hope needed

Apr 1, 2015

“Jeremy, do you have any hope for me?”

This was the question I should not have asked, should not have pushed him into the corner with.

But I did. And I can’t stop thinking about his answer, both what he said and what he didn’t say. I can’t unsee the look in his eyes.

At first, he tried to joke it away by alluding to the idea that we all have hope in Christ. I said, “Yes, but that is not what I mean!” Then he said, “Faith, hope, and charity, they go together.” I think this was the point I reached up from the table and swung wildly in his direction and ended up whacking him across the chest. When I continued protesting, he said, “Sure, I have great hope that the resurrection is going to be very good for you.” I said, “CLINICALLY. Clinically do you have any hope for me?”

And he got quiet. And didn’t know what to say. And the fear welled up inside of me – because if this man, this expert in muscles and ligaments and fascia, who knows my body and how it is put together better than anyone else, cannot answer this question with a heap full of hope, how on earth can I have any measure of hope?

Finally he answered. “Tracy, you are a very slow healer, but you do heal eventually. We’ve seen it with your feet and your hip and your jaw and your shoulder. So, yes, I have hope. But the thing that is most concerning to me is the number of injuries and that they keep piling up on top of each other. We need time in between the injuries to build muscles and we can’t seem to get it. You keep getting hurt with a new injury before the last one is healed. Your body needs time in a non-injured state so we can get you stronger.”

Which I know. I KNOW THIS INSIDE AND OUT. I have said those very words myself.

So, why is it so painful? Why did it cut me to the core to hear those words come out of his mouth? Why does my situation feel so hopeless as I hear his words play again and again on the stereo of my mind?

I think because it makes it more real.

And his eyes. They were full of painful sadness. He knew I needed a lifeline of hope and this is all he could give me and stay in a place of honesty with himself. I could see he was trying to give me hope…and yet, there just isn’t a whole lot of hope to throw around.

The tears have been welling up inside of me for the past 36 hours, but they won’t come out. One of my skills (and weaknesses) is keeping these heartbreaking kinds of tears buried deep inside me until they burst out in a sobbing, messy, flood. I used to not be able to cry at all, but now I cry at beautiful, happy things quite often and I cry for sad, terrible things in books and movies. But, it is still really, really hard for me to cry for myself.

But I need to cry and scream and sob and let these feelings have a life of their own instead of being trapped inside me. I need to figure out a way to know I am really, really broken and be okay with it instead of trying to convince myself I am not nearly in as bad of shape as it seems.

In a moment of rashness, I decided I would come home tonight and get my beloved bike down from its hanging peg and go out and ride. I thought, “I’ll show them all I am still strong. I am still capable. I can ride and be just fine. Besides, even if I am not fine, what more could happen? What do I care if I get another injury, surely I’ll be no worse physically than I am now, but I will be HAPPY riding my bike and I will know I can do it.”

But I didn’t. Wisdom prevailed over my rebelliousness. Instead I am resting and thinking and making my giant get-ready-for-Passover list, but I still wish I was out on my bike or doing yoga or riding my Elliptigo, or doing SOMETHING to build some muscles instead of sitting on my ever-growing behind waiting for the pain and swelling from the car accident to go away and praying for my knee to heal.

It’s maddening.

And heartbreaking.

And right now, it all feels too big and too hard and too much.

And the tears are starting to flow…