The Broken Leg

As of this writing, my husband has been a soldier in the United States Army Infantry for just shy of 13 years.

Of those 13 years, he has endured three combat deployments totaling 45 months, as well as numerous other intense and potentially dangerous missions/assignments.

We count ourselves incredibly blessed that the Lord has protected him from injury all that time. Because we have many, many friends and battle buddies that cannot say the same.

Well, about a week and a half ago, that injury-free dynamic changed a bit in our family.

Long story short: My husband recently fractured his fibula (the small bone in his leg) when he landed after executing a required jump into Florida with his current job as a Ranger Instructor.

Let’s just say that this turn of events was NOT part of our no-plan-plan. (But are things like this ever on our radar?)

Now before we go any further with this post, please know this is not going to be a “Woe-is-me-please-send-chocolate-or-maid-service” pity post. (Although I wouldn’t refuse either of those latter services.)

My Beloved’s broken leg quickly revealed my own brokenness by way of selfishness and junky attitude.

Initially when I got the text of “I tweaked my ankle,” I was a bit concerned but knew that panicking was going to do no good. Plus, he was still in Florida and I was on solo preggo/parenting duty back at our house in Georgia.

When he texted me from the Emergency Room later that night to say that the x-rays revealed that he did in fact break a bone, my anxiety flared a bit. (Well, only after a few curse words floated through my brain. #MyBadJesus)

I held back (most) tears and prayed through the fear.

When I finally saw him breathing and vertical as he hobbled into our house late that evening, my fear quickly turned to frustration and anger.

Hello, selfishness. Delightful. Le sigh.

the-broken-leg

See, here’s the big problem with this new no-plan-plan. He is going to be laid up and less-than-A-game status for about the next six weeks. And I just rang in the beginning of my third trimester of pregnancy.

The day he broke his leg was the final day of our Ranger School Instructing cycle for a week, and this cycle had been ridiculously intense. He was working crazy hours and was tired. I was parenting (by myself) crazy hours and was also tired (and growing larger by the minute– or at least it felt like it.)

I posted a picture on Facebook with this caption: “Um, hey Lord. When I said I was really looking forward to cycle ‘break,’ a fractured fibula wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Because now, with one less-than-ideal parachute landing, the physical responsibilities of maintaining this house, taking care of our Threenager, growing this new kid in my belly and trying to help my husband were on my shoulders… And heart.

To say I was a little bit overwhelmed is probably an understatement. I wanted to be brave and strong with all the energy in the world, but honestly I was so looking forward to a temporary change of dynamic that would give me a temporary break from #AllTheThings.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am so very grateful that the accident wasn’t worse. I am so thankful that the break wasn’t displaced and only required crutches/knee scooter/walking boot. But I realized how selfish I was in that moment– and let me tell you, it was discouraging.

It’s been over a week since all this shook down… And I haven’t figured out the ideal balance yet. We’ve watched a lot of Netflix and ate more (gluten-free) frozen pizzas than anticipated. I’ve tried to nap when I can, and had a few moments of super-fun hormonal fluctuations that found me tired and in tears.

But I do know that in my brokenness and intermittently poopy attitude, Christ still loves me. (Fortunately, so does my husband. That guy must be related to Jesus somewhere along the line.) And I also know that the power of the Cross will keep us going.

And while there have already been moments of conflict, frustration and stress, we have also had a chance to laugh together as a family harder than we have in a very long time.

Our strength comes from the Lord and while this is not what we would call a super fun season, He has been so faithful to provide all we need… Even if that’s a recliner with some pillows to elevate my husband’s leg, the energy to cook an abundant Thanksgiving meal (and do the dishes!) and the hope that although there may be pain in the night, joy comes in the morning.

Dear readers– have you had seasons of brokenness that have revealed just how much you need Jesus? I would love to hear all about it in the comments.

And if you are in a “broken-legged” season (literally or figuratively,) take heart and hang in there. None of this surprises the Lord and He will give us the energy, patience and power to bring Him glory in all our circumstances!

Trusting Him,