Bones Always Heal

Seminary was rough. But it was the good kind of rough. The kind where you come out on the other side knowing more about yourself. The kind where you experience God.

After seminary, I desired a time of healing. All I wanted to do was rest. To relax. To give my heart and my head time to process all that happened to me.

After a summer saying goodbye to the people and places that I loved. I moved to Texas.

I searched for what God had for me next. I was convinced I had landed a dream position. I hadn’t (I will talk more about that next time).

There are those who say that God causes everything that happens to us. There are those who say that God causes nothing that happens. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. God is not waiting on the other side. He is not waiting for us to succeed or fail. Nor is he waiting to give us comfort when we have finally overcome.

Rather I believe that God is present in the midst of our lives.

After losing the position, I went numb for a while. Sleep occupied my days. Well, sleep and Netflix. The fog began to lift in April. In May the skies were clear again. I felt confident that I knew what was needed. I felt confident that I could do what was needed.

On the twenty second of May, I tripped while in the front drive way. I accomplished this feat while stepping over some twigs that were roughly six inches high. As I stumbled face first, I reached out with the palms of my hands to catch myself. The impact of the fall traveled up my left arm and shattered the head of my radius (arm bone on the “outside” if your hands are by your side).

Shattered is not hyperbole.

There were shards of bone now floating in arm. Surgery was the only option. Surgery was a success. My elbow is healed and my arm is rehabbing nicely. But we need to back up.

After the initial break, my arm was in a sling for a week. Then surgery. After surgery, my arm was in a brace for a week. This was followed by three weeks of slow gradual improvement in my range of motion coupled with six weeks in a brace that prevented me from turning my arm so that my palm was facing up.

I felt helpless. I felt useless. I wondered where God could possibly be in this time.

However, I was forced to slow down, and in that slowing I found again how to rest in God’s strength.

The healing I experienced during my time at seminary was an active one. I was in engaged in learning. I was in engaged in stretching myself beyond my comfort and ease. I was engaged with friends who taught me more than words can describe.

The healing I received while in Texas was a passive one. I didn’t have the money for the surgery. I didn’t have the strength to serve. I didn’t have the faith to believe that God was present in my pain. I didn’t have the faith to believe what I was seeking was worth seeking.  I had to ask. I had to receive. I had no other option than to be passive. I had no other option than wait. I had no other option than to heal.

Dear reader, I am sure you have noticed that I have moved from speaking of the physical healing of my bones to speaking of the spiritual healing of learning to receive from others. Learning to be a piece of a whole. However, it was my broken bone that allowed this lesson to be received.



X-Ray 3 months after surgery

My injury provided not only the space to heal but the analogy of healing as well. Bones will always heal. No matter what happens bones will grow back together. The nature of my injury was such that without surgery the shards of bone in my elbow would have grown into a single mass severely limiting the use of my left elbow.

Things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let the bones do their work.

To receive the healing I sought, things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let God to the work.

 

--Healing as a part of a whole, along side all of you,
Just from father away

--Jesse Letourneau

WAVES

In what seems like a life time ago, I worked at Alliance Redwoods Conference Grounds as an Outdoor Educator for 5th and 6th grade science. One of the highlights of that job was taking students to the beach. Some had never been to ocean despite living mere hours away.

The majesty of the ocean is such that countless wordsmiths and song writers have attempted to encapsulate it within the confines of language. I don't fancy myself either of those things, yet I will note that the rhythm of the ocean is the thing that draws me to it.

The waves come in. The waves go out. The tide comes in. The tide goes out. Over and over. Consistent, steady, solid, reliable. While I have only been to the ocean a handful of times, regardless of what piece of shoreline I stand upon the same sound, the same rhythm greets me each time I visit. 

As far back as I can conceive the waves come in; the waves go out. As far forward as I can imagine, the waves come in; the waves go out.

When you look out on the ocean, you can see each distinct wave as it builds, crests, and falls. And then suddenly that distinct wave is once more simply a part of the vast expanse of blue. Behind it builds another wave, distinct for a moment then melded into the whole.

As I look back on my life, I can see distinct moments: high school, college, camp. As I reflect I can see individual lessons: learning of grace, risk, and calling. And yet as I try and figure out where one begins and the other ends, rather than distinct moments I simply see a melded whole that I call life.

Goat Rock Beach, Sonoma Coast State Beach, CA

However, this simple rhythm of waves is not guaranteed. 

When we took the students to the ocean, Safety was priority number one. Amidst the "respect the ocean" and "no you can't take your shoes off and run out into the surf" was a lecture on sleeper waves. The shore where we took the students was notorious for such waves. Huge signs warning of their danger were prominently features along the stairs leading form parking lot to shore. Sleeper waves, simply put, are waves that come out of rhythm. These are waves that come as a surprise and can ruin your day pretty quickly.

This last year my life seems more like the rocky cliffs of Sonoma (above) than the smooth surf of Seal Beach.

The year started out just fine.  

Working at Trader Joe's. 

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Learning again what it means to live with family.

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Begin to find deeper community at church.

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Returning to Chicago for a working vacation.

The waves come in. 

Board Games with friends.

The waves go out.

Finding a place to stay at the convention in town.

The waves come in.

Hours long interview, conversation, and spiritual direction.

The waves go out.

Sharing with friends the joy and relief I felt at finding this position at this church.

The waves come in.

Returning home and packing my car with all of my earthly possessions for the second time in four months.

The waves come in. 

Waiting for the official vote.

The waves go out. 

Being told I wasn't given the job.

SLEEPER WAVE 

Though this wave was more than crashing surf that dowsed my shoes and splashed the legs of my pants. This wave took me under. 

When my head returned to the surface, I was short of breath and had been carried down the shore. I wasn't sure where I started. I wasn't sure which direction was forward.

Slowly life returned to normal.

Rhythm was restored. 

Then in May, while out in the front driveway I tripped over a pile of branches my brother and I were bundling for pick up. Falling face first I placed my hands in front of me to catch myself. There was immediate pain my left bicep. I assumed it was a simple muscle spasm or maybe a tear. The pain did not subside.

My left palm hit the ground with enough force that the radial bone (wrist to elbow on the "outside" of the arm) was driven forward. The head of the bone shattered.

SLEEPER WAVE.

X-Rays. CT Scans. Surgery. Recovery. Rehab.

I reached out to those I love. Those who were able gave. Those who were willing prayed. All reminded me that I am loved in return.

A new reality became my rhythm.

I rested my arm so that it could heal correctly.

I rested my mind to better understand how to raise the financial support needed.

I rested my soul in the God who had brought me this far.

and

I rested knowing that I am loved and supported by all of you.

The arm is now healed.

And now I sit on the shore.  

Waiting. 

Listening. 

Wondering what may be next.

--Serving Him alongside you, just from farther away

--Jesse Letourneau

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau