I step off my bike into a hole in the grass. Down I go; it is as simple as that. Everything happens in slow motion: the fall, the break as I reach out with my left arm, the visit to urgent care followed by the nine-day wait for surgery, and eight weeks of recovery. There is no way to proceed without first accepting a slower pace.
The daily routine with a broken wing offers me a gentle invitation to rest and turn inward. There is no writing, no driving, no chopping veggies. Forget about dropping crab cages into the creek or riding a bicycle. My injury impedes opening child safety caps, making lists of any kind, and ripping open packages that arrive in sealed mailers.
I am grateful that the injury wasn’t worse and that it is merely temporary. And what a blessing that I didn’t fall during a recent overseas bike trip. I do not face this setback alone. Instead, my husband steps in as helpmate, driver, cook, and personal assistant. What a blessing to be paired with this man for 35 years. He does everything possible to fill in the gaps.
Three dear friends arrive in succession, each driving some distance, bearing food and staying for an overnight visit. My sisters jump in to bridge Mom’s caregiving needs. I notice the kindness of my neighbors through e-mails, texts, kind words before and after church, offers of rides, and multiple check-ins. When the parish food committee drops off a care package at my home, I am humbled by this grand gesture for a broken arm. I meditate on my own response to others in pain and disability. Beyond sympathetic words, I could ask them, “Are you in pain? What do you need? Can I bring a meal over?”
People ask questions when they approach me about the cast. Queries about my injury or my status land well. How did it happen? How are you feeling? Did you have surgery? Do you have a cast? Questions about the future may sting. When will you get back to driving or biking? Does this mean the end of your cycling? Ouch! Honestly, I would rather not think about that right now.
An older woman approaches me at the sign of peace on Sunday. “Who cuts your meat?” she asks. “My husband,” I answer. She says she is deferring her own shoulder surgery, because she has no one at home to drive or help out. I am deeply affected by her story, and I think about initiating a ministry of volunteer drivers for patients who live alone.
The Christian life is about falling and getting back up again, in other words, learning from the experiences of being human. My eyes have been opened a bit to people experiencing pain, navigating disability, or fending off loneliness from a missing spouse.
“I am my brother’s keeper” calls for us to care for, protect, and support one another. I feel surrounded by a loving community.
Lord, turn my trial and compassionate awareness into a path of readiness. Let me move toward those who are suffering, anticipate their needs, and offer specific assistance to meet their fragility. Amen.
Photo by José Ignacio Pompé on Unsplash.
