Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.”
Micah 7:8, ESV
My sister has the gift of stubbornness. Due to this gift, she endured no small amount of trouble while growing up.
Once, during a streak of regular spankings, I asked her why she didn’t just “say she did it and was sorry.”
“Because I didn’t do it and I’m not sorry,” she replied.
“Who cares?” I said, completely disregarding the fact that I was advising her to lie.
Along with stubbornness, the youngest of our bunch, also had a penchant for falling.
There was the time she was riding double with her friend and fell off the bike. Our parents were gone, and big brother Jim took her to Grandma Phillips. She proceeded to twist the tender arm several times in circular motion. Then, in spite of the repeated exclamations of “Ow!” she declared the polyester-clad girl to be fine.
Later that evening, Susan was fitted with a brace for a broken collarbone. I assure you that no one who truly knew my Grandma Phillips is surprised to read this.
Proving that sometimes when you fall, those who think they are helping you don’t know what they are talking about.
…I’ll just let that one sit right where it is.
A few years later (and countless falls between), Susan was home, with our brother Bill, when the phone rang. Being the well-trained preacher’s kid that she was, she raced to the grab the phone hanging on the wall between the kitchen and dining room. One never knew what emergency sat on the other side of that line. In this case, its 15-foot curly cord was a hazard in itself.
But that’s not what tripped her.
It was Gussie May, Bill’s adopted dog. Half dachshund and half chihuahua, she looked like a little red rat.
And we all loved her dearly.
Except when she got tangled between our feet, slept in the crook of our legs, or passed gas. Hearing the call, Gussie May ran out from under the table and directly into Susan’s path. A dance ensued which, you guessed it, ended in Susan falling.
Rising and grabbing the phone, she gasped, “Phillips’ residence, this is Susan speaking.”
Bill declared it a sprain, told her to put some ice on it, and go to bed.
A few hours later her broken wrist was wrapped in a nice cast.
Sometimes we fall on our way to do the right thing…
…it happens.
It was winter—cold, and dark early in Michigan—the night I was told to go pick Susan up from school. When we returned, I pulled up to the right of the circular lane I squeezed in and parked. We climbed out and, as I made my way around the car, Susan walked down the slight incline to the back door of the house.
Before you could say, “Charlie Brown’s Christmas Special,” she was flying, Snoopy-style, across the ice on her belly; books and papers sliding in their own concentric dance around her.
I gasped and then, without even the slightest warning, began to laugh. Before I knew it she joined in, and we were both howling to the point of tears. It was cold and slippery, books and papers were scattered over the ice and gravel, and together we struggled through our laughter to get her and the entire mess up from the ice.
She had to have had some bruises later, but what we remember most is how we laughed.
Because, sometimes the only thing you can do when you fall is laugh,
…If you can find someone to laugh with you, it’s even better.
The thing is, you don’t usually see a fall coming. The hardest ones are the most unexpected.
Like the big one. Which took us a few years to laugh about.
We were both young mother’s when Susan boarded a train to come visit with her two-year-old daughter, Suz. Before we knew it, we were halfway through our week and it was time for our midweek service at church. Taking the girls, I made my way out to the already running car, and waited with my not-so-patient husband.
“Great,” I mused, thinking back to our teenage days when my fashionista sister often had us running late.
And, isn’t it the bane of younger siblings to be haunted by their past?
Finally, I climbed out of the car to go get her. That’s when I heard a cry.
“Melissa, help!”
Looking down I saw her lying beneath the car, head and shoulders sticking out.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a nap.”
Funny girl.
It was obvious that she had fallen but, nonetheless, even as my husband came to join us, I asked, “What happened?”
Ice. Again.
Of course, we got her into the car and proceeded to church. I’m telling you, that preacher’s kid training really took.
My husband and another man tried to help a wincing Susan inside, but we finally decided I should take her to emergency.
“Don’t worry,” the helpful college student said, as she leaned into the window. “If it’s not numb, it’s not broken.”
I shifted the car into first gear and turned down the old dirt road.
“Melissa”
“Yeah,” I answered, moving into second gear and then third.
“My ankle is numb.”
Four hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, I pulled into our driveway. The very same driveway that my sister had decided to “take a nap” on, parked, and went into the house to get my husband.
Annoyed, (he did not have that lucky gene that renders one happy when suddenly wakened) he came out to the car.
Then he saw the foot to hip cast.
And woke up.
There isn’t time to go into the next few days and our ten-hour-trip to take her home in a car whose heat decided to stop working, or to tell the story of her recovery.
Suffice it to say that sometimes it takes a little while to get back up and walk again. It’s painful, inconvenient, and, often, embarrassing.
Falling is a part of life.
Dreams fall.
Jobs fall.
Plans fall.
People fall.
There has been a whole lot of falling this year.
Unfortunately, it is a rare thing to actually get to choose the moment a fall will happen.
But we do have choices after the fall.
My sister has a way of falling that, somehow, has made her stronger each time.
Strong enough to forgive the one who should have helped and didn’t.
Strong enough get up and keep doing the right thing, even when it hurts.
Strong enough to shove her pride aside and laugh.
Strong enough to be patient when the healing is long.
And strong enough to pull others up with her.
Most importantly, she learned that it wasn’t the fall that mattered the most—
it was what she did after the fall.
The post What she did after the fall appeared first on melissadawnbaker.com.
To continue...read the full-length post originally published on this site.
