[Spoiler] God Healed My Back!

The Injury: I've had back issues since I came back from an intense, six-week mission trip with Teen Missions International the summer I turned 12. I started to go to a chiropractor that fall, and have had to return to chiropractic help almost yearly since then.

Knowing this about myself, I typically stay away from unnecessary pressure on my back, and I always practice proper lifting techniques. Until Wednesday last week. The Dorm Olympics were underway, and Lachelle was explaining how to do a piggyback race. But teenagers who speak English as a second language don't listen better than any other teenagers (who actually don't listen worse than adults, for the record, they just happen to be told what to do in groups more often... I digress), so Lachelle said, "Let me climb on your back, and we'll show them how to do the race!" I didn't hesitate. I didn't even put down my papers and markers. I did it all. I am so amazing. We showed those kids how to complete that race good! The Dorm Olympics went swimmingly.

The Pain: On Thursday morning, I woke up with incredible back pain. The muscles between my left shoulder blade and spine were all knotted up and having spasms. I couldn't breathe well. I wondered if I should go to the hospital, or call Leah (my chiropractor friend), but I had no time for that, because I had a prayer meeting from 8 - 10 that morning.

The Healing: I told my fellow prayers about my pain, and how distracted I was by it. They prayed for me, and immediately, the pain started to ebb away. The muscles were no longer having spasms, and I could turn my head to the left, which was causing shooting pain before. I had a bit of pain, but 90% of it went away right then and there.

The Aftermath: As I write this, I'm no longer astonished or even overjoyed, though I feel like I should be. I experienced a miracle! And it's difficult to describe because it was so simple. God did it. Things changed because He intervened! I've prayed for healing before, and not been healed, at least not how I expected. Then this happens, and it was all so simple. I didn't do it. It wasn't that I had more or less faith this time than before. I've prayed with more faith before. I don't know, folks. But God can heal, and we have to keep asking him. Praise God, okay? Praise Him because He CAN heal us, and because he DOES heal us.

A Dorm Story: What I Learned About Knees

Students were getting in and out of a taxicab minivan in front of the residence hall. Lachelle and I happened to be talking there when we suddenly noticed that Krysta, a student from China, was leaning pitifully on the floor of the minivan, awkwardly situated with her knee. 

Upon closer inspection, we found that her kneecap had dislocated, and it lay at an odd angle, frightening the poor girl almost as much as the pain. It became evident that in no way was she moving from the edge of the cab.

Lachelle went to find crutches, of which the dorm has an abundance for reasons untold. We called 911, and waited. I suggested that the perplexed cabdriver keep his meter running, for she could not move even the vertical meter upward to sit in the van and be taken to the Emergency Room. She could not, in other words, have chosen a more expensive seat upon which to become immobilized.

To make matters worse, the tough but shy Krysta was “parked” directly in front of the residence hall entrance, and it happened to be dinner time. Students were pouring out, wondering and gawking. Krysta, did not hesitate to tell them, I’m pretty sure, to keep moving and to mind their own business. 

When the EMTs arrived, we had racked up a sizable cab fare. But Krysta was treated almost immediately in the ER, and experienced great relief, after which we waited for three hours to get the x-ray and its results. 

If you’ve ever had knee trouble, you know the story does not end there. We were in and out of physical therapy for the rest of the school year. As inconvenient as that continued to be, it was actually an incredible use of time, because I got to know Krysta on these frequent drives, and she got to see that the advisers cared for her. I found that she was not actually shy, and that she had a great interest in a friend of mine: Jesus. The story continues this fall. In the meantime, some morals:

Moral 1: take care of your knees,

Moral 2: especially when the only seat available is going to charge you by the minute.

Fatherless Days

"Take these pieces thrown away

Put them together from night and day

Washed by the sun, dried by the rain, 

To be my father in the fatherless days."

"Always," Newsboys, 1998

I work in a place where I see many kids without parents actively involved in their lives. For the part of the parents, they believe they have done the best thing a parent could do by sending their children to a boarding school. Here they will, in theory at least, learn to speak English, the language of money, and make connections within the United States, thereby increasing the kids' chance of finding a high-paying job and living a life of ease.

In a meeting yesterday, we talked about what our job is as advisers. How much of the students' lives fall on us to care for? The truth? Well, Latin scholars, you tell me, what does in loco parentis mean to you? And how about in loco parentis omni die? Even if we weren't so outnumbered, we wouldn't be able to care for them with the holistic concern and unconditional love of a parent.

On my good days, I have to fight the urge to pity these students. I constantly remind myself that I, too, grew up with a parent in absentia, and I'm okay, aren't I? Because pity only ever reduced me to a victim, when love could have empowered me.

Regarding these lyrics, then, I have been puzzling over them for the past fourteen years. The sun does not wash. The rain does not dry. Except... if everything is backward and upside-down in this world. What's more, most potters start with soft clay, I've heard. But perhaps broken pieces are the only useful form for God to shape? I mean, he raises the dead! (He has strange past times.) He can begin with all these broken pieces, make them soft, and create a thing beautiful to behold in the final light. 

"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (2 Cor. 4:16). Things begin working backward from the time we enter his kingdom at Jesus' invitation. We are becoming children to enter into the Kingdom. And such a Father we have! (I have recently added to my list of things I know about him that he is playful and exuberant, the very definition of life!)

So, I grew up without a dad much in the picture. And I'm only okay insomuch as that lack has made me seek out the true Father. And as I find him, I have plenty of pieces to offer him. I'm thinking we only ever bring pieces to the Lord. I'm hoping this will inform how I see my students: people in pieces, like me, with a Father waiting to adopt them.

A Full Day (part I)

4:30am: Leah, Joella, Angela, and I leave our house for Wilmington, Delaware. Why? We want to see Becky run her marathon. Ang and I made posters to cheer her on. We brought our lawn chairs and books. If I knitted, I would have brought that, too.

6:15am: We decide we should begin to think about a breakfast stop before getting to the race location. As we are turning onto route 100, Angela spots something out of the ordinary: a girl is lying on her face on the sidewalk next to this high-traffic road, just in front of a pizza shop. "Should we stop? Do you think she needs help?" Angela asks. Of course, as she says this, she is turning off the road, near the sidewalk. Leah is the first out of the car. In our heads, we each think, "I'm so glad Leah is a doctor."

The girl is conscious, trembling, soaking wet from mid-torso down. She has no shoes on, her eyes are open. Her arm hangs out into the street. We can't move her, of course, so we grab two blankets from the car to cover her. She looks so cold. And though it has been raining, it doesn't seem to make sense that she is so unevenly wet. Joella exits the car already on her phone, calling 911. A couple pulls up. The man sits in the road, holding her hand, saying, "you're gonna be fine, sweetie. You're gonna be fine."

Another woman comes up. She thinks she knows the girl. She keeps saying, "are you all right? Is your name Jade? I know this girl!" She is worried; she is overly excited, and therefore not helpful. I am annoyed. Of course the girl is not all right.

When the ambulance arrives, the EMTs check her vitals, brace her neck, move her onto a stretcher, then onto the gurney, into the ambulance, out of sight and away from the loud woman. We stand about waiting for a few moments, in case we could be of any use. Our work is done here, so we leave, praying for her.

6:45am: Breakfast will have to wait until after the race begins at 7am.

A Skateboarder Being Interviewed

"Simple," I replied,"I don't think about falling."

"But, surely, you will fall," he said.

"Sure, I have fallen and fallen often:

I remember a time

as I jumped up to grind--

my speed was perfect as I hit the rail--

my truck snagged a lip,

unintentional flip.

I landed facedown on the pavement.

Bloody nose.

Bruised face.

Pavement-burnt hands.

The wind all gone out of my body.

I have befriended the

ground, pavement, floor.

And I'll risk it again, every time.

I must soar."

Thoughts on Justice

“Justice is what love looks like in public.”
Dr. Cornel West

Sometimes, living in the United States of America means that very little debris appears in the streets to be wracked about by cars and gusts of wind. Living in the United States of America means that people generally feel some obligation to follow traffic laws. Living in the United States of America means that if you are pulled over by the police, you will probably receive a ticket for the violation you have committed.

Of course, some judges may be bribed. And the Whitehouse itself is full of lobbyists with pockets full of cash. Some cities are run by gangs. Some towns are run by one family.

Justice is not everywhere.

But where we see it, we must applaud. We must applaud justice loudest when we are its recipient: a speeding ticket, an honest witness, a fair judge; a refusal to hire even though we have an uncle there.

20 Miles Later

I have a few blisters on my left foot from the last part of the hike. But the first 17 miles went really well! Becky coordinated a backpacking trip with Katie and Mindy (professionals compared to me!) and myself this weekend. On Friday afternoon we were just getting our bags packed, and my Friday evening we were still crawling along in traffic making our way to Port Clinton. We did not start hiking until 8:30pm! A thunderstorm had just finished, and the sky was clear as could be as we made an ascent up switchbacks to inaugurate our fresh beginning. Two miles later, headlamps illuminated and sweat pouring from...everywhere, we set up camp at the top of the ridge, a mile before the next spring. Becky managed to get a modest fire going after struggles. Later, we packed the food in the bear bag, only then realizing that we had far more than enough food for four people and three days. We needed two bear bags. And we were too tired to actually hoist them. So we set them far off, and laid down beneath the stars. Becky and I hastily set up the tent beside our tarp, just in case someone might chicken out through the night, and seek more secure lodgings.

Saturday was beautiful. The breeze blew as we made our way out around 9:30. It was a good thing we got moving that early, because we had a pretty strenuous hike ahead: at least 10 miles (we never were quite sure), and lots of it uphill. The trail grew rockier and rockier. We stopped at Pulpit Rock. I thought it was the Pinnacle at first, not sure how anything could be grander, but no: the Pinnacle and our lunch stop still lay 2.4 miles ahead, according to the other hikers about. And there were plenty of other hikers around on Saturday and Sunday. I don't know if ya'll have noticed, but it's been raining nonstop this June! This was the first suitable weekend for backpacking, and everyone and their dog was taking advantage of it. Having reached the Pinnacle, we stopped for an hour's rest to eat lunch. I pulled out George MacDonald for the first time on the trip. What a lovely hour. Hawks soared at my feet in a blue sky that reached the whole way to another range of mountains. The sun warmed my back after the breeze had chilled it, and I guarded my peeling (no longer red) legs in the shade of the protruding maze of rocks, trying not to think much about the rattlesnake spotted just down the trail. After the Pinnacle, Saturday ended in a beautiful three miles of spacious trail with few rocks. Katie was relieved most, having only brought trail runners. Her feet were howling and we were ready to eat again. That night we ate as much of our supply as we could: rice and beans, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, s'mores, I'm not even kidding.

Sunday, we had little idea what the trail looked like ahead. The guidebook became somewhat more vague, and the mileage ahead was also questionable. Even so, we did not leave our campsite before we had consumed a multi-course brunch: oranges, muffins (baked in the orange rinds), oatmeal, pudding (made with french vanilla creamer and water), granola, this is not a joke.

Sunday's first miles were smooth. Then we climbed steeply, not descending often, but coming to ridges only to ascend again. Soon my right knee started to be painful during descents, a dull aching at first. I am mostly convinced that it was just tired. But we were not simply going to set up camp; we were going to keep going, and so was my knee. It only grew angrier, though, apparently deaf to all inner pleading, so I began to plead outwardly. I'm sorry to say that I started to cry during our last descent. We took a break, and my companions all took various objects from my pack, and the pack itself. During this interlude, a fellow about our age was climbing up the same trail, a guitar visible from his pack. We all had enough time to joke about him playing me a song to make me feel better before he was within hearing range. Upon seeing our distress, he offered whatever help he could, his hand down the mountain, reassurance that our goal was not too far; even his mobile number, in case we should suddenly have need of it; he offered everything, that is, except to play a song. In the end, Mindy and I headed down the mountain arm in arm, Becky and Katie gerryrigged my pack to Becky's pack, and the mountain minstrel continued on his kind way up the mountain. He had lifted our spirits; just what we needed. The way up the River of Rocks trail was arduous, I daresay a good deal more arduous for my companions with the added weight. I limped blithely along, admiring the river bed that was made of nothing but large rocks. I kept thinking about what it would be like to encounter a "river" actually made of moving, flowing rocks. Painful, probably. We played the word association game. We counted steps. We counted rocks. We drank water. And more water. And still we had more up to go. When we saw cars above us, we took heart. With more water and one last, steep push upward we arrived at a third lookout (not rivaling the Pinnacle, but probably worth the seven bucks they charge at the entrance, through which we left, and so were not charged.) Our elation was visible. It may have scared the little children, actually, with their kind parents, out to enjoy the Sunday afternoon, to be set upon by four boisterous, unshowered hikers who had never been more satisfied to reach their destination.

A few minutes later, our packs safely smelly in Mindy's trunk, rain began in a short, earnest burst. Thank you, Lord, for holding onto the rain's tail just long enough not to endanger our adventure!