Your “Unwritten” Goals…

2019 has come and gone, but its memory in my heart and life will always live on.

It began with a warm Ecuadorian family celebration to ring in the new year, each one of us sharing our hopes and aspirations. I had written down a few goals for the year, including teaching myself how to play piano by ear and writing a new book.

In another sense this would be a year in which physical suffering would remind me of my weakness and frailty to accomplish anything on my own. It started in the spring as I was planting seeds with my children: I hit our metal mailbox and had to get stitches on my head. That didn’t stop me, and summer was a pleasant time of family bonding, active play at home, and short day trips to splash pads and the like. On September 12, 2019 I wrote down this verse in my journal:

Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law. Romans 13:10

Little did I know that the next day I would be living and breathing this verse day in and day out for the following three months. On September 13 was when my accident occurred, leaving me with ankle fractures and a surgery date. In my previous blog post entitled, “The Gift of Immobility,” more related details are shared. I can remember God’s voice speaking to my heart in the midst of it all, urging me to embrace receiving with a grateful and humble heart. Coinciding with the verse, I was loved on and provided for by many neighbors, even those whom I had never previously met or known.

Since the beginning of my road to recovery, I remember looking forward to one of my all-time favorite holidays: Thanksgiving. I dreamed of that day because I knew by then I would be walking again. In my next post I will share how ironic that day would become (a blog cliff-hanger for you, so stay tuned)!

When November came and I was given the go-ahead to start walking it felt like Christmas had come early. I was walking, but not well at all. At first it didn’t bother me much, but after almost a week I knew this was not good. I had a bad limp that I was unable to curtail on my own.

I then began my six weeks of physical therapy three times per week. My therapist, Beth, asked me if I would be willing to use a cane for a while. I didn’t expect to hear that suggestion, but I responded affirmatively to whatever would speed up and benefit my recovery. The moment Beth gave me a cane and prodded me to take a step the tears came rolling down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

A lot of emotions were there, but the only sentence I could utter was, “I can’t believe this even happened.”

“You feel old. You are not old. You are getting better.”

Yes, any words of encouragement were welcome in that moment. It was tough to not walk at all for months, but it was frightening to feel my body betraying me; the physical brokenness was uncustomary and foreign. Walking was supposed to be easier; how could I forget something so natural, something I had learned as a baby and never even remembered learning? Surprising but true: walking had to be relearned, and relearned correctly.

It wasn’t a quick and immediate result. For the first four weeks of physical therapy I remember thinking about every step, and how to make it smooth and even. The mental energy necessary to walk well was arduous. If I was fatigued or distracted I was incapable of the goal. I had to refocus and retrain my body on how to do this crucial yet taken-for-granted task. My awareness has been heightened towards all the people around me that have a limp due to age or physical ailments. I was told by my therapist to be patient and expect a fuller physical recovery a year from now.

It’s been about eight weeks and I am still practicing walking, getting the “hang of it” more and more each day; it feels more second nature again, like it used to before the accident. I have gotten to the point where I can “fool people”, meaning if you saw me out at a store you would probably not notice my injuries anymore. I still wear ankle compression braces every day, which enhance my ankle mobility and minimize the rigidity of my joints. My next surgery date is scheduled for the end of March, when I get all the “hardware” out: 10 little screws, a plate, and the big screw (the one that perfectly re-aligned my ankle bones, the tibia and the fibula). That big screw is my main reason for a second surgery, as it inhibits me from returning to my beloved hobby and daily habit of running. My kids are counting down the days until mommy can run again too; they miss me chasing them around as well.

In retrospect, 2019 was a successful year. I did accomplish my initial goals of teaching myself how to play piano by ear and even wrote a few books that I’d like to publish. Nevertheless, my unwritten goal was by far my greatest and most indispensable achievement: WALKING AGAIN.

Perhaps this year you have some desires that you would like to see fulfilled, some goals you have planned and purposed to reach. Let me encourage you to keep in mind the “unwritten” goals that God will bring into your life in 2020, the ones you didn’t initially mark down into your schedule or calendar. Perhaps a neighbor will need your listening ear or helping hand, or maybe you’ll be the one on the receiving end. One of my “unwritten” goals was the simple joy of walking. I had to embrace this unexpected reality and new objective with all of its implications and “interruptions” to my life with young kids. Homeschooling was done in a minimalistic way and in every area of our lives we had to endorse flexibility. There were tears and moments of resentment and desperation, I assure you. Yet, I praise God that during this time so many sub-goals and life-lessons were attained, the kind that you learn through experience and not “in a textbook.”

As my husband and I sat down at our kitchen table on New Year’s Eve 2019, our eight-year-old son Luke joined us. It was an intentional and intimate conversation; we were there for a good 45 minutes reflecting on our year, our lives, and our futures. At one point Luke shared, “I just don’t want anyone to die this coming year.” I saw a glimpse of how my accident had profoundly shaped my son’s heart, vision and perspective. Let’s never take for granted the basics: our very lives and the loved ones surrounding us.

I can’t think of a better way to begin this new year except with a prayer for all of us:

Dear God,

We welcome 2020, whatever this new year brings into our lives. We may experience some of our greatest joys this year in addition to some unexpected hardships and “unwritten” goals. Ultimately may YOUR vision be our vision, for only then will we be open to appreciate the beauty amidst the ashes, the good that can bless the brokenhearted. Thank you for a new year to know, serve, and love YOU, oh Jesus!

Ephesians 3:20-21 “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”

Amen and amen!

Below is a powerful song you can listen to. Written by Michael W. Smith, it became the song I sang and played at the piano throughout my recovery. No need to fear this year, as HE IS SOVEREIGN OVER US!

Happy New Year, dear ones!