In Our Brokenness: The Night Watches

As I lay there in the middle of the night, plagued by pain, fear, and doubt, I had to force myself to stop checking the time. It was too demoralizing. Endless thoughts, mostly fears, swirled through my mind, swooping in like pigeons on newly seeded fields.

Would I ever be able to walk again and live a normal life? I didn’t want a life confined to a bed or a wheelchair. Most of all, I hated being a burden to my loving husband.

We had always walked through life side by side, sometimes running in our early years. Over time, our pace gradually slowed to a walk, sometimes plodding and sometimes brisk.

But always walking. Always hand in hand and side by side. I wasn’t ready—let alone willing—to step aside. Bedridden? I wasn’t ready for that.

“Lord,” I thought, “I’m too young to be bedridden!” I’m not young anymore, but I’m not really old either. How could I ever face such a life?

Although no answers came, God’s presence brought peace and calm. I found reassuring comfort in the arms of our loving Heavenly Father. He was with me, just as He promised He always would be.

After I fell—or rather flew—down our marble staircase, I didn’t ask God, “Why did You let this happen?” Years of walking with God have taught me the folly of such questions. We may or may not learn those answers in heaven. But we can rest in the knowledge that God knows, and is always working on our behalf.

My first thought was amazement that I was still alive. Followed by “Thank you, God. You are here.” His comforting presence had flooded my being.

I realized that my injuries were serious when I couldn’t get up. I didn’t feel any pain, only a feeling of fogginess. (I was actually in a state of shock.)

The first question that came to mind was: ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to take me home, Lord?’ Not that I was afraid of what I might have to face. My thoughts hadn’t gone that far.

It was because I realized that my fall could have killed me, and I longed to be with Jesus.

I do love life and appreciate the gift of life that He has given me. Although my life has had its share of suffering and hardship, pain and sickness, it has been good.

Life can indeed be heartbreaking at times. But I maintain that life is good. This is especially true for a life surrounded by God’s love and filled with His presence. For a life that is covered with the assurance that He is always right there by our side.

The night is always the worst. The distractions we use to fill our lives are absent. We can’t fill the night hours with busy, restless activity, or fool ourselves into thinking that our days are meaningful.

Even the daytime hours of those 40 bedridden days became night in many ways. How to fill the hours became a nagging thought. One can only watch so many movies or read so many books, especially when holding books hurt.

The little things that had gone unnoticed before became significant. I never realized how connected our entire body is to the spine. Spinal injuries affect everything.

The doctor ordered me to lie flat on my back. It was an unnecessary order really; since I couldn’t roll over on my own. I’d never slept on my back before, so it was difficult.

When I finally found a reasonably comfortable position, I was afraid to move. Afraid of returning to that deep and unrelenting pain, I barely dared to breathe. Even moving my arms up or down a few inches hurt like crazy.

As I lay there, I developed the habit of taking deep breaths and willing my body to relax. Each breath became a cry for God’s peace, presence, and touch.

It didn’t take me long to discover the medicinal value of music. During the day, I added hymnal instrumentals to my playlist . They became my constant nighttime companion, providing me with God’s rest. Sleep came with those natural, or perhaps spiritual, sleeping pills.

I filled my days with reading. Missionary stories that recounted God’s faithfulness. Corrie ten Boom’s reminders that no pit is so deep that God’s love is not deeper still. The amusing stories of veterinarian James Harriot which brought fun and laughter.

And the Bible. I got so far ahead of my daily reading plan, that I figuratively threw it out in the window. I couldn’t reach the window or see out of it.

Hubby had moved us into our daughter’s vacant house next to ours, because the bathroom and kitchen are on the same floor. The kitchen has only one small window and the bathroom none. I slept on a bed that he set up in the kitchen.

He would put on my back brace and lift me out of bed, to help me hobble to the bathroom, so thankfully I didn’t have to wear diapers. My catheter meant that we didn’t have to face this ordeal too often.

My view of the outside world consisted of brief glimpses through that tiny window. Through it I could see only a small, dilapidated shed. I memorized the room, and made a game of finding images in the patterns of the brick ceiling. I found a family of cats up there, and decided to call them Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail. Never mind that they were rabbit names. They became like childhood friends to me.

I anticipated the next mealtime when Hubby would find time to sit next to me. The whole time I was waiting and hoping for my broken spine, shoulder, and bruises to heal. Old bones don’t heal quickly. Sometimes they never do.

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I learned a lot about myself during those long days and seemingly endless nights. It wasn’t always pretty. I came to appreciate my hubby’s faithfulness more. But most of all I got to know God in a new way.

I learned that He is the lover of broken things, broken souls, and broken people.

I kept beating myself up for not turning on the light. Granted, I was more asleep than awake; I was practically sleepwalking. But I knew that all this mess could have been avoided if only I had switched the light on. I berated myself for my stupidity.

I learned that God takes our “if onlys” and turns them into opportunities.

In life, we often have to confront our “if onlys.” Those instances that haunt us with thoughts of what we should have or shouldn’t have done. “If only I had, or hadn’t.” We torture ourselves over moments of forgetfulness, procrastination, failure, and neglect.

We are all broken and flawed in some way. None of us really lives up to even our own modest standards, let alone God’s. We are flawed, and we know it.

Deep down, we want to be more. To do better. We want to stop failing, and to put our failures aside.

Yet we cling to these things as if they were our lifelines.

The cost of change is too high, the price too great. Change and improvement require effort and energy. It is, after all, easier to cling to the things that harm or even destroy us.

We should eat better and exercise more. We should give up our addictions, whether to the internet, television, sleeping in, or working too much (or too little).

But we don’t, and we beat ourselves up about it.

During those days of enforced bed rest, which were not restful at all, I saw myself more clearly. I didn’t always like what I saw.

But the long hours of thinking and communing with God made me see more clearly than ever that I am not enough. I will never be enough.

I acknowledged that I am a broken, flawed person. I am full of mistakes, faults, and failures.

This made me turn even more to the only One who is always enough.

He is enough when we fail. He can transform our failures into new beginnings. He is enough when we succumb to the sins of fear, despair, and apathy. He comes with new hope, peace, and the chance to try again.

Yes, we fail. We falter. We even fall. But if we walk with God, we will always find Him at our side, catching us when we fall and picking us up again and again.

He will take our lives in new directions. With His help, we can stop making the same mistakes. We can stop procrastinating once and for all.

I lay there in bed, battered, bruised and broken, body and soul. I learned that Jesus is the healer of broken souls. The comforter of broken bodies.

Sometimes healing never comes. However, when we are truly whole and healed on the inside, God’s strength and comforting presence are more than enough.

In my brokenness, I turned to the One who is present in our brokenness. He doesn’t turn away from it or leave us in it.

He is there in all our brokenness and unworthiness, waiting to fix it. To heal and to make us whole.

It is precisely our brokenness and fragility, in fact, that opens the door to his healing touch and the fullness of his presence.

Leave the broken irreversible past in God’s hands, and step out into the invincible future with Him. [He will be right there with us.]

Oswalk Chambers

📷 Image credits: Bedside lamp | Bible | Sad face | Others are mine.