A new material
It was the fifth hit in a row that came right to me as the only girl playing softball on either team. The other team of try-hards found great pleasure in hitting the ball right at me. The ball bounced off the ground in a weird way and made a unique sound as it hit my thumb. I grabbed the ball anyway and got the guy out (very important detail). I high-fived my friend and then went to high-five another and he just pointed at my thumb and a stream of gushing blood.
Walking off the field I touched my nicely painted thumb nail and realized it was no longer attached to my body. When I went to the ER they asked what my pain was and I said, eh, maybe 2/10. They asked if I thought it was broken and I said no.
Turns out the thumb bone was shattered and it was an open fracture poking through my skin. After 11 stitches in my nail bed, IV antibiotics, and having my nail sewn back onto my thumb to help the new nail grow in, I was discharged good as new.
Hopefully you are still reading and I didn’t gross you out too much. I include all of those details so you understand when I say that my right thumb has never been the same. It is a lot shorter than it used to be, the new nail grew in crooked and off center, and the nail itself is made of entirely different material.
I really like things to be symmetrical (except for my socks) so I often look at my two thumbs next to each other and shake my head at how different they are now. The other day I was looking at my thumbs and I realized that this right thumb of mine is a great metaphor for the current state of my life.
When something traumatic happens, the focus is on solving the immediate problem. But even after healing has occurred, oftentimes it is still never quite the same. My thumb nail is a thumb nail, but it is entirely different. It doesn’t even hold nail polish the same as my original nails. It does the job, but the short stubby thumb will never be what it used to be.
I am finding these days that I am my own worst enemy. I often find myself ridiculing the fact that “I used to…xyz without even thinking twice.” I am realizing that in order to heal I need to recognize that I am made of an entirely different material now. I know in my core that this new material will turn out to be exponentially stronger than the material I was made of before. But, in order to get to that point I need to recognize and surrender to the fact that things are forever changed.
When I stare at my mismatching thumbs it does not bring me any closer to restoring my pre-smashed thumb. When I stare at my old life and kick myself for what I used to do without thinking twice, I am also not any closer to restoring my life.
On March 6th, it will be four years since my heart decided to have a mind of its own. On March 2nd, it will be 9 months since brilliant medical staff burned and shocked my heart back to a normal rhythm. A lot of people expected my whole life to be shocked back to normal that day and to be honest, so did I.
My thumb was shattered in half a second and it’s never been the same. The shattering of nearly every corner of my life dragged on over 3.5 years in tandem with a wonky heart that provided the repeated visceral reminder of how thin the veil is between life and death. I am slowly realizing my healing has been delayed because I expected all the damage to be burned away along with the naughty heart cells.
In order to begin healing, I need to recognize and surrender to the fact that I am made of entirely different material now. The other day I cried harder than I have cried in a long time as I realized that I can’t get my old life back, it is gone and I am forever different now. As I cried and talked to my mom I told her about the verse that says “Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.” (Psalm 126:5). As I cried, I asked both her and God, “WHEN?!” I have sowed a lot of tears over these years and I wonder when the reaping with songs of joy begins.
I heard a new-to-me song today that said “I will trust the detour is the road”. I have been trying so hard to get off the detour and back to the road. But I am learning that by accepting the detour as the road, I begin moving again.
As everything broke I was frozen by the fact that everything can break at any moment. Experiencing the fragility of life in such a visceral way changed me, but now I am learning the second more important part of that reality.
Yes, it is true that all is fragile. But all is held.
All is fragile, but all is held.
A couple months ago I had a bracelet made that says, “Jesus holds me.” The Creator of all things is grieved by the ways I have been broken, but he confidently holds all of those pieces together and he WILL make this detour beautiful. As the song says later, “I am safe to hope.” With all of my pieces held safely in the hands of Jesus, I know I am safe to hope.