Why Me? or What Now?
Thenext day after the accident, help began streaming in—from family, from neighbors,from friends, and from church family. Meal after meal magically landed in ourkitchen. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but those that were helping me didand sure didn’t have time to cook. Our church is in the next town over, so someof our church members traveled at least an hour to bring food. And this went onfor weeks.
Whenwe brought our son home, we looked at him a few days in, and said “How could anine-pound baby turn the whole house upside down?” Well, I was a much biggerbaby than that with my inability to help myself, and I had turned the housetopsy turvy. Ours was an unmanageable situation with just Jerry and me. But we would find we had an embarrassment of riches in family and friends. Therewas no way he could do all my jobs and his jobs here, as well as pastor a church, so ourdaughter Bethany came to organize meals, help with caregiving for a time, and put together clothing I could get on over thehuge casts. Our daughter Mari hired caregivers and housekeepers, and our sonAaron who was sick himself at the time later stepped in to help with essentialwork. My sister, Tammy, Mari, and our friend Marni scoured the internet forhelpful clothing and equipment that would make our lives easier. Our foyer looked like a warehouse with the Amazondriver's daily visits.
Ididn’t know as I sat in the hand specialist’s office that weeks later I would later learn hewas also an artist. While an undergraduate at the University of North Carolina,before his orthopedic ambitions, he drew a picture of outreached hands with the scripture Luke 9:1-6, which includes Jesus instructions to the disciples, "...He sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal the sick." It is an astounding prophetic drawingwhich hangs in his office today. It was this believing physician who put my wristsback together.
Ihad a choice about whether to have surgery, but I was told my hands could growback pointing upward or inward if I didn’t, so for me there was no choice. Myhands were how I did all the things I loved to do and often how I served theLord. I decided to go forward at once, and the surgery was thankfully scheduledfor the next day. I was a deer in the headlights with things happening soquickly.
Oneof my biggest concerns was my lungs. I’d had trouble recovering from pneumoniain January and here in May, I was still using a maximum dose with my inhaler.But once contacted, my pulmonologist sent a message that he believed I’d befine. His confidence boosted mine and when I arrived the next day for thesurgery, I had no fear.
Oneway God showed up on the day of surgery is through a group gathered in thewaiting room surrounding a young woman who also faced surgery. We found outthey were from a church, and she was afraid, crying in fact. I rose from myseat, knelt beside her, and had an opportunity to encourage her. Then I asked,“Could I pray for you?” She nodded and it was such a sweet time. The groupbegan listening to the pastor’s wife who was leading in prayer through a zoomcall. They stopped her and requested she pray for me—so precious. Then when thedoc visited me before surgery, he asked me if he could pray for me. I experiencedsuch a sense of the Lord’s presence that entire morning.
When I awoke, I felt much as I did when I wentin, just groggier. My new casts were still from above elbow but at least stopped abit shorter at my knuckles. I was still swollen and if I’m honest, still feltas if I were in a nightmare. But I was going home, I wouldn’t be alone, and Iknew God was with me.
Theday after the surgery, Bethany knelt beside me and said, “Mom, you know whensomething bad happens, sometimes something else bad happens.” I nodded bracingmyself for what she might say. I knew that scenario all too well. “Well, yourcloset rods have fallen.”
Sureenough, for some unknown reason, every rod on one side had given way andcollapsed. I sighed. Really in the scheme of things, it didn’t matter, I wasnot going to be using much from that closet anyway since I was so limited inwhat I could wear. “Just close the door. We’ll deal with it later,” I told her.
Andwe did. But as I thought about it, those closet rods would provide another metaphorfor what was happening in my life.
Acouple of weeks later, my son came, and I gave him instructions. He took everythingfrom the closet, so the shelves and rods could be repaired. I decided since itwas empty, it was time to purge, because my closet had become something of amuseum. And then slowly for a few minutes a day since I really couldn’t be upfor long at a time (anesthesia effects and other reasons), with one of myhelpers to be my hands, we evaluated what to keep and what to let go of. Bagafter bag was carried away.
Inmy life, everything had fallen. My life closet of to do lists had been cleanedout—my projects, my lifelong position as a church pianist, my writing (finaledits for a new book came in three days after the accident), and painting.
Aquestion folks often ask at a time like this is, “Why?” or its variation “Whyme?” I gave up that question twenty-five years ago when a friend took her ownlife and that event coupled with earlier trauma sent me into post-traumaticstress. Just as I was improving a couple of years later, I was diagnosed withbreast cancer when my children were six and eight. But by then, I’d given up on“Why?” because the Lord had shown me that I didn’t have the puzzle pieces to understandthe answer to that question—it was the finite trying to understand the infinite.“Why me?” leads to fist shaking at God demanding he defend himself. It leads toa dying spirit and really no exit door. I learned to trust God and His reasonsfor why he allowed all of it to happen.
The question I began to ask all thoseyears ago was “What now?” which is apath to a renewed spirit, and God’s unlimited possibilities. Theanswer to that had to do with writing—in fact, the beginning of the books andblog posts was during that time. That was the answer to my “What now?” then,and I thought would continue to be so, but God might want to do something new.We’d see.
Mysituation with two fractured wrists would take praying and pondering. During thistime, the Lord instructed me not to move too fast into telling the story butgive myself time to process. I wondered what I would put back into my closetand what I would let go of. We’d see. Butagain, in the meantime I saw so many ways God was present and with me. That wasmore than enough.
Beverly Varnado's most recent book is In Search of the Painted Bunting, a middle grade historical from Elk Lake Publishing, #1 in new releases in its category. She is also the author of several small town romances from Anaiah Press including her latest, A Season for Everything. All are available at Amazon. To explore the web version of One Ringing Bell, please visit bev-oneringingbell.blogspot.comTo sign up for her newsletter, go to http://eepurl.com/dHNdsX Beverly Varnado copyright 2023
