We must stop regarding unpleasant or unexpected things as interruptions of real life. The truth is that interruptions are real life. (C. S. Lewis)
I spill grease all over the kitchen floor and sigh. Sure, I’d like to blame some external force, but my hurry caused the problem. I’m on 24-hour duty right now, and a shift change isn’t likely. My husband fell when he went outside to get last Sunday’s newspaper. The first few steps were wet, no sign of ice. The last one, however, threw him as if he were a discarded rag doll. However, rag dolls don’t have bones. Jay fractured four ribs. Four very painful ribs. The healing process will take months. In the meantime I am his right-hand-left-hand-everything-that-requires-movement woman.
One day this will be part of the past. It isn’t. Yet. It’s miserable. But, that doesn’t mean a lot of goodness hasn’t appeared along the way. Perhaps it’s the length of the relationship I have had with my husband, or perhaps I simply don’t sleep deeply anymore, but I tend to be at least half-awake when Jay needs me during the night. We are both learning as we go; it’s an awkward dance. Neither of us is ready for Dancing with the Stars, except perhaps in some comedic form. However, we aren’t important enough to be mocked in a routine, even on a local circuit.
Our first moment of gratitude came when Frank, our neighbor, shoveled the snow from our driveway with his snow blower. Then he cleared our sidewalk as well. When we had an appointment with the orthopedist on Monday, he led Jay to his car and drove. Our Toyota is much too low. That was not the end of Frank’s assistance. I know he will be there if we need him.
Missi, another neighbor, brought beef barley soup and has kept close watch on us. Several people from my church have offered to stay with my husband so that I can breathe air outside this small house. Other neighbors, Eric and Crystal, helped carry my groceries into the house and return our garbage and recycling bins after pick-up. Our sons are always present. Steve is working on a way to raise the level of our couch.
Yes, interruptions are real life—and they can hurt, take up valuable time, and make me angry at fate. I realize Jay could have hit his head on a concrete step. Awful could have taken endless forms. I’ve heard many stories that had no possibility for a happy ending. Each day is precious.
When the blessings appear, even simple ones like a card in the mail from a church member, I know diamonds are born from compressed coal. Friends let the sparkle show through a little bit early.
terrypetersen 