Hope in a Waterproof Cast

by Alecia Klauk
(Chapin, SC)

Hope is a big concept, but it can come in very small, very unexpected packages. My hope came in the very small form of a waterproof cast. Unlikely but extraordinarily profound.

This article will be very personal, almost journal-like in form, but I hope that my story will inspire you. My mom likes to say that God is sneaky. He snuck up on me with a very sweet, gentle kindness, and I hope it will encourage you to look for those little gifts wherever you can find them.

The last five months have been full of emotional upheaval for me. At the start of the year, my husband lost his job and found another one. On his second day on the new job, we found ourselves very unexpectedly pregnant and then even more unexpectedly grieving the death of that baby a few months later.

It has been a long road, full of great victory in the midst of great pain. But God has seen us through, and we are grateful.

Even when you weather a difficult season fairly intact, there is often an aftermath of some pretty severe emotional fatigue. Last week, we were so grateful to have the opportunity to fight that tide while watching the tide roll in and out at the beach. We were given four days away, alone, to relax, recover, reconnect. We needed that time desperately and were so grateful to go.

We had a wonderful time. We kayaked with dolphins. We rode a bicycle built for two for fifty miles. Breakfast and Bible study on the beach. Sunsets on that romantic bike. Long talks, laughter and tears: connection. We needed it, and God delivered. It honestly felt like a little piece of Heaven, a little peace from Heaven.

We came home to happy children, and all seemed well. I really thought I could coast a bit. It wasn't like we could just put the loss neatly on the shelf, all tied up, never to be dealt with again, but it felt like maybe the pain didn't have to be quite so ... daily. A new normal felt within grasp.

Then, (you were waiting for the then, weren't you?), it hit.

Two days after we got home, I took the kids to the park. We had been there about two minutes, (I had just enough time to open my materials to make teaching preparations for Bible study this week) when I heard the scream. It was my 5 year old son, the one who doesn't cry. He is tough and does not complain. He was inconsolable. He even tried to shake it off and get on the swing, but his arm hung limp.

But come on, Lord, it can't be broken, can it? No. Certainly, You love us too much to ask us to deal with that right now, not right after we just got home and finally feel some emotional relief. I held on to my stubborn hope, delusional hope, and waited to hear the good news. Relief was coming, I was certain. Doesn't mercy require that?

Apparently not, because the film was indisputable: compression fracture of his radius near his wrist. I couldn't believe it. I was shocked and angry and sad.

I began the very purposeful process of shutting down. My husband knew it as soon as he saw me -- I was gone. Sucked into a deep dark hole where it feels better to hide than to feel, to be angry than pray, to turn off rather than plug in. I was gone, and I wasn't sure when I'd be back.

I went to sleep angry and almost depressed. I felt so sad for my son, but the truth is, I also felt sorry for me. Can't we ever have anything good that lasts? Can the happy not be longer than a day at the time? Is there always going to be something? I was throwing my own pity party, and I didn't care if no one else came. I didn't invite anyone else! Have you been there? Angry, confused, scared, and tired, just so tired.

The next morning was no better, getting worse really. I needed to run an errand, and I was thankful for the time alone with God in the car. Then I could really rail on Him without anyone being able to hear me. Couldn't You have just protected him? Why didn't You? Were You busy? If not, do You not care?

I knew as I was screaming that a broken arm is not really the end of the world, but I guess it became more and more apparent to my heart that the context of this week, of this year, was creating a breeding ground for the temptation of demanding bitterness. I also had to make the point, quite forcefully, that I was busy serving Him when my son fell. And I was there alone because my husband was doing some work for a mission trip.

So, this is what we get for serving You?! Is anyone with me? I wish I could say that I was calm, like I should be after a time of refreshing, but I wasn't anywhere near calm. I was in a full blown freak out. I knew that I needed to trust, but the anger felt better, so I nursed it.

Some piece of me felt better just to express it. As the day went on, I found myself relaxing a bit. Those closest were praying for me. I wasn't really praying myself at that point, so I'm glad someone was.

