One Fateful (Almost Fatal) Reach

Friday afternoon is a special time around our house. It is a time when my daughter Emory and I can spend the afternoon together doing father-daughter things. On October 25, we found ourselves playing a serious -- and I mean serious -- game of hoops. I was getting beaten 18-12 - if I remember correctly. We were playing to 20. After a missed shot, we both went after the ball. I bent down, twisted my legs (like a pretzel), and reached out to obtain the rebound. Suddenly, I lost balance, and began falling to the pavement. I remember reaching out my hand to brace myself. As I crumbled to the ground, I fell on top of my right hand, crushing my ring and pinkie finger. Instantly, I knew it was bad. Really bad.

Emory yelled for my wife Lana, who was at the bottom of the driveway. “Help!” she yelled. “Daddy’s fallen, and he can’t get up!” Okay, so maybe not those exact same words, but close. (My apologies to the 85-year-old lady on the “Life Alert” commercial, which everyone makes fun of, because NOW I know how she feels.) Eventually, Lana sat me up, stuck me in the car, and headed off to the Emergency Room at Wesley Long Hospital.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I was immediately taken back to see the ER staff. As I sat there in the side room, the room began to spin. I said, “I think I’m going to pass out.” Then, I did. Eventually, I came to - which regretfully was BEFORE the ER doctor came in. She tried to “set” my fingers, but ultimately, I would need surgery. I went home with a makeshift cast on a throbbing hand (and passed out again on the interstate). Bless my little heart.

Still, I was determined to preach on Sunday. I was on pain medication and was not entirely cognizant of most of what was coming out of my mouth. “I can do this,” I thought to myself. As a normal practice, I plan and prepare most messages at least two months ahead. This Sunday’s was message, “The Man with the Withered Hand” from Mark 3:1-5. Don’t tell me God does not have a sense of humor!

The next day, as I rolled back into surgery, I was at peace. God was there. My surgeon was a believer in Jesus and knew where his skills came from. He said, “...with angels on my wings, we’ll do this together.” To make a long story short, my surgery was a success. Dr. Grammig was God’s instrument of healing.

The struggles, however, did not end there. Simple tasks such as squeezing a tube of toothpaste while holding a toothbrush suddenly became hard. (Try doing that with one hand.) Thoughtless action such as tying my own shoelaces, buttoning my pants or belt, or even tying a tie became impossible. Through occupational therapy, I am almost 100% back. I owe a great deal to the doctors, but I am in great debt to my wife and daughter for waiting on me hand (purposeful play on words) and foot.

I could not type for 6 weeks, and this is the reason my blogging has stopped. At my last visit, I finally received permission to type. I gave Dr. Grammig a gift: an autographed picture of myself preaching. We had previously noticed all the well-known “stars” in Dr. Grammig’s office whom he had treated. There was one noticeable admission; I could not find ONE preacher! Lana designed a wonderful combination of pictures to include one of me preaching, two “before-surgery” x-rays, and two post-surgery x-rays! Upon my final visit, I presented him with this gift. He was blown away. On this picture, I had written the Scripture notation for 2 verses - Psalm 6:2 and Isaiah 53:5. Psalm 6:2 reads, “Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint, heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.” Isaiah 53:5 says, “But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.”

As I look down at my hand as I am typing this blog - seeing the scars from the four pins that were placed in my hand to hold it together - I am humbled from what God did and He will continue to do. May we rest through Him, trust in Him, obtain healing from Him, and become more thankful for Him. Let us stop and appreciate the healing powers of God. I know where my healing comes from. I pray you do too.