I was about half-way through my workout when my ankle gave out. My foot rolled, twisting my ankle under my weight with a loud “pop.” I crumpled to the ground, unable to stand, and grabbed my leg. My ankle was on fire with pain. I held it in the air, gasping in agony, and begged my brain to get a handle on the pain so I could breathe. My ankle swelled immediately and I could see the blood start to pool under the bone.
The next several days found me confined to the couch, my ankle propped up on pillows and loaded down with ice. The kids gathered around to assess the damage.
“Your foot looks really fat,” Kya said, noticing the way my flesh puffed up around the Ace wrap.
“And it really, really stinky!” Micah said. He didn’t care for the herbal ointment I had rubbed all over. It created a strange, bluish-gray hue over my deeply bruised skin.
“And your skin is all different colors. Like a crocodile,” Jonathan added.
“I think your baby toe looks like a beluga whale!” Faith concluded. They all giggled.
But Paul was worried. “Your leg is broken? You need to glue it,” he advised. Then, every so often, he stopped in to pat my leg. “That make it better?” he asked, patting.
“Yes, Paul, I think it does.”
“Good (pat, pat). I make it better.” He brought books and snuggled next to me and told me he liked me.
The pain subsided after a few days, but I couldn’t even walk to the bathroom without my entire foot swelling up and throbbing. The only thing I could do was sit on the couch and give directions. The kids scampered about, eager to help. Faith made scrambled eggs for breakfast, helped the boys to the bathroom, and changed a set of wet sheets. Jonathan set the table. Kya dressed her brothers. In tutus. They unloaded the dishwasher and swept the floor and got out their school books, working diligently despite many interruptions.
When my husband came home from work, he was met at the door with a day’s worth of requests by five kids who didn’t have a mother to help. All of the household responsibilities fell squarely on his shoulders as soon as he walked in the door. Dinner, jammies, brushing teeth, grocery shopping, cleaning up the kitchen—no matter what the task, he did it all cheerfully and scolded me if I so much as thought about getting up.
My neighbors sent over crutches and cookies, friends offered to bring meals, and my mother-in-law stopped in with a big pot of soup and cornbread muffins. She washed the dishes in the sink and cleaned up the kitchen that had been neglected all week. The children bragged to her about how much they were helping. Their faces glowed.
But by Friday, I was exhausted. Sure, my foot hurt, but it was more than that. I felt discouraged. Helpless. Worthless. I felt as if somehow my value as a wife and mother had diminished along with my ability to do.
Day after day, I was a mother who couldn’t take little boys to the bathroom or get children ready to go outside. I was a wife who couldn’t make dinner or pack a lunch. I couldn’t make my own coffee or carry my own dirty laundry to the hamper. I couldn’t even feed the cat.
It was strangely terrible, being in a place where I had nothing to offer, where I was broken and needy and unable to do a single thing about it. I could only ask for help and beg for charity from those who were already stretched thin and worn out with the demands of daily life. I dug in my pockets for something to give, desperate to contribute so I could feel better, but I found nothing except my own insecurity.
Who am I when I have nothing to give? I am a coward. It’s one thing for you to know that I’m weak and broken, generally speaking. It’s another thing for you to get close enough to diagnose my disease. I do not want you to get up close into my specifics and see my dirty dishes and my daughter’s failed math test and hear the way I talked to my kids when I had to give the same directions three times in a row. I do not want you to know me like this.
If I can’t be left alone, I will insist that I’m getting better. I may be broken now, but I won’t be broken later. I am not this needy, not always. This is a fluke, a one-time deal. Soon I will be on the giving end of grace, just like I like it. Just wait and you will see—I’m getting better.
But love doesn’t wait. Love comes into my messy house after a full day, looks into my blotchy face, and gets to work setting things straight without saying a word. Love is my husband’s arms, enfolding me, carrying me up the stairs even though I say I can manage myself. Love is my children’s hands, bringing me water and pillows and sweetly accepting my injury as an opportunity to serve. Love is a friend who brings dinner even though I say I’m getting better. Love knows I am not better.
And I find that this kind of love–the kind I don’t deserve, the kind I can’t earn, the kind that pushes into my weaknesses and exposes my fault lines–is hard to take. It is the kind of love that is bathed in grace, and I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with grace. I want to deserve it. I want to earn it. I want to believe I am getting better. I do not want to need it, and the horror of grace is that it necessitates weakness, brokenness, and emptiness. It rushes in when I dig deep and find nothing to offer.
