My Plaster Heart

I was a determined girl raised in the mountains of Tennessee.  I embodied my fair share of spunk and spirit, even as a child.  Some people say my red hair was the cause, but I never believed a word of it.

My first years of life were full of uphill climbs as doctors realized I had some serious genetic issues with one of my hips.  I was already walking when it was discovered, and nobody understood how a toddler could walk with a hip completely separated from the socket.  It wasn't long before I became a patient of the Shriner's Hospital for Crippled Children, and over the course of 17 years, endured several surgeries and ongoing therapies to make all things right in my legs.

-Maybe it was all on purpose, the journey that was mine from the start.

After the first procedure and months in a body cast from chest to toes, everyone assured my parents that I would need to re-learn walking and would require physical therapy.  I wish I could remember the moment, but it's been told that immediately following my body cast removal, I looked around and asked to be put down on the ground.  Apparently, I walked myself right out of that very room at not quite 3 years old.

-Maybe it was all on purpose, the determination that was popping out of casts and braces.

When I was thirteen, it was obvious that all the work and surgeries completed on my "bad leg" over the years had caused it to be significantly shorter than my "good leg."  It was time to open the good, cut out the growing, and hope for the best.  The hospital stays were always long.  The rule to go home post-surgery involved a successful walk up and down a two-story flight of stairs in the hospital atrium using crutches for non-weight-bearing movement.  My father said that whenever I made it through that test, I could call him anytime, and he would drive the three hours over the mountain and take me and my mother home.  So, at 10:30 pm one night, after multiple attempts, I made the call.  He came.  We drove home in the early morning hours.

-Maybe it was all on purpose, the grit that grew in uphill battles.  

I never thought too much about those challenges in my life.  It was just a part of my everyday living, and there were many sweet moments learning about medicine and hospitals and seasons of attending school in the hospital ward.  My classmates were children from all over the United States in seemingly far worse conditions than myself.  How many girls in this world can say they went to their first Valentine's Day Dance on a stretcher in the great hall in the children's hospital?  Or that they were wearing a plaster heart created and fixed on their second body cast designed by nurse Susan in the girl's wing? Or who can say they became a self-proclaimed semi-pro at wheelchair and walker ping-pong?

-Maybe it was all on purpose, the love that was growing right on the inside and outside of my plaster heart. 

If you asked me what I learned the most through those years, I would have to say determination, compassion, and the ability to see God at work.  When I heard the words, "she can't," I always did. When I tried to feel bad about my circumstances, I learned to look across the girl's wing at the patients all around me, just hoping they could walk even once, or not lose their leg, or not need one more rod in their spine. And when I was frustrated or unhappy, I learned that people were ready to encourage me.  And I still remember all of their faces and names.

-Maybe it was all on purpose, the compassion that was growing between the girl's ward curtains.

One day that all became history as I walked out for the last time from my final appointment at age 18 declared completely normal, minus a few scars. But the lessons born in those halls on the other side of the mountain proved life-long. They proved to be a gift.  I realized I was the special one who experienced love and loss and miracles before I learned to read, drive, and fully live.  I saw the very best in people as they combed the halls of that children's hospital.  I saw the people that loved me most bend low and literally carry me when I could not walk or sit or stand.  And how could I not be made better, sweeter, steadier for the knowledge that challenges are open seasons for growing the most beautiful things God has to offer us?

Perhaps it sounds crazy, but I've learned to see this world a little upside down.  I see the most stunning beauty in the places where others see ruin.  I'm generally not afraid of the cries in the dark because I've had nights when those were my lullabies as little Jessica fought for sleep in the bed across from mine as her body tried to heal from so many catastrophes. I believe God's promise to be close to those that suffer is an undeniable gift that cannot be matched.  When we can catch our breath from the ache of the pain, we can then catch a glimpse of the Holy that turns right side up all that's been toppled in a life.

Some say it was bad luck that I was born with a bum hip.  But I believe it had deep purpose. I believe that God, who works all things to His good, weaved His glory into every line of my story. He took a hard beginning and painted His grace over my plaster heart. He paved the way for faithfulness to be stamped into every scar and every remembrance of those years.  He taught me to look for Himself amidst the rubble of broken things and broken people.  He weaved a sense of hope and determination deep into the fibers of my being that His goodness is radiant in His people despite all the hard things in this life. And the phrase, she can't, still lights a fire of determination in my chest to do my very best to display God's good works through my efforts.

And... I believe my red hair was just His cherry on top of His determined daughter.

Dear Friend, if your world is upside down, take pause and know that there is a gift waiting stamped with Faith just for you. There is a treasure of His grace and beauty if you'll only look to Him.