Twin Twangs: Mercy in Reinjury

I’m not much of a dancer. But I have been taking lessons on slow dancing the last couple of months. 

Truthfully, I’ve been fading my lessons. Life was moving faster. In the past two weeks, I moved out of my (CAM) boot scoot and was doing more tennis shoe boogie. I did not fear reinjury.

More Lessons

But I think the good Lord wanted more lessons with me. He had more lessons to teach: how to hold cling to him and gracefully follow his lead, and defintely more practice with footwork.

He wanted more slow songs for us to dance.

How do I know?

Because of the twangs.

Reinjury

Re-rupture is the worst case scenario in the Achilles rupture healing process. I’m nine-weeks post-surgical repair of a complete rupture.

I’m almost two weeks out of my boot. It’s been a long spring with one good leg. But physical therapy has begun and is going swimmingly. Last week at PT, I heard, “most motivated patient,” “mobility adequate for normal gait” and also, “doing great.”  

I’ve been doing my heel reaises and toe lifts and had hoped to resume slow walks with friends next month.

But my Lord wanted more time with me. 

Twin Twangs

I know because of the twangs.

The strings were plucked this morning: twang, twang. An invisible hand plucked those strings above my heel on my second step off the church stage.  

The twin twangs meant my healing was postponed. They mean reinjury. My walking was set back. 

It means the walks I thought I would take next month, I might take in two or three. The jog in four, might come in five or six.

It means back to the boot and the crutches and the scooter. 

It means back to the sofa for RICE. Whatever else the means, twangs spell delay.

So I forced my best poker face and limped 12 steps back to my seat. 

Mercy Meets Reinjury

Instantly there was hushed prayer from my husband and son as I dropped into my seat.

Then there were strong men on which to lean as I unceremoniously made me way out back.

There was kindness from the men who brought out ice for me rapidly swelling ankle.

Then there was my friend Vin. I want to tell you about him, because you might need to hear it too.

Vin came out of church to tell me that just before I left the stage, he had “a sense” he should help walk me down the steps. He thinks it was a prompting of the Holy Spirit, and regrets he didn’t listen. I love Vin’s humble heart and don’t blame him once bit. I know he will heed next time. 

In the ER, the doctor confirmed re-injury, and prescribed a surgeon consult tomorrow.

But always, there’s mercy. 

As the nurse wheeled me to the car and I told her with a smile that my superpower is driving left-footed. Truth be told, I just transitioned back to right-footed a week ago after permission to shed the boot.

But I’m good with my left foot and it came in handy again.

No Good Thing Withheld

But as I drove home in the light blue disposable hospital scrubs—size “L”— a surge of self-pity hit.

I didn’t like the size L. Being inactive these months means being more mindful about food, and creative in exercise, which are variously big burdens or fun challenges, but felt like the former as I set off pushing the gas pedal with my left foot.

I fought self-pity. I fought the lie that good was kept from me with this new injury with these twin truths: 

• “No good thing does he withhold from those walk uprightly,” (Psalm 84:11). 

• “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me—“pursue” me, Hebrew scholar Alec Motyer notes—all of the days of my life,” (Psalm 23:6). 

Having that established that, and kicked out self-pity—I can do this with one good foot—I remembered these words from 19th century pastor, Phillips Brooks,

“Faith does not say, ‘I see this is good for me; therefore God must have  sent it.’ Instead, faith declares, ‘God sent it; therefore, it must be good for me.’  Faith, when walking through the dark with God, only asks him to hold his hand more tightly.”

Maybe it was the “hand thing” that led to this last thing. I’m not sure. But the words were strong.

As I drove home from the ER, these thoughts were loud—at least as loud as the twangs had been:

God wants me to go slower.

God wants more time with me.

My Creator and my Redeemer, who is also the gentle Healer, wants more time to slow dance with me. 

And who would refuse that? 

“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.“

—Psalm 63:8

Postscript: I welcome your prayers for strength and joy in this next dancing lesson. And please do let me know how I can pray for you.