It is the kind of love that looks at a woman shrouded in excuses and loves her in spite of the lies, not because of them. It is the kind of love that smears mud on sightless eyes and raises servant girls to life and replaces the ear of an enemy. It is the kind of love that heals ten when nine will forget. It is the kind of love that gave up the strength and power I crave in order to take on the weakness I abhor so that I might be saved with the grace I find so difficult to accept.
Who am I when I can’t give, when I can’t do, when I can’t be better than I really am, when there is nothing but me, on a couch, broken? Who am I when I have nothing to hide behind? Who am I when I can’t do anything to make myself more appealing to earn your friendship or your favor, your admiration and your love? What if all I have is grace?
Then I find myself in the place I most need to be.
you make me cry… 🙂
thanks for your wonderful story.
i feel human and weak and loved at the same time.
And that is exactly what you are. <3
This is beautiful.
Thank you, Kari.
I was meant to read this post! 🙂 I’m one of the most impatient patients who ever was ill and I find it hard to be in a position of needing people to help. Thanks for being so honest, it’s now time for me to be more gracious.
I think you and I could compete for that title! I am impatient too, and for some reason, I keep coming around to the same place again where I have no choice but to learn and grow. It is a good (but messy) place to be.
It sounds like you have a lovely family with a wonderful husband. Hope you’re doing better after all that care 🙂
Thank you! I am very blessed. It’s amazing how often I forget it!
:’)
You’re probably going to get me addicted to your blog.
It’s all part of my evil plan (Bwahahahaha!).
The more I read your blog, the more impressed I am with you, a digital voice that I probably wouldn’t recognize if we were in line at the grocery store together.
This a solid piece of writing, not only thematically, but with profound spiritual and theological implications. Your identity isn’t diminished with your capacity, but emphasized.
I think my wife and mother (and mother-in-law) could all stand to break an ankle, if this is the clarity it brings.
Thank you for this gracious comment. It’s a fine line between writing story and writing theology, and I find the balance is a struggle. I am a story teller by nature, but I have a passion for Christ and a love of teaching. Sometimes I head too far one way and “preach,” and sometimes I go too far the other way and spin a lot of pretty words without a lot of content. But I find that when the balance is the hardest to strike, when I wrestle and cry and fight with the words the most, it’s usually because the message needs to be written. I just pray that I can be faithful.
I also pray that your wife doesn’t read your comment about her breaking her ankle. 🙂
A read I needed. Thank you.
So powerful. I’m recovering from my second brain surgery since December. Been couch bound since last November tho. We have 7 young children. I can so relate to the questions you posed on who we are when we cannot give, earn etc. I was the homeschool (11 yrs) bread making, everything from scratch, perfect house type mom who now cannot walk without assistance. 6 months changed my world. I’m learning new depths of God’s grace and what it really means.
Dawn, your comment is so humbling. Here I am, feeling inadequate after ten days on the couch, knowing I’ll recover soon enough if I just behave myself. I can’t imagine being in your position. I am reminded (again) that I have so much to be thankful for. Thank you for your comment. Whether you intended to or not, you have encouraged me to be more thankful.
Kristin,
We were so sorry to hear about your ankle. I’ve done the same thing about 3 times on the same ankle. I know how you’re feeling. Hopefully you won’t experience this a 2nd time. Loved reading your story. As one has already said, “This too shall pass”. I wrapped mine and kept it on ice and elevated. You are missed at church. We’re praying for your recovery.
Thank you! I am thankful for all the prayers and encouragement, but it will be great to get back to church and real life again!
Thanks Kristen. You know I really needed this message.
Me too. 🙂
Wow…I thoroughly enjoyed this post. Beautiful insights. Thank you for being so honest and opening up my eyes to the grace and love in their purest form. Amazing.
Thank you for reading!
I know its not much but *hugs* this too shall pass.
(And hey just be glad you aren’t my friend- she broke her ankle last new years in 3 places. She was laid up with that for 4+ months, with me going over 4-5 hours a day, 4 days a week to help her out (they have a dog rescue and had 13 dogs at the time and her husband has a full time job) with whatever she needed. Shortly after she finally got up from that, she started having eye problems. Turns out her retina detached and from May-January this year, she has had SEVEN eye surgeries and just found out she will be permenantly blind in one eye)
It’s true! My light and momentary troubles are nothing compared to what many people go through every day. I have nothing to complain about, which is exactly why it surprised me to be feeling so inadequate. Your friend is blessed to have you!