I found myself at the mall, watching my three sons run up and down the aisles, happy as they could be. And there's the irony: the arm did not effect the child! He was fine. I was a basket case, but he was fine. So who was I really upset for? Me. It was all about me. There's just no sanitizing or prettying up that one. I was just being selfish, ridiculously selfish.

When we finally got to the orthopedist, I was prepared to do what I needed to do to love my son, but I had the cap ready: the cap to my seething emotions that I would need to have on the quick draw to hide all that was brewing inside me. My boy continued to rock along fine, and I waited for the excuse to fall apart.

The doctor came in, showed me the break on the x-ray, said it would be only two weeks in a cast. Ok. That was good. But then he said two words that changed the course of my mood, my day, and without trying to be overly dramatic, my experience of God at that moment.

He said, "waterproof cast." What? They make those?! The kids on either side of us didn't have waterproof casts. I wasn't sure how we lucked out, but I didn't want to push my luck. So Robert, the cast guy, gave my boy a pretty red waterproof cast. And with those words, every logistical difficulty was removed and every loss of summer fun returned. Those two words gave me and my son life restored. Pretty powerful couple of words.

Something happened as that cast hardened. My heart softened. I realized that my Lord had been there with me throughout the day, giving me little pieces of mercy I hadn't wanted to see because I was enjoying my bitterness. Am I the only one that does this?!

As I looked back with unbiased eyes, I could see touches of grace all day. We got in to the doctor quickly, the pediatric guy, no less. The sweet lady at the mall who said kind things about my boys and told me bone breakage tales. The fact that I got my errands run with no fits or even potty breaks. And -- hello! -- the fact that my son had not complained of any pain all day long. It had actually been a good day, seen with eyes of truth.

I was embarrassed. I felt such relief but also great heaviness of heart. I knew I needed to repent of my attitude. So I did: Lord, I am sorry I railed on You this morning. I know that You were watching when he fell, and that actually You protected him from anything worse. You turned off his pain receptors and kept him comfortable all day long. You met our every need. And the truth is, You have a perfect plan in all of this. I am sorry. I will trust You. Please forgive me. The best part is that He did, so quickly. Such mercy.

And as I was praying, I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw my son staring at his cast with a huge smile on his face. He loved the thing! He even told me that it makes his muscles look bigger! A right of passage, it seems, in the life of a boy. When his friends saw it later, he was so proud of his "hard arm." They took turns smacking it, and it got covered with signatures. Not such a bad thing, after all.

And so, this week, I have learned that sometimes hope is big and profound, and sometimes hope is small and profound. I think God really did know what I could handle and kept me on the safe side of the breakdown. There was a while when that edge looked close and daunting and even tempting. But God's great mercy brought me back.

Truth is, I'm pretty fragile right now, and even while I thought God was ignoring that, the truth is that He was actually tenderly, attentively protecting me. My perspective can be so askew, but I think I have a renewed sense of giving God the benefit of the doubt. Assume mercy when I discount its presence. Trust that He's working even when I can't see the proof. Trust his heart when his hand is confusing. Isn't that what faith is all about?!

My husband has been given revelation lately that God wants all the parts of the whole of our lives: a job, a baby, cars that work, comfort, ease, all as parts of the whole of the life we offer Him. So today, apparently, God wants the part that includes my son's arm. He also wants the part that includes my feeble little heart.

And when I see that He really does want it all, I wonder why I'm holding on so tight. Why do I want to be bitter? Why do I feel the need to hold on to fear? Why? When He can hold it all and wants it all to show me that He loves me and wants nothing short of the best for me.

I guess in the end, like always, it comes down to trust. I will lean in when I don't really want to. I will submit when I want to run. I will rail but repent and return. I will have faith and ask for more.

So look for those little pieces of mercy. It may not be a waterproof cast. Maybe it's a thank you from a child you've been battling, or a pizza in your husband's hands at the end of a long day, or maybe even just a good parking spot: but with them all, recognize the Source. And remember it the next time you get mad.

For the next few weeks, my boy will be wearing a stone of remembrance of God's mercy and attention. Where's yours? Go find it, then stop and give God thanks. And look hard. He can be sneaky.