I was at my 14 year old son’s baseball game, City Tournament don’t you know, reading, waiting for it to start. All the players were running through their warmups, taking groundballs, playing soft-toss, the usual preliminaries…
I was jerked from my book world with the calling of my name. My son was walking towards me, holding his right hand with his left, gingerly… like when he was small & had an owie… I (calmly) ran over to him to see what was up – well, it turns out that what was up was he had taken a bad hop grounder off of the tip of his middle finger… and it was bleeding…
Upon closer examination & in conferring with one of his coaches, I could see that his fingernail was sitting at a 45 degree angle… & that there seemed to be something wrong with the end of his finger… but we couldn’t see it through the blood.
I’m solo at the game, glad I’m there, but now wrestling with the fact that now I have to parent, & to make tough decisions. No panic. Banish worry. Be calm. Pray for peace.
We have to go to the ER, just in case this is more than just a busted nail. Which hospital?
My mind raced… called our insurance carrier in the car… driving towards the nearest hospital with a hope that I wouldn’t have to pass it by & go somewhere else. Didn’t. Hoped for an empty waiting room. Yes.
Went through triage, (can’t see anything because of the blood,) & saw a doctor within 1 hour (a personal record for me & mine for ER trips.) X-rays. Answers.
The tip of the finger is broken off (open distal phalanx fracture) & bone is protruding from the fingertip, through the flesh. Dr. wants a game plan.
Clean it. Stitches. Reset. Split. More Xrays.
Everything went according to the game plan. Thank you Jesus.
Next up, due to the severity of the break, we’re off to a hand specialist to see if surgery will be required to repair the finger. Unknown.
Today, I sit at my desk, a card table in my room really, & ponder the thoughts that flood my mind, & fight for attention. The feeling of powerlessness that washes over me watching my son in pain, lots of pain. Worry about the unknown: will it heal right? WIll he need surgery? What will it cost?
I think back upon the ride over to the game, where we prayed for him for peace. Confidence. Strength. Thinking it was for the baseball game. Revisiting the hours in the ER where he recalled our prayer & laughed at the irony of how our evening ended up, & that the answers to prayer looked a lot different than him trying to hit a baseball.
Facing my own fears. Inadequacies. Powerlessness. But not living or acting out according to how I feel or how things seem to be… rather, trusting & choosing to trust that God is in control, & is near. Not that He’s ever far, but the sense of His being “WITH” us is tangible.