I went to an end-of-the-year bash with a bunch of friends during my junior year in high school. We had a great time grilling burgers and listening to music, but two of my friends wanted a bit more excitement and decided to put a cup of ice down my pants. I, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in this type of fun and the chase began.
I was faster than my friends, but also lazy. I didn’t want to expend too much energy, so I made the brilliant decision to escape by climbing a tree. I miscalculated the speed with which I could get beyond their reach and they caught my leg. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until they pinned me down and dumped ice down my pants.
It was really cold, and I wanted to get it out ASAP, but this was a church youth group party, and it didn’t seem appropriate to drop my pants in front of everyone. I made a mad dash for the house. As I said, I am a fast runner (I was on the track team), and that was going to help me escape the embarrassment I was feeling. Until I hit the sliding glass door, that is. It exploded.
I was so clueless about what was happening that when I heard the sound of breaking glass, I thought someone had dropped a glass in the kitchen. A moment later, when I found myself on the floor sitting in a pile of glass, I began to connect the dots. I had severe cuts on both arms and was rushed to the hospital. There, I discovered that I had severed the tendons to my fingers on both hands, requiring surgery to repair the damage.
As you might imagine, it was pretty bad having BOTH arms and hands immobilized in casts. I couldn’t dress, bathe, or feed myself, but that wasn’t the worst part. I had no choice but to let others do things for me. The hard part came when the casts were removed and I was sent to physical therapy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to participate in the pain required to regain my strength and mobility.
I could either do the painful exercises necessary to regain a range of motion for my hands and fingers or I could avoid the pain by not moving my fingers. That choice would leave me with the same poor quality of life I endured while wearing the casts. The only path available to regain the use of my hands was to go through the pain. The pain did, in fact, have a purpose. Recovering from infidelity can be a similar journey.
