Ramblings of a Healing Heart, Part Two: The Amputee

This is the second in a series of posts taken from recordings of my thoughts.  Please understand that what follows was transcribed from a recording and not put together as a well-edited, read-only document.  Read accordingly...

You hurt me.  You hurt me like… you hurt me the same as if you had unexpectedly amputated a portion of my body.  The pain was excruciating.  The shock overwhelming...  And the feeling of defeat… just… completely pervasive. 

And you left me… in that state… to tend to my son… who was already fighting his way back from so much trauma, and so much upheaval, and so much fear, and doubt, and frustration, and change...  And I was handicapped...  Unable to help.  Unable to do what I was called to do.  What he needed me to do.  Unable to be there for the girls… 

They needed strength.  They needed security.  They needed confidence.  And what they had was a wounded… a wounded mother.  A wounded… unexpectedly, wounded parent.  As disabled as an amputee would be in the hospital. 

But just like an amputee, whether the amputation is expected and planned for some medical purpose or, more likely, unexpected…  Catastrophic…  I had a choice to make.  To be the victim.  To feel pity.  To give up.  To believe that life was no longer worth living.  That I would never be the same so it didn’t matter.  That the pain was just too much, and would never subside, and the best way to get through was to escape.  Or to fight.  To fight for recovery.  To fight for life.  To fight for the things that were important to me.  To choose to win.  To choose to survive.  To choose to not let an amputation defeat my entire being.  And I made mistakes...  And I screwed up…. But every decision I’ve made has been with the intent of living through it.  Of growing stronger.  Of using it for God’s glory.  For not letting Satan have the final say. 

I live with the same type of phantom pain that might accompany an amputee.  That piece of me is gone.   I’ll never get it back.  I’ll never see it again.  And yet, there are times I feel it as if it’s there.  Life was good.  Love was good… Divorce rips people apart.  It’s not the ending of a relationship, it’s the separation of a union.  Two people become one.  And when you split those two, they don’t just unstick.  They’re glued together.  Like paper.  When you glue two pieces of paper together you can’t just suddenly decide twenty years later to rip them apart and expect them to come right back to the way they were.  Little pieces of each will remain on each side.  Little holes and tears will show up on each piece.  There are scars that will follow me the rest of my life.  Just as if I had lost a limb.  The limb won’t grow back…  The scars will remain…  But life doesn’t have to end. 

There are plenty of amputees doing far more amazing things than they ever dreamed they would do before they lost whatever limb of their body.  Or limbs.   I have done things in the last two years, the last two-and-a-half years, that I never in my wildest dreams would have thought to do.  I ran a marathon!  A complete marathon!  26.2 miles.  Okay, I walked and ran a marathon… but I… I… the thought that I even signed up for it… The fact that I even dreamed of doing it…  Thought I could accomplish it.  Set the goal.  Did the training.  Put in the hours.  Put in the work.  I never in my life would have dreamed that I would ever accomplish a marathon.  And now I think, “Hey, that was fun! Let’s do another one.” 

I’m a changed person.  I’m the same person.  The same with scars.  The same and changed.  I’m not better, not worse - just changed.  Like an amputee who has lost a leg, or lost an arm, or maybe lost more than one...  They are not better or worse.  They are the same person… they are just changed.  And each day they decide what to do with that change.  Do they let the change… do they let the injury… do they let the missing piece define them?  Or do they let the pieces that survived be what makes them new each day? 

God makes all things new.  His mercies are new every single day.  And He renews what’s been beaten, what’s been bruised, what’s been tossed aside.  He is there for the hurt.  He is there for the sorrowful.  He is there when we make bad decisions that result in terrible consequences.  And He is there when other people make decisions that cause us pain.  But the fact of the matter is He’s there. 

Yesterday. 

Today. 

Tomorrow. 

And as a marriage amputee, I choose to follow that.  To stay with Him.  With my missing parts.  With the phantom pain.  With the memories of what was.  But with a hope… for tomorrow.  A hope of all things new.  A hope of beauty from ashes.  A hope that the changes that have been made in me will glorify Him, and that I will use all that He has given me – including the affliction and the pain – to worship Him.  And to help others follow Him as well.

I am not the same.  You have wounded me.  But I was not left for dead.  I was not left alone.  I was not tossed aside and kicked under a bag of trash and forgotten by the world.  My Heavenly Father never left me.  He sat by my bedside.  He directed the doctors.  He provided me wise counsel.  And He’s nursed me back to health. 

The phantom pain will follow me… but it’s not a daily thing anymore.  My future overshadows it.  And if there is one thing I would tell anyone in any sort of similar situation… it hurts…  the pain is real… the trauma excruciating.  But you have to decide from the beginning what will define you.  Will it be the pain?  Will it be someone else’s choice?  Or will it be the Father? 

Choose the Father. 

Let Him make all things new. 

Give Him time.  Give Him space.  And wait… as He works on you.  The light on the other side is brighter than you can imagine.  And you’ll never be the same…  but you can be changed and survive.  You can be changed and thrive.