I’ve said it before, and it’s worth repeating – I’m a Klutz. I recently posted to FaceBook that my clumsiness is my Super Power, and I’m apparently not alone…
- I was told once by a teacher that I could trip over a line painted on the floor. Sadly, she was right.
- My wrists are magnetic! So when I walk by doors, the knobs slam into me!
- I am able to locate any purse strap, loose piece of fabric, power cord and the such with either of my big toes….not only that, but then propelling myself forward in an uncontrolled short flight that ends in a very ungraceful landing
And one overachiever coupled her Super Power with Magic Mental Powers..
- I use telekinesis to move walls and closed doors into my path, so I can crash into them daily
A couple of evenings ago, I took a good tumble UP a short flight of steps. Yes, UP! Not unlike the pumped-up attitude of refusing to make multiple trips from the car with grocery bags, I had my hands full of dishes that I was determined to get to the kitchen in one trip. MyLove was in the garage enjoying his pre-sleep-smoke when he heard a sound resembling a truck/trailer crossing the train tracks. Nope, that was my NotSoGracefulSelf falling up the steps. At the crest of this short flight of steps is a large landing adjacent to a wall we lovingly call the Wall of Shame (ironic, huh?). Thankfully (sarcasm) my head, pile-driving into the wall, stopped the momentum of my less than graceful ascension. MyLove enters the room to discover his wailing bride in a heap of broken dishes and globs of potato soup on the floor. (Remind me to tell you another flailing potato soup story later) MyLove was trying to console and calm me when he discovered my blood stained dress and Dexter-esque blood trail on the floor. He tracked it back to it’s source, a gash on my leg. The funny thing, my leg didn’t hurt. My arm was the origin-of-the-moment. In a wave that seemed to swell from nowhere, the pain in my head bubbled up like a fountain that wouldn’t quit. MyLove is a great triage-nurse; a cold, damp towel was placed on my war-wound and quickly assessed we needed to get checked out. In my ever poetic sense of timing, it’s about 4 minutes too late to get to an Immediate Care, so off we go to the Emergency Room. I won’t go on-and-on about the sub-par experience, but I will spew a brief rant…
- If you are at the ER with stomach pain, do not F’n eat McD’s while you wait to be seen.
- I understand accidents and tumbles happen, but if you have the time to put on a clean Winnie-the-Pooh nightgown, you have time to put on a bra!
- Yelling loudly while on your bluetooth/cell phone makes you look like you belong on the 4th floor, not ER
- The healthcare system is most definitely broken, and the ER is not intended to replace a doctor’s office
- Nurses are not the enemy, they are the ones in the greatest battle in the room. Long shifts, stinky bloody crabby-ass people, and life and death at their fingertips. (Thank you nurses!)
Back to Clumsyville…
After a CT Scan of my coconut and x-rays to look for broken bones in my arm and legs, I leave the ER with a case of broken pride, a few stitches in my leg and a mild concussion. As we arrive home, I’m reminded that MyLove is the bestest and chose to scoop me up to go to the ER instead of scooping up broken dishes and flung-soup first. (Admit it wives, you aren’t so sure you would have done it that way) He settles me into bed, now nearly 4 hours after heading out for that last.smoke.of.the.night, and heads off to clean up the mess of broken dishes on the landing.
We live right next to the train tracks and we’ve gotten used to the noise. But on this morning, it feels as though the train and tracks are running through the house. I’m feeling pretty safe to be alone and take care of myself for the day, and don’t plan much more than holding down my couch.
I manage the day in a groggy-foggy and then happily rejoice upon discovery that my new “I love Jesus but I Cuss a Little” glass survived the crash. As I pick it up to fill it with Iced Tea, I experience a sharp pain and a surge of blood from my finger; giving proof that my rejoicing is now being replaced with F-words. My iPhone blows up in messages and emails of continued conflicting consistency. The messages of praise, pumping my ego, for the words of my book now comes crashing into the news of my child’s friend’s life hanging in the fringe of an assault. An assault of the ego, from a man choosing to remedy the situation with a gun. I attempt to sort through the opposing messages flooding my brain. This is a daunting task on a good day, but on a day that is filled with discomfort and Norco, there isn’t much logical sorting taking shape. Just a lot of sighing and confusion most easily remedied by a nap.
The day after the next day…
When did Snidley Whiplash come along and tie me to the train tracks? The physical pain coursing through my body seems ridiculously overplayed and delayed for a tumble 36 hours prior. The heat that seems to be originating in my head floods through me like oatmeal. (I hate oatmeal) It seems heavy and thick and settling in random places. I’m not sure how this day will play out, but it will likely involve Advil and a pillow. Even through the slow moving oatmeal sludge, the message is not lost on me; when light shines through the mess; the revelation that was an even greater unfolding of such a timeline…
Day One: Our Jesus took ALL the garbage of our NotSoGracefulSelf to the Cross, He chose to make one trip, with His hands full of our sin, our nails
The Next Day: Our world waits in a groggy-foggy sludge of continued conflicting consistency, our own darkness clashing with the will of God, His promises
The Day After the Next Day: The stone has been rolled away! The Heavens rejoice for Its Son is no longer held captive by the tomb. A new life, a new purpose awaits us all.
We all have moments in our life when we stumble and fall. In a moment, on a path we’ve traveled a zillion times, we trip, stumble, tumble and face-plant. We are left in a heap, wondering how we got there. We are looking around at the mess left in the wake, too busy to notice the wound that demands attention. Possibly what hurts most, isn’t truly the source of the most damage.
Sometimes, we need someone to come along and point out the source of our trauma. Or we sit in the ‘waiting room’ of life and judge the level of other people’s traumas and assess our own as being less than or greater than others. Being our own triage nurse, determining whether we should be have a referral to head to the front of the line or go to the back.
We have a certainty that a handlebar-mustached villain has come into play and we couldn’t possibly be responsible for the pain. We self medicate to numb the pain or retreat to a place where we can pull the sheets over our head and retreat.
In a haze, we clumsily trudge through life, in one moment happy for the littlest things only to discover the truth and smash it into the garbage.
At some point, we are left with the sludge in our soul that is heavy and settled. We must make a willful, intentional decision to sit in the mire or move through it.
Yes, there will be moments of rest needed. There will be moments needed to refuel and recharge. But the decision is ours to what we will allow into our life and what we are feeding others…
Joy is a choice
Choose life-giving words
Choose positively-purposeful people
Get out of your own way
Rest where you’ve landed and allow others to help you
Do not reflect the Wall.of.Shame, be a shining light even in your own darkness
And when you find yourself flat on your back, you can choose to look around at the mess OR…
You can be still for a moment, look UP and know for certain He is God!
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.” (Psalm 46:10 NIV)