And a Bruised Ankle Shall Teach Thee

It was 02/02/2020, and I had just run the best race of my life. Not because I had set any time records, not because I had won a ribbon, and not even because I had beaten any personal goals—it had been the best because it was the most fun. Hosted by the faculty of the university where I was employed, nearly every person posted along the route (and there were many) knew me—called my name, cheered loudly, and gave me the oomph to keep going. And for an extroverted affirmation junkie like me, that’s kinda like heaven. There were lots of selfies, lots of smiles, lots of cheers. 

But I knew something they didn’t yet know. I was in my final months in my host country, and I had yet to break the news to the people around me. 

But the news was for another day, not that day. That day was for celebration. 

And the celebrations rolled on. Long after crossing the finish line, runners lingered as friends. We ate rice soup to refuel, posed for pictures with our medals, and high-fived over a job well done. Before heading back home, I decided to take advantage of free foot massages: the perfect ending to a lovely race. 

But then, one step off a 6-inch, wooden platform changed the mood.

Instead of landing on solid ground, my foot landed in a hole—twisting my ankle into a knot. Stars burst in my head as I crumpled to the ground in a great heap. 

Rescuers came running, but I couldn’t stand up. After a few minutes of writhing in pain, I finally forced myself up, wobbled to my bike, and headed home. Mostly out of sheer willpower and wanting to get out of the awkward situation.

I’ll just take it easy the rest of the day and will be good as gold tomorrow.

The thought behind the thought had a lot to do with my aforementioned secret. I could not afford the time for an ankle to heal during the next few months. Those months were too important. I was prepared to carpe the diem around every turn. There was no time to waste on allowing my body to heal. 

So began part two of 02/02/2020. The painful part. 

I lay on my couch most of the afternoon, trying to imagine that my ankle was feeling better instead of worse, that the swelling I was seeing wasn’t really swelling, and that the bruise forming was just a figment of my imagination. 

But soon it became obvious. Something was wrong. I could not just imagine this away. It hurt.  But what hurt most was the timing. This can’t be so. It doesn’t fit into my timeline.

The next day, the doctor confirmed my fear. I had a bad sprain. The only remedy was rest, rest, rest. Some ice might help, elevate when possible, but just rest that sucker and give it time to heal.

It was not what I wanted to hear when I had a diem to carpe. My plans for my final months in my host city included far greater things than sitting on the sidelines. I was planning to sprint across that finish line. No time to waste on this crazy healing business.   

But there was nothing I could do but give it time. An ankle is a pretty important part of the body. And it needed healing. 

I learned some things in the process.

Healing cannot be rushed. 

For the first week or two, I sat on the sidelines at the running track. The evening exercise hour had become a special part of my day. It was impossible to be there without seeing at least a handful of people that I knew—it was a community I belonged to. I knew this was a piece of my host city that I would miss so much. And now, all I could do was sit and watch as a spectator. And I couldn’t abide that. 

So I convinced myself I was ok. I strapped on my shoes and took a run one night. And that was a colossal mistake.  Some healing had occurred, yes, but not enough. And for one little evening of fun (and actually, it all had an underlying pang), I set myself back weeks in the healing process. 

I wish I had practiced with my feet what I knew in my head: healing takes time.  

How often have I given myself an unofficial timeline in my head? You can be sad about this until the end of the month, and then you need to get over it.  And often, the end of the month comes and I’m still feeling pretty bruised and battered. 

Isaiah 60 includes a beautiful description of the future glory God will bring to his people. And it concludes with this:

I am the Lord; in its time I will hasten it. (Isaiah 60:22 ESV) 

He holds the timeline, not us. 

Healing looks weird. 

A few days after the incident, the bruising on my ankle started to move. Before long, the black-and-blue wasn’t even situated over the painful area anymore, rather it was sliding down my foot. I panicked. What was happening now? Had another part of my foot been injured too? After asking a co-worker who happened to be a health care professional, I learned the truth: my bruise was doing what bruising does, following gravity. It was nothing to be concerned about. This did not reveal some deep underlying issues in other parts of my body. My ankle was healing as it should.

Kind of like when a heartache in one area of life makes every part of us feel bruised and broken. Sometimes it reveals other things that need attention, and sometimes it brings forward all kinds of confusing messages about our inner lives. Whispering lies like You’re such a broken mess, you’ll never get over this; settle in for a life of misery.

And that’s when the Healer steps forward and reminds us to keep our eye on him, not on how we think the healing process should look. 

And finally:

Healing does come.

As you know, an ankle sprain isn’t a lifelong injury. That same ankle functions at full capacity again. I have run a number of races since that fateful day; I’m even training for one right now. Your same heart that has known deep loss, heartache, and pain can be fully healed once more.  This very week, after hearing me respond to some probing questions, my therapist threw her arms in the air and cried out, “What you’re describing is healing!”

The Healer is inviting us to walk with him. To know him. He longs to lead us into paths of healing.

Perhaps our need for healing is simply that, an invitation into something deeper with the Healer.

It might take longer than we ever hoped it would. It might look different than we would have scripted, but through our Heavenly Father, healing does come.

So if you’re in the trenches right now, feeling the ache of a torn ligament, body, or soul, hold onto hope. He is the Lord. In his time, he will hasten it. 

What are you learning about the healing process?