As I keep reminding her I have become a very well trained minion. Also my ‘four legged boyfriend’ lives at her house (she has a 13 year old skipperke/pug mix who is madly in love with me and nearly has a heart attack whenever I walk into her house. No matter if I’ve been gone 2 minutes or 2 months.)
Oh yes, I sure know the feeling of helplessness, of guilt for asking once again for help, of having to actually say ” I can’t do this thing or that” and having to ask for help or spunking and being misearable because I have to learn to accept the change in my life. It is very hard to have to watch someoone need help or a shoulder or? and I can’t do it for them any more… 🙁 I am having to do a lot of sole searching to figure out how I can be the person I want to be in giving to others as i have tried to do for the last 64 years. Prayer and prayerful thinking are more in my life now than ever.
It is hard when life’s circumstances change how we serve and minister to others, but prayer is a mighty weapon, and unfortunately, it is too often one of the last one’s we draw out of our arsenal. Stay on your knees and God will use you more than you know!
I have a friend who just finished her 6 weeks of “no lifting” after her third c-section and I know she could relate to some of the feelings you expressed here! I will definitely be sending her the link. 🙂 Thanks for writing!
Oh my, I’ve been there! I’ve had 2 c-sections (my first and last pregnancies) and it is SO HARD to have to recuperate while taking care of a new baby. I’m glad she is out of the hardest part!
thank you. very aptly put.
The kind of love that heals ten when nine will forget… Oh, what precious love that is!!
Agreed.
Beautifully, no perfectly written as expected. I am so glad that you decided to write about this past week. You summarized eloquently what I want to write here:
http://theorangerhino.com/darn-you-thank-you/
It is so hard to admit one is not totally better….to accept love. I am glad that you did accept love AND that you are surrounded by it because you do deserve it. If there is one thing I learned when I was trying to write about a similar topic…is that it is OKAY to ask for help. It is okay to accept the love because yes you will be better physically one day and will be able to love back in the same way. That said, I have a strong suspicion that you were still on the giving end of grace when on the couch…just based on how beautiful your children behaved for you. They felt the love…they felt your grace. I have only known you a wee bit but I know that your love and your grace is always with you no matter what physical acts you do. crying baby making it hard to think straight 🙂 but hope this makes sense!!
I felt like I HAD to write it after what I told you, my friend! I kept visualizing an Orange Rhino at my door, telling me a thing or two about how to be honest when blogging, and while part of me wanted that to happen, the other part knew that I am no contest against an orange rhino, especially with my ankle in the shape it’s in. 🙂
That was a great post. I’m going to post the link on my FB page as well because I think you fleshed it out more, and covered things I didn’t touch on. Thanks for writing!
I just stumbled upon your blog and found it very interesting. I too have been thinking about how my self worth is dependent on what I can do. This post was gentle and refreshing. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you. I’d love to hear your thoughts if you write about it. Come back and share the link!
Well, that will be easy because I just wrote my first entry! Thanks for asking: http://jitterybadger.wordpress.com/
Beautifully insightful. Thanks for sharing.
Carolyn (internetelias.wordpress.com)
Thank you. I had a crisis this past week when I realized how dependent I had become (again) on my own self-righteousness. It is good, and painful, when God strips it all away.
ah yes. i am here too. on the couch on the floor. incapable of anything but loving on my family…serving them in ways which are not my daily norm…but oh the lessons and beautiful blessings that I am experiencing with the pain. His grace is sufficient for each moment.
thank you for your honesty. heal quickly. blessings
ah yes. I am there too. in a very strange position of not being able to do that which I love. one day normal the next…incapable to do anything but to live and love. this has been a tremendous blessing in my life (strangely) and has allowed me to see things very differently, and brought a huge measure of peace to my heart.
thanks for your honesty. heal quickly. blessings
Just like God’s grace – there because we absolutely can do nothing to deserve it!
And thumbs-up to Paul who works so hard to make it/and you better!
He is a sweetie! I was shocked–just shocked–to realize how much my self-worth was dependent on what I could do. Here I am again, trying to do things on my own, as if I only needed grace then and not now.
God is doing a big, big work in your life, Kristie. It’s a messy and beautiful place to be.
Messy beautiful. Absolutely!
Thank you, Barbarah!