Broken Strength

The minutes drug by as I struggled not to give in and cry. Sitting alone on the table I felt so very small, cold and helpless. A grown adult I attempted to belittle myself about my pain.

"You see kids running around with broken arms all the time. Come on...grow up. Quit sniveling! No seriously...STOP. Oh geez...you are going to start again."

A nurse came in the room at that moment, saw my eyes and immediately asked if I had taken the pain medication that had been given me. I didn't want to be bothered, so I said "Yes." The truth was I hadn't taken it since I had to drive myself. She began laying out all the things the doctor would need to set my arm in its final cast. Chirping about her day, attempting a cordial bedside manner and then she lied.


"You know your bone will grow back stronger. You'll be even better than before."

I knew better than that, but for a moment I laughed and said, "tell the doctor to come in and break all of me then."

During the weeks of healing, I felt the weakest I had ever felt. Handicapped. Dependent. I would go to the store and someone would always offer to help me. I would deny them and learn to do it by myself.

Then came the day that the cast came off. The doctor sat and looked at it; a frown taking the place of what I expected to be a smile and a cheery wave as I skipped cast free from that office. More xrays and more time waiting on that table. He finally came in and held my arm at the healed break.

"We are going to have to rebreak this. It didn't heal the way it should have. Did you use it? For appearances you will always have a lump there."

I snatched my arm back as though he had ripped a baby from my arms. Indignant, but mostly scared.


"I will not have my arm broken by someone again."

There was no smile or cheery wave as I left the room without being excused and never looked back.

The truth was I had used my arm. I worked through the pain because I couldn't handle being weak. I couldn't force myself to wait for the healing.

In reflecting I find this to be a theme for my life. I can't handle being weak when I am broken. I don't wait for the healing as I try to rush through the pain. The moments in my life that pushed me to my knees, I would defiantly stand back up on my feet and deny proper healing time. I think about that nurse and her lie.


"You know your bone will grow back stronger. You'll be even better than before."

Although it was a lie about my arm, it wasn't off the mark about my spirit. At the moment of the break; when weakness fills me; I need to allow myself time to heal properly. The pain of healing is sometimes unbearable but when allowed, can actually make you stronger.


There may be people who see the real you when you are weak, no matter the brave face you put on. They offer to help because you can't always do everything alone. I'm learning to let people help and let them see me weak. It can be painful to admit I can't do it, but then again they already knew that or they wouldn't have offered to help. Sometimes they can't actually help, but like the cast; they can surround you and protect you as you heal.

Being broken hurts. Healing is agonizing. Yet, in the end...you will be stronger.

The Ring

I have had a little problem for a couple of weeks. I tried to ignore it, I tried to wish it away; but it just kept squeezing me a little more each day. (Hey, that rhymed! Bonus points for me.)

I have this beautiful ring that my husband bought me way before we had children and we could throw money at sparkly things. It's my birthstone plus some diamonds and it is EEGADS gorgeous! I never had it sized correctly but it was just small enough to not sling off my finger when I did a "toodle-o" wave. I never really cared to wear it on my ring finger, but there is where it fit best. After I had the baby and lost the massive amounts of water weight, I noticed that the ring was a little too loose on its normal finger. I had this bright idea (seemed like it at the time) to slip the ring on my middle finger where I had always wanted it. This is my meatiest finger by far (not freakishly meaty or anything) but for some reason, with very little effort the ring eased over the knuckle and looked perfect.

Apparently that finger weight loss was temporary, like maybe 24 hours kind of temporary.

Within a day I noticed I could not absent-mindlessly just twirl the ring around. I attempted a little tug on it and it was stuck. It was not coming over that knuckle any time soon. Thus began the "Ring Extraction" mission. A little bit each day I would work on it when I thought about it. Tried dish soap, soaking my finger in ice water, wesson oil, lithium grease, sucking on my knuckle, prayers, etc. After about a week it was apparent that conventional ring removal methods were not going to work. Not only that but every day my finger would swell a little more from my effort.

Today I finally had enough. It was time to get serious with my problem. I grabbed a leather strap, put it between my teeth and yanked. There was a moment that there were sparkles in front of my eyes and I felt kind of nauseated. Now I had really done it, it was stuck on my knuckle and my whole finger was turning purple and cold. I started to really panic. I pulled out the laptop and typed out everything I could think of in Google (not easy with a swollen, dying finger) to see how long my finger could last without circulation. The results weren't pretty, so I ran to the garage and found some wire snips. At this point I enlisted the help of The Head Crayon (who said some pretty unflattering things about my intellect) to get it cut off. I was furious that it had come to this as it lay in pieces in my hand. It was off, but look at the cost. If only I had not tried to put it where it didn't belong...If only I had gotten serious about it the same day that I put it on...

How many times have we been like the ring in our own lives? We've done something on a whim that we know wasn't right and then as it starts to become uncomfortable, we make small attempts to fix it but don't grasp how serious it is. It finally gets to the point that we are lying broken and in pieces. If only we hadn't made that choice...If only we had gotten serious about fixing it before we had gotten too stuck.

I will be taking the ring to a jeweler who will know just what to do to put it back together. He will take those broken pieces and weld them back together to where there is not even a crease that shows its been cut. Just as God can take our broken pieces of our life and carefully put them back together. We just have to take it to Him and ask him to do it.

I have decided not to try on those size 6 jeans....not quite yet. Lesson learned.