I'll walk with you

It's something I have noticed about myself for years.  Something I am not proud of.  Something that makes me heartsick whenever it happens.  Something I always say I'm going to keep watch of and not do any more.

I walk ahead of my husband.

I know, it doesn't seem like a major infraction, a sin worthy of guilt and shame.  But for me, it is.

Right after Brian's accident, I was always behind him pushing his wheelchair, or next to him, if he was propelling himself as he liked to do when he was able to use both arms.  This was nearly a year.  When he advanced to crutches, I struggled to keep up, he got so fast!  This was over a year.  And then...his leg finally healed and he learned to walk, first with a cane, and then with nothing but a lift in his shoe to adjust for the leg length discrepancy. 

Now...he is slow.  Very slow.  On top of that, he has to stop and rest often because his back and leg hurt so badly.  And so my problem began.  I blamed the children for a while, because I needed to keep up with the little ones to make sure they were safe.  This was true, but I would notice it when Brian and I were out alone also.  It was painful for me to lumber along with Brian.  Not physically painful, but emotionally difficult to realize that for some reason I do not understand, my husband is forever called to a slower pace of life now.  Brian has no choice but to accept this slower pace, but I, with my undying need to sprint ahead and plan out all of life, have had a harder time with acceptance. 

I do not like to see him struggle.  I especially cannot stand this thought that his difficulties (aka disabilities) are permanent.  Forever.  At least until the next life, when we receive our new, perfect bodies in Heaven.  I don't know whether "forever" will be one more week or 60 more years.  I do know that the one I love, the one who is a part of myself, is stuck in his body as it is.   I, however, am not stuck with him.  I could walk away, walk so far ahead that we are no longer together.  I can walk away from the struggle of his "new" body.  He can't.  I won't.  I won't leave my other half to walk alone.  Figuratively or literally. 

And so, I must learn to walk beside my Brian.  I must choose to take life at a slower pace.  I must even teach my children to slow down, so their Dad doesn't miss so much of what they have to share.  Someday though, our children will have lives of their own.  I hope they still choose to spend some time slowing down with Dad.  I hope I still choose to walk beside my Love. 

Slowing down means...smelling more roses.  Enjoying more of the beauty in the world.  Enjoying each other.  Being thankful for the little things in life.  Letting the little things be enough.  Thanking God that He knows what is best for us.  Trusting God for the grace for each day to come.

Down the mountain

Little girl
Shy and afraid
No purpose in life
Wounded and left
Alone in the world
Filled with horrors of what she had done
And what had been done to her
Wanting life to end
Threw away her life
Failed at everything

Then, one day...
She had the opportunity to go back to that place,
That place of failure, of fear.
Of pain, of despair, a complete lack of hope. 
That place of despising herself,
Of knowing she could never be anything in life. 
And on that day,
As she looked back down the mountain,
At the depths she had been lifted from...
On that day...

A grown woman,
Secure and confident,
Leading a life full of purpose,
With scars as a testimony of grace,
Healed by her Maker and fully loved,
Realizes she was never alone.
Conquering her education,
Making the best of life.
Not perfect, for sure,
But definitely not a failure.

Now looking ahead
With trepidation and awe
At the mountains yet to climb
Untold sorrows
And unknown joys
She will forever climb
And she will not fail
Because she will always remember
The bottom of that valley of death
And the grace that lifted her out.

Tractor-versary

It's the third tractorversary of my Brian's life-changing accident.

On the first tractorversary, I was wishing we had gone away for the day.  It was "just another day" for everyone else, and definitely not for us.  Sadly, a friend of a friend also died on this day, in a car accident.  He had 5 children, too.

On the second tractorversary, we went to preop for Brian's 9th surgery.  It was a quiet, somber day, wondering why this had to last so long, and why his stupid bones wouldn't heal.

On this day, the third tractorversary...bones are healed.  Brian is trying with all of his might to reenter the workforce.  His body is still not the same, and never will be, but we are finally able to look toward the future! 

Truthfully, I woke up this morning not remembering this was "the day" until I saw someone else post on facebook about it.  That day three years ago, I almost lost my husband.  My children almost lost their father.  But we didn't.  And so...life goes on now.  Finally.  It has stood pretty still these past few years, and though change is scary, I'm glad time is moving forward for us once again.