You never know panic until a doctor is standing barely 2 inches away from your hospital bed telling you there are only two options; get paralyzed or die. When you’re told that any small movement could jeopardize your God given miracle.
“Move your neck a little and you die”
You’re told this so often that it has become a reflex thought, sinking into the depths of your subconscious so much so that even when you’re asleep, you still find yourself adhering to those words. Your neck stays still.
Each time I say to someone
“I fractured my spine”
I watch the way their face changes and their eyes instantly scan me from head to toe searching for any abnormalities then this expression gives way to awe and confusion when they find none. I hear people say all the time: “You’re so strong” and I smile on the inside because I know how untrue that is. Do they know how many times I cry myself to sleep struggling with ungrateful frustrations? Or how many times I want to tear my hair out because I’m in so much pain that my pride would not let me admit. Or how “acting” strong becomes so tiring at times and so I avoid people so they don’t ask me too many questions. If only you knew the depths of my pain, the height of my frustrations, the width of my struggles, you wouldn’t call me strong. Sometimes, while I lay in my bed alone (after I have chased everyone away of course) I fear that I might not be the same anymore. I fear that this would scar me in ways that I cannot recover. But above all my fears, the worst still was the fear that death was just around the corner and this my miracle might just not last long. So everytime I moved in ways that I shouldn’t have, everytime I breathed wrongly, for every strange pain I felt, every awkward step I took, every temperature, the shivers in my hands and feet, I heard those blunt words of my doctor. “Your situation is critical. Any wrong move and you die” So each of those times, fear ruptured my heart and induced tears of frustration and empty cries to Abba to keep me alive knowing fully well that I probably didn’t deserve to live. I mean, who was I?
But in the end, in the last weeks before the cast was removed, I realised something
My grace is all you need. My strength is made perfect in your weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses so that christs power may dwell on me. That is why for christs sake, I delight in weaknesses, insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties for when I am weak, then I am strong. -2 cor 12:9-10
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.” . -The MSG version
The thing is, I was weak a lot and many times my strength failed me, my faith sometimes bacame too weak for me to hope for the best. But in all of this, I was strong. Because I didn’t have to rely on my own strength. I had him to rest on. He was the crutches to my injured self. I stopped worrying about what might happen or trying to be strong. I just simply took safety in the comfort of his arms and let him do all the healing in his own time
– Story by Yours always, Eva. 🙈
I don’t know which of you reading this is going through a phase, but someone is. And this post is just for you. You’re not alone. It’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be human. Just remember, He’s there. All day, everyday. He’s with you. His strength is made perfect in your weakness. Allow yourself feel things. Denial doesn’t bring healing, it merely delays the inevitable crash down. It’s okay if you’re not okay. In due time, you will be whole. Just let him work in you and through you then one day, your experience will be a testimony to others. Cast all your cares to him, for he cares for you.