Look, mom! No crutches!

On the three week anniversary of spraining my ankle, I went crutch-less today. Not because the doc said I could, but by my own volition. My main motivation was to avoid the barrage of questions about what happened by my friends at church (although the over-sized air cast was a dead giveaway). Or, more accurately, to avoid having to respond with a pathetic answer. I’ve been trying fruitlessly to come up with a heroic story to tell. I’ll share a couple of bad attempts:

• An unfriendly ninja broke into our apartment, and after a fierce struggle with ninja stars flying everywhere and a good amount of roof hopping, I finally managed to kick him into a chimney, in the process hurting my foot.
• Inspired by ‘Nacho Libre,’ Melanie and I decided one night that we wanted to get into the whole wrestling thing. And she won.

However bad these are, the real story is even less worth sharing. I’ve got an image to preserve! :P

Instead, I’ll give you an account of the day after:

After a brief examination by the doctor, he presents his diagnosis: “I don’t know.” A fracture? Sprain? Torn ligament? Who knows. So he sends me to another hospital to get x-rays done, which is just up the street. However, it’s very important to note that in Pittsburgh, when we say “up the street,” we quite literally mean up; the city is littered with hills. I’m supposed to hobble up this massive hill on crutches?! I could hardly do so in full health! And to add the kicker, I’ve only got thirty-five minutes before the radiology department shuts its doors.

Fifteen minutes later and just a third of the way up, I’m already panting and ready to resign in defeat. As I sat down on a bench to assess my situation, another student on crutches hobbles up to me. We exchange knowing smiles. “Headed to Presby?” Encouraged by the company, we continue our upward journey together, both of us rookies at this whole crutch thing. This time, the going seems easier and breaks are fewer and farther in between. We alternate turns taking the lead and shout encouragement when we see the other stumble. A little more than halfway up, we’re joined by a third kid on crutches.

This whole scene was apparently very comical, because on this final leg of the journey, all the two-legged folk passing us by on the way down stop to watch and laugh. It’s not everyday you see a parade of lame people slowly battling their way up a hill!

The third person, probably a bit more experienced, made his way up more quickly so by the time we arrived at the front door, it’s just the two of us again. Relief? Almost. With just five minutes remaining, we have to figure out how to maneuver through the hospital wings, or all our hard work is in vain. We both pull out our maps, and as we began to proceed through the maze, quickly ran into some confusing spots. “Alright, you go left and I’ll go right, and we’ll meet back here.” After just a few more minutes of this, we finally reach our final destination.

But by this time, it’s two minutes past five o’clock. We’re late.

Don’t worry, all good stories have happy endings :) The receptionist graciously still lets us in. The satisfaction accompanied with victory was apparent on both our faces, as if we had just successfully finished the marathon.

Almost three weeks later, I’m still thinking about that incident. Why?

—

Today, a friend met up with me over some coffee to see how I was doing. Yesterday, two other friends paid a visit, bringing along potato salad. While couped up in the apartment Friday night, I received a surprise chocolate cupcake and a nice little note. Several times over the past weeks, I’ve been getting lots of emails and Facebook messages asking how it was going. A combination of excessive studying (for the PCAT) and being crippled resulted in my disappearance from society this semester and an altogether very unhappy me, yet my brothers and sisters never failed to show me that they’re still there right beside me.

—

I think by this point in our lives, we’ve come to the realization that this life-long journey as believers is definitely an uphill battle. What we probably know innately but don’t always fully believe is that the massive hill wasn’t meant to be climbed alone. For some of us, our pride deceives us into believing that the progress already made was our doing, and so the progress to be made will also solely be our doing. Even when things get tough and someone asks how we are, we’ll put on a smile and say “just fine” and continue to pull through, because this is my hill to climb. Faith in my self is enough to keep us going.

And it works for awhile. But a third of the way up, you’re already panting and ready to resign in defeat. But, as promised, God provides. He provides someone (or many someones). Now, that someone may not be mighty enough to carry you. In fact, it’s more likely that they are just as crippled as you, and just as much of a rookie. The only thing that matters, though, is that you’re both headed in the same direction: up.

A few thoughts on spiritual hill-climbing and ‘fellowship’:

We alternate turns taking the lead, we shout encouragement when we see the other stumble. Some may go faster than the others, but there’s still always someone right beside you. Most people are headed the opposite direction, many will stop and laugh. We each have maps, but the path is nonetheless still confusing. Individually we may try different directions, but we share and learn from each other which way not to go. The absolute most important part of all this, though, is that we’re all headed the same direction, up, and towards the same goal.