Signora Sheila

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 proved too demoralizing. Endless thoughts swirled through my mind, mostly fears, swooping in like pigeons on newly seeded fields.

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

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

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!” Not young anymore, but not really old. How could I ever face such a life?

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

After I fell, or rather flew, down our marble staircase, I did not 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.

But when I couldn’t get up, I realized that my injuries were serious. I felt no pain, only a feeling of fogginess. (I was actually in a state of shock.)

That’s when the first question came to mind: ‘Wouldn’t it have been better for you to take me home, Lord?’ Not that I was afraid of what was to come. My thoughts hadn’t gone that far.

But 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. Especially a life that is surrounded by God’s love, and filled with His presence. Covered with the assurance that He is always right there by our side.

The night is always the worst of all times. Gone are the distractions we fill our lives with. We can’t fill the hours with busy, restless activity. Or fool ourselves into thinking that our days are meaningful.

Even the daytime of those 40 bedridden days became night in many ways. How to fill the hours was a nagging thought. A person can only watch so many movies or read so many books, especially when it hurts to hold the books up.

Little things that had gone unnoticed became big. I never realized how much our entire body is connected to the spine. Spinal injuries affect everything.

The doctor ordered me to lie flat on my back. Unnecessary orders really; I couldn’t roll over on my own. I’d never slept on my back before; it was a struggle.

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

So as I lay there, I developed the habit of breathing deeply, willing my body to relax. Each breath became a cry for God’s peace, presence, and touch.

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

Days filled with reading. Missionary stories of 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 has none. I slept on a bed he put 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 no diapers added to my indignities. And my catheter meant that we didn’t have to face this ordeal too often.

My view of the outside world consisted of brief glimpses out of that tiny window, through which I could see only a small, dilapitated 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.

Anticipation became waiting for the next meal, the times when Hubby found time to sit next to me. All the while hoping and waiting 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 endless nights. It wasn’t always a pretty picture. I came to appreciated my hubby’s faithfulness more. But most of all I came to know God in a new way.

I learned that He is the lover of broken things, of 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 I had only… I berated myself for my stupidity.

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

We often have to face “if onlys” in life. Our forgetfulness, our procrastination, our failures, our neglect.

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

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

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

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

We should eat better, exercise more. We should give up our addictions, whether to the Internet or television, sleeping too late, working too much (or not enough).

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

I saw myself more clearly during those enforced days of “bed rest,” which is not restful at all. And I didn’t always like what I saw.

But the long hours of so much thinking, along with the hours of communing with God made me to see more clearly than ever that I am not enough. And never will be.

I admitted more than ever that I am a broken, flawed person. Full of mistakes, faults, and failures.

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

He is enough when we fail. And He can turn our failures into new beginnings. He is enough when we fall into the sins of fear, despair, and apathy. And 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, picking us up again and again.

And taking our lives in new directions. So we can stop making the same mistakes. So 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.

Because sometimes healing never comes. But when we are truly whole and healed on the inside, His strength and comforting presence is enough.

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

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

For it is our very brokenness that opens the way for his healing touch and the wholeness 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