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I don’t think it’s fair to label this year “hard.” It was, but when I look at the suffering in the world these days, I think I’m ok with lowering its status to “unexpected” and “things I wouldn’t have chosen.” And the ending to all of these mostly unwelcome surprises has been happy – testaments to the faithfulness of God and the fullness of the friendships and relationships we’ve cultivated. They have been pulsating stones, screaming of God’s kindness to me.

I don’t deserve it. But I am grateful.

Bodily Harm

I broke my foot and was told I would never walk again. Spoiler alert: I did. But there were several months where we stared down the possibility of ramps and scooters, rails in the bathroom, and reorganizing our whole physical state to make allowances for an unusable foot.

I was not content with that diagnosis and neither was my husband. He helped me fight for answers. Miraculously, with my daughters holding my hand and cheering, I defied my doctor’s orders and took my first steps. I learned to revel in the feel of the carpet underneath my feet, I counted steps and wiggled my toes to remind myself they were working. I turned my one-legged workouts into two-legged endeavors again, rejoicing with each tiny inch of progress. And on the day I finally hopped and lunged without pain and with full abandon, I laughed out loud to see that working limb in the basement mirror.

With exhilaration, I pushed my body onward, faster, I watched my toes as they hopped and spread and caught me and I was thrilled, each cell crying out “Glory!” as I jumped. And then I was flying…

Backward.

I put my hands behind me and felt the sickening crunch as they absorbed my impact and crumpled.

My wrists were broken.

Nothing for it but to laugh, to cry, to call out to Jesus and my sons who were scrambling to find me ice and their daddy.

And then, in the days that followed, I looked down the timeline of what I hope is my boring ascension into the state of being elderly and experienced a small taste of being sound of mind but betrayed by my body. Of being humbled to accept new levels of basic help. Of being fed, having straws in my beverages, and being dressed. I didn’t feel nearly 42. I felt 82 and then some.

In both of these situations, my humiliation was covered up by the kindness of my family, my friends, even my students, who carried my books, moved my chairs, opened my water bottle, wiped my chin (that was just my husband), and met every need and comfort I wished for.

There were good doctors, kind nurses, and the gentlest, most patient husband on the planet. The thought of him tenderly slathering me with my nightly skincare serums or feeding me dinner will never not make me weep just a little. I was in pain, I was broken, but so many people wrapped me up in their arms and said, Hey, we’ll carry you a minute.

And I didn’t know how badly I needed that kindness.

Sad Goodbyes

I walked away from a job that mattered to me this year. (Ok, truthfully, I hobbled.) In fact, the woman who all but crawled out of the school building in May was emotionally and physically spent. The decision to leave was painful, messy, and not what I would want in a perfect world. I left students and co-workers behind who I love dearly. I worked hard to forge those relationships, to earn trust, to do a job I was proud of. I do not regret those moments or the energy I expended on them. But I grieve what was lost and what might have been. I left with my confidence shredded and a healthy fear of unchecked power.

There’s a happy ending here, too. God was already weaving another job, handmade for me, with people who value my skills and trust my judgment. I work from home, sitting beside my husband, and this week when my kids went to school we finally understood why everyone who didn’t homeschool or teach was always so excited about “back to school.”

(Admittedly, I did NOT feel that way when my kids drove down the driveway without me that first day. I felt left out. I liked being in the building with them and I missed my students!)

But, um, now I understand and this new season is really ok with me after all.

I sit here today, officially 42, and can say we’re turning a corner. My limbs are on track to serve their purposes for another 42 years, at least.

And if one or three of these limbs ache and tell me a storm is coming for those 42 years, that will be ok. Because even the ache is testament to the faithfulness of God – to his unrelenting kindness. The aches remind me of my humanity, the brokenness of the world, my body, my soul. They remind me that I need saving. But God – He heals bones and He heals broken people. He heals us of sadness and He redeems us from our sinful nature and willful paths of destruction. I can literally feel in my bones that, in my weakness, He Is Strong.

Some women reach middle age and get a cool tattoo on their forearms to remind them of the lessons they’ve learned in life. Mine would probably read “Fragile. Handle With Care.”

But instead of a tattoo, I’ve got jagged scars and achy wrists as my potent reminder of my frailty. And that’s pretty cool, too.