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“Well, studies have shown that even one concussion increases your risk for a variety of other issues on down the road. And, often when you break a bone, it’s something that you feel for the rest of your life. Maybe when a storm comes in, and the barometer drops. You’re getting older, and these are going to be some of the aches and pains that are going to accompany you as you do it.”
The doctor might have said a few more things, Peter was too annoyed to notice, and then he clapped Peter on the shoulder, and Peter hobbled out.
Sally looked up as he came into the waiting room. She had driven him to his appointment, since he couldn’t even drive.
Talk about discouraging.
He knew she was concerned about him as they rode home. Normally he was fairly jovial, enjoyed joking, and tried to make her laugh. It had become one of his favorite passtimes since he had broken his leg and they’d spent so much time together, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to want to make her smile.
“I’m going to assume from the way you looked the entire way home that nothing the doctor said was good.” Sally finally said that as she pulled into the driveway to his house.
He heard her, but he didn’t want to answer. But, that wasn’t the way he should treat someone who had been so good to him. And whether or not Sally cared about him was not a question. The only question he had was how much.
“Yeah. Just basically I’m going to be feeling this for the rest of my life. It makes me angry that someone left the gate open. And instead of them suffering, it’s going to be me.” He knew he sounded bitter and angry, but that’s because he was.
Sally opened her mouth, but he put a hand up. “I know. I know. I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that God allowed it, so therefore I should just accept that it’s coming from God, and figure out what lessons I need to learn, and just decide to be happy. Blah blah blah.”
Her mouth closed. He felt bad. His words had not been kind, and his tone more than anything showed his aggravation.
He couldn’t seem to help himself.
He pressed his lips together, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. Anger and bitterness bubbled inside of him, like poison, nasty and hot. If he could prove that it was Norma Jean who left the gate open, he’d press charges. He wanted to punish her, and ruin her life the way she’d ruined his.
He struggled to get inside, brushing off Sally’s gentle, helping hands.
She served him supper without saying anything, and he sat solemnly on the couch as she moved around the kitchen, cleaning it up, washing dishes, and putting everything away the way she had done for four weeks now. He didn’t exactly breathe a sigh of relief as she walked upstairs to her room after asking if he needed anything. He said, “No,” and it sounded just as nasty as the last words he’d spoken to her.
Why? Why couldn’t he be nice? Why couldn’t he push these feelings aside and just do what he knew to be right, and overcome what he felt like doing, which was to be unkind the way he’d been.
Lord. What’s wrong with me?
He wanted to do right. He wanted to please the Lord, but he also wanted to do it with a whole body. Not a body that was crippled and sore and prone to strokes and brain bleeds and tumors because of someone’s stupidity.
Are you upset because you didn’t get your way? I thought you wanted to submit to My will?
That question brought him up short. That was exactly what the problem was. It didn’t really have anything to do with his body being whole. It had more to do with him expecting that he deserved to have a pain free life. That he had expectations about what was going to happen in his life and they were not going to be met anymore.
He sat with his Bible open in his lap, but he didn’t see the words. He just thought about that question. And the idea of him acting like a petulant child, pitching a fit because he didn’t get what he wanted.
He typically had trouble getting comfortable to go to sleep, and that night was no different. At two AM, he finally got up and hobbled to the restroom, not because he needed to go as much as he just needed to get up and move around. Nothing felt relaxing and sleep was elusive.
He had settled back down on the couch when Sally’s voice came down the stairs.
“Peter?” He could hear her footsteps, and the stairs creaking as she slowly descended.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you up,” he said, and his voice sounded defeated.
“It’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You’re not supposed to be my twenty-four, seven nursemaid. I’m a man, not an invalid.”
At least he didn’t want to be. What if he was? What if he had broken his neck in the accident, and someone had to take care of him every day for the rest of his life? Would God give him grace to accept that?
But that wasn’t what happened. What happened to him was far less bad, and yet...he was still upset about it.
“I know. But, I want to help if I can.”
