8. Pinterest lessons

Physical therapy after an ACL surgery is a unique type of anguish that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. After waking up from the operation, apparently the room had been so white that when the nurse beckoned me from my daze with a friendly “Hi, angel” I began to blubber asking if I had died and was in Heaven.

The medication had not been a helping agent to my state of mind, but the alternative was mind bending pain. My thigh had shrunk to about the size of my arm from immobilization and showering turned into a task that left me breathless. Sleep was constantly interrupted by my aching body. I always felt like I was in the way and I had practically rubbed holes in my side from the repeated use of crutches around campus. Healing was taxing and it thwarted the rhythm of self-sufficiency.

But during the first few months, my pain tolerance grew ten fold from the exercises it took to straighten and bend my knee back to it’s normal abilities. Off-court friendships on the volleyball team had formed well and the athletic trainer and I buddied, making the recovery far more tolerable. Although the set back had been frustrating, I didn’t mind the gnarly scar and I really thought I’d gained a few good lessons from Pinterest quotes on the virtues of patience.

Nearly a year of waiting for a clean bill of health was finally over. Leaving the doctor’s office, my surgeon bid a note of fair warning that if one ACL tears, the likelihood of tearing it in the opposite knee, increases. I laughed and thought no way lady, not me! Can’t you see that I am a volleyball player? That will not happen to me.

Year two of college was in full swing and practices had begun. A fresh start was presenting itself and I could finally gear up and be apart of the action! I sighed with relief to put the past 11 months or so behind me. Diving drills no longer caused hesitation and I was able to ditch the leg brace. Jumping and running through the gym freely with my teammates felt sweeter than ever. The sweat that turned my grey t-shirt to charcoal was a hard-earned victory. I hate to use the analogy “happy as a kid in a candy store” but man was I. When Coach called Mariah, to take reps on the starting six side, my stomach flipped and I darn near skipped my way over to join the line up. He blew the whistle for the last rally of the day and as the setter pushed the volleyball out to me I swung and landed, but I was too close to the net.

My left foot planted completely parallel to the line dividing teams and a familiar POP, sounded off like a gun. The second I was no longer airborne, I knew the type of damage that had been done. The gym fell silent as I cried out loud into the silence no, no, no God! I don’t want to do this again, please don’t make me go through this again. Coach felt so bad, he drove me himself to the doctor’s office in the next town over to get an MRI. He assured me along the way that everything would work out fine, but I knew my plea had done nothing to render the ACL in my opposite knee from tearing, just like my surgeon had warned me.

During the car ride I felt trapped staring down the barrel of another year gone. And just as suspected, every tendon and ligament in my left knee was blown. The doctor sharing the news with me sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, but I heard him call the impact a full sweep. And that is exactly how my circumstances, plans, and happiness seemed to be too, swept away.

Another surgery

Another season on the sidelines

Another year aching and waiting for an identity that somehow wouldn’t be taken away

Another year feeling like my hands were empty and I had nothing to offer.

Listening to a podcast recently, I heard that it is absolutely vital to decide before a crisis that God is good, because it can get awfully hard to see Him for who He truly is while you’re in the midst of one. It became quite apparent, soon after this injury, that I had not previously decided that God is good. Unlike the first time around, where the sky was still blue, birds chirped peppy tunes, and I had energy to stay positive; the second round quickly became powered by an engine ignited with anger and bitterness. Confusion for why something like this would happen twice, twisted into a funneling tornado.

I thought I had been a good person. I went to church, I was nice to people, I was better than “so and so”!! And after all, hadn’t I deserved something good after everything that happened to me the previous year? The input to output equation revolved around me and my self-righteous entitlement boiled over.

In the past, I hadn’t felt vulnerable or comfortable enough to give my true feelings/thoughts/emotions to God. I spoke to Him on behalf of a polite request to bless a meal or for the health of a loved one, but all of a sudden my prayers got real loud. My perfect church smile got ugly and I spat God, don’t you know who I am! What are you doing to me?

I allowed my circumstances to define the characteristics of God. And so, He got mirkier as my perception that He is harsh and unloving, solidified like molten rock. The enemy coiled around me using words that had already carved nasty wounds. Lies shamed me, saying See, you really are damaged, you’re no use to anybody, and you will never be good enough. You are useless and unworthy. I feared the barking dogs of punishment were on my heels, gnashing their teeth, coming to hunt me down for something I must have done wrong, and I believed that God had unleashed them after me.

I kept feeling beaten down, like I wasn’t able to protect myself. My battle cry was self-dependance but I failed everyday. Failed to keep my anxiety and panic attacks under control. Failed to stop the person I had been in a relationship with from hurting me. Failed to feel happy for more than 5 minutes at a time. Failed to prevent my ACL’s from tearing. Failed to obtain the plans I made. Failed to recognize that God is an almighty defender (Psalm 124: 1-8; Philippians 4: 6-7; Psalm 54:4; 2 Samuel 22:3).

I shifted the blame for my insecurities onto Christianity and Christians as a whole. I needed something tangible to point the finger at. My anger, fear, and hurts turned into a chip on my shoulder and a bitter seed planted into my heart. Since bad things kept happening to me, I figured what’s the point? Why bother with trying to please God? Why read the Bible? Why go to church? Resignation of God’s existence was never laid onto the table, but my heart grew harder, colder and dissociated. Setting my sights on whatever would make me feel good for a moment turned into a lifestyle of heavy alcohol consumption, reaching out for a guy’s affections, and holding onto rebellion out of fear and shame that if I were to try to be truly seen, I would be rejected as a failure.

I was lost and starting to get the idea, but I had no idea how to be found, loved, or set free. One of my friends and I at the time, loved to just drive around. We would search for abandoned houses, listen to music, find bridges to drink on, or chase a sunset. Once, we found a spot where the sky was completely unobstructed from trees or buildings. It was past sundown and we sat on the roof of the car shooting the breeze.

All of a sudden, a display of mystery neither of us had seen before, came forth from the belly of the midnight pool. Flashes of lighting bolted through the night, but the rain withheld in the clouds and the thunder remained silent. It was a magnificent light show and we gawked in amazement.

I sat there with my arms wrapped around myself, a good friend by my side, and my body back to a picture of health after a second year of physical rehab; but emptiness welled up inside of me and I felt as abandoned as the road we were parked on.