On Sunday afternoon Adam and I ventured over to the market on
the other side of town. He wanted a Rwanda football (soccer) jersey to take
with him to university. It was intended to be our last trip to the market
before heading state-side.
The market trip was pretty successful. We bargained hard and
perused the aisles, looking for things we didn’t really need, just enjoying the smells and sights of that place. I asked Adam if he
wanted to drive home. He said yes, I hopped on the back of the scooter/moped,
and we began swerving and dodging through traffic.
Should I turn left
here? He asked me.
Yes. I shouted
through my helmet.
I heard Adam groaning. I opened my eyes and saw the blue
sky. He was lying next to me on the side of the road. I was confused. And in a
lot of pain. I couldn’t form words, tears flowed uncontrollably down my face. My
knee was already three times the size it should be.
50 or more people crowded around us.
Someone pulled the helmets off of our heads.
Adam told me to call Mom. I couldn’t. He took the phone from
me. His adrenaline pumping over-time. I remained on the curb, crying. In shock.
I don’t remember the accident, which might actually be a
good thing. Adam remembers. And he loves telling stories. Something about
colliding with a truck and flying over the handlebars.
We were both scrapped, bleeding, and bruised. My mom came
and took me to the hospital for an x-ray of my knee. It’s not broken or
fractured.
In case I thought I was going to rush my recovery process,
the Lord saw fit to give me a 24-hour stomach bug on Tuesday. On Wednesday
morning I woke up with a sore throat which turned into a good old-fashioned
cold.
Five days later and the swelling is almost gone, but bending
and standing still prove to be too painful. Adam’s swollen elbow is just about
back to a normal size too, and if you can look past the gory scabs and bruises,
it’s almost like the accident never happened. Crutches and a knee brace have
made it feasible for me to start moving around the house and I am improving
with each day.
We’re leaving Rwanda in four and a half days. This is the
time when we are supposed to be “ending well” – doing all of our last things.
Instead, I’m on day five of keeping the couch warm.
I came to Rwanda to heal, emotionally. And now in my last
week I sit, in need of healing physically.
I had plenty of things to do this week. I needed to wrap up
some projects and there’s this lingering pressure to “end well” with people and
Rwanda. How can I possibly end well when I’m lying on a couch?
God allowed the accident to happen. I firmly believe this.
If I was up on my feet this week, running around and doing
everything I do, the story would be about me. I would have ended well based on all the things I accomplished.
Instead, I left everything mid-sentence. Loose strings all
over the place.
My closure isn’t up to me, it’s up to God. In the past I
haven’t ended well. I think that’s because I’ve either avoided it or tried to
do it on my own. This time it’s Him because I’m sick, crippled, and incapable of ending well. I need Him to help me leave on good terms and He has
already given me peace and closure in special ways.
My phone chimes hourly with text messages and the doorbell
rings frequently with friends stopping by. With each person I’m able to
connect with, I know that God is accomplishing something big. My heart can rest
easy.
On Tuesday, Adam and I will fly from Rwanda to Tampa,
Florida with wheelchair assistance. How do you like that? Two young and fit
kids rolling into Senior-ville like a couple of old folks. From there we’ll begin moseying our way up the
states. I’m heading back to Minnesota. I’ve missed that place. I’m thankful for
the months away but very ready to jump back into my life there. Or, for now,
hobble back into life.
