Awakening from a nap, the bad dream was a familiar one, that of my teeth falling out. The first time it happened was when I was 5. While playing chase on the merry-go-round, I had stumbled and crashed down on one of the steel bars. A front, permanent tooth was broken and chipped, and I found myself spitting out bits and pieces of it into my hand. The scene played out often over the years in dreams, reliving that moment.
Almost 70 years later, it was an encore, sans the merry-go-round. No doubt that is why the bad dream reappeared.
An early family Christmas had been planned with most of the family going to Boise, Idaho. The weekend was filled with laughter and giggles as all five cousins were together, a rarity due to distance and circumstances. Gingerbread houses, trampoline jumping in the dark, a fresh snowfall, a tour of Christmas lights in a limo, and a pajama party were just a few of the events which made the weekend memorable. Tubing in the snow was a highlight, a first for me. “This is so much fun,” I exclaimed—over and over again.
This family played together, laughed together, and we came together.
The final activity of the weekend was a shopping trip downtown. There were ten of us as we spread out in groups—five grandgirls, my three daughters, a son-in-law; and myself. After a stop at a book store we headed on to a clothing store where I found the prize of all prizes—warm socks. I was certain they were the capper to a perfect weekend.
What I did not know was what awaited me within minutes of leaving that store.
The crosswalk was not a smooth surface. The signal said there were nine seconds left in which to cross, and so I hurriedly began. I did not make it. I remember seeing the raised, orange protrusion out of the corner of my eye as I went down. Possibly having been placed for traction in icy conditions, my thick-soled boots had caught on one, causing the fall.
The whole family was witness to the inglorious header. My daughter said I went down as though I had been shot. It felt that way. It wasn’t a trip and stumble but a pummeling to the pavement. I knew my face was heading squarely into the street.
At the last nano-second, which I can confirm is infinitely briefer than a split second, my head was flipped up and back, and I landed on the underside of my chin, the impact forcing my lower jaw up and to the left. Pulling myself up off the street, I spit a chunk of a broken crown into my hand, reminiscent of a 5-year-old little girl.
It could have been, should have been so much worse. A scratched upper lip which looked like a bad Botox job, an abrasion on the underside of my chin which barely bled and required no stitches, bruising on both knees, and one broken jaw. Had I landed fully face first I would be dealing with issues for the rest of my life, never completely recovering. Having my jaw wired shut for six weeks while on a liquid diet is minor in comparison.
My blessings are many. Not only was I spared from horrific injury, I have a family which has stood by me every step of the way, holding me up while I sobbed in their arms, willing me to breathe as shock was trying to take hold, housing me, caring for me, loving me. Their humor never ceases to delight me. The support and encouragement from friends and those who don’t even personally know me has been overwhelming
There is a point and purpose to all things. Do I see it? Do I know what it is? No, but I know it to be.
We all stumble at times while walking, whether physically or figuratively. Sometimes the fall is a slam to the pavement, other times it’s just enough to trip us up. I’ve often said that these are the times we either turn to God, we turn on Him, or we turn away from Him.
As for me, my advocacy is that of turning to Him, but that is all I can do—advocate. The choice is individual. It is yours to make.
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." Psalm 46:1
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