ovarian cancer research.  My husband and our eldest son had been training for months and I was a last minute volunteer fill-in.  The task assigned to me was directing the runners at a portion of the course that unexpectedly veered across the railroad tracks to cut down alongside the river.  The day was cold and windy in that elevated and exposed spot, so I determined to be the best volunteer possible.  I waved my turquoise shirt-flag in a wide arc, calling to the runners “Keep it up – this way – almost there – hardest part is over – well done!”  Some loped past me with eyes fixed ahead or on the ground, some gave a wave, and some picked up a staggering pace with a deep breath or a smile.  Many of the runners thanked me for being there.  I was in awe of them and their athletic abilities and goals, and that pride in these strangers kept me from noticing my numbing ears and fingers as I jumped and shouted and flapped my turquoise tee.
Although I have never run a race, I have been in a marathon for almost three months now.   And I am struck today by the metaphor of the course and all the volunteers along the way.  At the beginning, someone brought a CD player and music to play while I was unconscious, innumerable people fed my family at home 2 hours away, friends and relations made the drive to sit by my bed talking to me and reporting things such as, “Stephanie opened her eyes a couple of times today”, and empathetic people packed and sent  baskets of snacks and crossword puzzles to nourish and distract my husband.  Further out, the crowds thinned to those helping arrange for wheelchairs and medical support, a comfortable spot at home… and even more meals to keep everyone strong.   Cards and flowers arrived almost every day as people expressed their love and reminded me of God’s greater love, even in the days of trial.

The primary characteristic of a marathon is that it goes on for a long, long time.  At just the right moment two different college friends wrote letters sharing the way they have wept and prayed for me and the truths about God upon which I can REST.  When pain and sleepless nights were accumulating, the gift of a boomerang and audio books unexpectedly helped me through a brutal stretch.  And just this week a dear sister appointed herself my “winter buddy” with the aim of regularly encouraging me through the remaining days (54 left!) until Spring.

I suddenly find myself smiling at the remembrance of my enthusiastic waving and flapping.
It does make a difference.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:1-2 ESV) 

Some Days I Know My Weakness...

My body is smashed up – inside and out – and my emotions are ragged.  Some days contain triumphs and achievements to which I point and upon which I attempt to dwell.  However, discouragement, grief and anger lurk around every pain killer deadline.  When they accumulate and spill out I am no longer thankful that I can limp to the bathroom, but am resentful that it takes me five minutes to swing my legs over the side of the chair or bed, balance my “boot” into an upright position so I can wiggle in my foot, Velcro the six straps that hold my broken and plated ankle into a supported environment, and then begin the long, uneven trek to empty my stent-enhanced bladder.  At the end of the exercise I can choose to sit in a cushioned seat or balance my body on my left hip.  The decision is weighted by which part of my body aches the least – my broken bottom or my shattered hip.  Either way, the ribs will have increased pressure from the position and keep up a slow dull throbbing like the bass line in a torturous modern opera that never resolves or ceases.   That is the truth of life two full months after the car crash from which I amazingly survived.  And so, I read, meditate on, and share Bible verses.  I don’t post about God’s love and care because I am confident and rejoicing, but because I am weak and doubting and desperately need to say the words aloud before witnesses.   I am not pious or strong, but crippled and needy.  And He blesses me in my brokenness.  “This is a trustworthy saying…If we are faithless, He remains faithful for He cannot deny Himself.”  I woke this morning with these thoughts on my heart and determined to share them.  As I opened my inbox I found the following words from a friend that has experienced unimaginable grief and loss during the past year:  “I read a verse you recently posted.  I am amazed and comforted and encouraged by your positivity and love for God.  I know I am fighting a spiritual battle and so many days I want to give up.  Thanks for sharing.”
Somehow, in the middle of the muck of these trials under which I easily fall, God has used my struggles to encourage a sister in severe grief.  In my mustard seed faith I am surprised…and encouraged.
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”