Falling

Ouch.

That’s the word to describe how I felt this morning when I crawled out of bed.

See, I’d fallen Tuesday evening. (With someone watching. She was too kind to laugh.)

And nobody from home to baby me this morning.

Waaaaaah.

It was really embarrassing, the way it happened.  But let me back up.

Last week I drove from my home in Buhler, Kansas, to Trenton, Michigan. My son Benjamin and his wife Amy live here, and I came to help welcome their first baby into the world.

We enjoyed several days of visiting, knowing that Wed., Nov. 6th, if Amy hadn’t gone into labor yet, it would be induced.

Her parents, Debbie and Robert Blanton, invited us for Amy’s favorite meal of pot roast Tues. night. We had just finished the delicious fare and started clearing the table, looking forward to playing some games to help pass the time for dear Amy, so ready to deliver.

My husband Tracy called me, so I joyfully caught him up on how things were going here. I noticed Amy and Ben talking in hushed tones, when suddenly someone called out that her water had broken. At first, I got excited, but then, knowing how they love to play tricks on people—they’ve worked with church youth for years, after all!—I suspected they were just pulling a fast one.

But no, as everyone scurried around, I realized this was the real deal! Our 20th grandchild had decided not to wait for a medical induction—she was ready to introduce herself!

We’d left the hospital bags back at Ben and Amy’s, so Debbie drove me there while Ben rushed Amy to the hospital. On their way out the door, they had called out a list of additional items I should grab. Debbie and I were ecstatic, jabbering for the 15 minute drive, praying for our darlings, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

And I geared up mentally, picturing the little house and where to find each thing quickly so we could hurry to catch up to where our hearts had gone before us.

I rushed up the steps, key in hand, and charged ahead to fulfill my tasks.

It was really dark.

And I forgot one crucial piece of information: there was a small 3” step up from the entry into the living room.

To say I tripped is an understatement.

Look, I’m a person who loves the humanities. I like reading, writing, history, and music. If I could, I’d entirely skip all the sciences and math offered to educate an industrialized nation.

But that didn’t keep me from experiencing all the laws of nature that came into play. I’m sure there were physics involved when I went down like Goliath, face first into the coffee table and hardwood floor.

It took a few seconds to comprehend what had happened.  Debbie called out to me, but I was disoriented. I wish I could say I only hurt my pride, but as we assessed the damage, we realized I had cut my head on the coffee table and hit other parts of my anatomy on some other edge of something. Let’s just say that although I love the colors blue, purple and green—even together—I had a feeling they wouldn’t make for a pretty sight emblazoned on my “bum” and back.

Already I felt huge regret, knowing the consequences of my fall would become a distraction from the joy waiting for us when our granddaughter took her first breath. So I held back my tears, sucked up the pain, swallowed four ibuprofen, and grabbed what we needed. We were back on track in record time.

But as the hours passed, there was no escaping what had happened. Pain wouldn’t let me forget the mishap. New sore places demanded attention as I realized that even parts of my body that hadn’t been directly injured were still jarred into slowly building agony. And I despaired over how my foolish rushing was now forcing my attention away from the main attraction. I didn’t want this kind of attention.

I replayed the fall in my mind, wishing I’d turned on a light or slowed my pace . . . or any number of things that might have changed the outcome.

There is no turning back time. Not even by a few seconds.

Happily, people kept a steady supply of pain relievers and ice on hand. Amy did great with her labor. Benjamin became a capable coach during the delivery.

And as Moriah Joy took her first breath, my pain was forgotten.

Of course, this morning when I eased out of bed, my stiff joints, tight neck, and tender shoulders reminded me of the consequences of the fall.  Lesson learned. I will take precautions in the future.

Then I opened my Bible to my daily reading: “The virgin of Israel has fallen; she will rise no more. She lies forsaken on her land; there is no one to raise her up.” (Amos 5:2)

How tragic to fall so badly, you can’t get up! To be so alone, nobody is available to help you!

How did Israel find herself in such a position? She turned away from the Lord, her Helper. She ignored His warnings that would have spared her.

She even rejected His hand that reached down to help her back up when she first stumbled.

And isn’t this the way falls go?

We don’t realize how important it is to turn on the Light. We have such an abundance of God’s Word.  Bibles, phone applications, internet sites.  Books, sermons, DVD teachings. Yet too often we head out without even as much Light on our paths as a keyring LED provides.

We rush ahead instead of waiting on the Lord. We have our agenda, and we’re on a mission. Never mind that He might want us to go another direction or even take another approach. We flail about like hamsters on a treadmill instead of enjoying the power of His Spirit gracefully carrying us where He wants us to go.

We think that just a small indiscretion won’t matter much in the big scheme of things.  A harmless flirtation, one little peek, just a tiny bite, only one drink. Just a quick visit with friends from the old crowd. We think we’re too big or strong for something so little to give us much trouble. But size can be painfully deceptive. Maybe “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” is truer than we want to admit. Something that seems like a mere 3 inches—insignificant compared to our size—can really bring us down. Hard.

And we deny the far-reaching impact our fall will have on our lives and those we love. When the reality begins to come through, regret can rob us of the joy still available to us.

Prevention is so much better than regret.

But if you feel like it’s too late, and you’ve already fallen, there is Good News.

You do still have Someone to help you up.

God loves us so much, He didn’t leave us alone in our fall. He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to raise us up.

If you are feeling the effects of a fall, I understand. We still have consequences when we plunge forward into destruction.

But call out for help. First to the Lord, then to one of His helpers who can guide you back to the safe path.

There is hope.

And there is joy, even during recovery.

There is life after the fall.