Whom Shall I Fear

Deep South sighs relief as our hemisphere tilts from a star that can swallow 1.3 million earths. Dixie embraces the sweet rains that soften the hard clay of a hard summer. 
September brought mercy to the hard quiz I typed in my journal:

I am a pain in the ---------

a.    Obvious.

b.    Ankle.

c.     Amygdala.

d.    Almighty.

e.    All of the above but more...

My ankle cracked the end of August. The right lower fibula split five days shy of the anniversary of my left ankle chipped and my leg swollen elephantine gray under a true oak armoire held down by a weighty CRT television.

Like last year folks asked me, “What happened?!”

At first I cringed. I didn’t want to talk much about this accident. Now out of the massive air cast moon boot and in therapy, I can write it out.

My upper body tilted down and fell hard, as my foot landed flat with knee to the left and my ankle popped right.  The concrete floor had a slip proof water hog carpet, in the wide entryway of my favorite grocery store. I landed a few steps from the second exit sliding doors.

My right leg refused to stand. The ankle throbbed. My mind struggled as it kept my mouth civil in a public area. But inside my minivan I became a pain in the obvious.

On the kid’s show Liberty Tree House, Buddy and I learned about the place in the brain where anger sparks. At the back of one’s brain, the size of a tiny almond, the Amygdala fires the nervous system to react to pain in anger is the secondary emotion to hurt.

Pushing on the accelerator with an ankle swelling purple potato did not diminish my reaction. The car jerked as my left foot failed at any helpful intervention. My mouth railed on and on as my glasses steamed up. Buddy tried to rub my shoulder calm, as his eyes stung damp with regret. I railed at the Almighty, begged Him to get us home in one piece.

That was the Sunday of the week we planned to visit best friends and family up north. Yet I feared all the stairs and pain and stops, getting in and out of the back of the van with crutches and a heavy moon boot. I only yielded to depart the day we had scheduled to leave, Wednesday.

For three days I let the amygdala have its way in me. I could have taken what my Buddy takes in hopes that it calms his amygdala from seizure firings, GABA. Instead Wednesday morning my beloved hubby calmly told me to have it out with God. Short of curses, I verbally punched and screamed my pain at the Almighty. 

And my God did not return anything but blessing after blessing.

My family didn’t cruise Alaska or jet to London or Hawaii. But our minivan trip with crutches, moon boot, and pain was the best ever.

Who am I, Lord?

I am Yours.

Forgiven Yours. 

Beloved Yours.

Crazy Yours. 

I am Yours.