Vision and Peace and the Return of the Fanny Pack

Remember doing this in grade school?  What object doesn't belong?

If this was grade school, if you said the boot, you'd get a big red-penned smiley face next to your answer. 

But several miles west of grade school, these objects all describe our moving weekend. Thursday night, I broke my fibula.  Wish I could tell you an amazing story at this point about para sailing or skydiving -  some activity meriting a broken ankle.  I can't.  Walking down the stairs, I stepped down wrong, rolling my foot and snapping bone.  Just like that.

Let me tell you, I'm not a-sit-around-and wait-for people-to-help-you sort of girl.  I like rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.  I like independence.  I like the freedom of loading my kids up in the car and going on some adventure.  I like being able to walk up the stairs to kiss them goodnight.  I like to sit outside on a blanket in the uneven grass with my son; kick the soccer ball around with my daughter.  I like taking care of my husband, making sure his work clothes are ready for the week, trying out new recipes he'll like.  I've been looking forward to setting up our new home, getting organized just so. 

I can't put weight on my right foot for 6-8 weeks, maybe more if surgery is needed.  I'm not sure how a pregnant momma of two little ones with spring outside survives a sentence like that.....but I know we will.

It's so easy to doggie paddle in the deep end of self pity, thinking about all the ways this inconveniences my life; going down the list of things I won't be able to do with a big yellow "why me" highlighter.  A shower becomes a production.  A trip to the grocery by myself, impossible.  Book on the floor, a major hazard.  Trust me, I've had my doggie-paddling moments already.

It'd be so easy to stay there, highlighter poised.  6-8 weeks is a long time.  But it isn't forever.  And it certainly isn't life-threatening.  I feel pain, but at least I know the pain will end.  I have a support system surrounding me, family and friends jumping in to help out.  Many suffer alone.  Above all these things, I belong to a God who sees.  A God who cares.

I hope Jon and I look back on this season and laugh as we remember the fanny pack I broke out to get things from place to place, hobbling around on crutches.  (Okay, for now the fanny pack is a joke.  I'm using my pockets.  But in a week or two, I might be pretty tempted...)  I hope we look back and remember the family and friends who showed up, not because they were obligated but because this is part of life, too, and all a part of doing life together.  I hope we remember with absolute clarity how our Good God was near us, providing all we needed along the way. 

Let's try again.  What doesn't belong?

A loving family.

Supportive friends.

A kind God.

An ungrateful heart.

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.

Melody Beattie

Photos by Kenna.