determination
It was the bottom of the third inning in the Human Resources versus the Finance Departments Spring softball game. It was my turn at bat for HR with the score five to three in favor of Finance. I stepped to the plate as the CFO positioned himself as Catcher. I was poised to drive our first home run with the bases loaded, putting us firmly in the lead. The pitcher adeptly threw the softball to pass directly over the plate in front of me as I put my whole strength behind the swing. The bat had hardly moved when I felt a piercing pain at the instant the Catcher and I heard the pronounced crack. I hit the ground in agony, grabbing my right foot that was already beginning to swell. Not only did I not accomplish the intended home run, but the subsequent trip to the emergency room resulted in us being delayed over three hours for our family motor home trip to Kings Dominion. Pride and determined anger over the painful inconvenience of a broken foot drove my insistence on not altering our weekend plans. I struggled to “have fun” through the pain and discomfort only to find that healing must have its way if it is to be successful. It did not accomplish its objective, however, as I consistently interrupted its journey to full recovery. Eighteen years later the “nerve entrapment” that resulted from the interrupted healing process takes its toll in my daily walk. Pride and anger over inconvenience have mostly vacated the premises. There is room now for hope and thankfulness that allows targeted exercise and persistent movement that have paved the road toward slowing the degenerative path of the neurological beast. Attending to one’s needs carries greater healing value than succumbing to the pride and anger of a momentary determination to have one’s way. Consequences come in many varieties! Experience has taught which ones are wise.
It was a hot and humid summer day on the tobacco farm in rural North Carolina. This five year old wandered freely through the hills and fields wearing only shorts; no shirt, no shoes. Harvesting had not begun so there was ample time to while away with my co-conspirator Raymond, who was seven. Recalling observational visits to the mill pond in the creek near the house with my Dad, I announced to Raymond that we were going for a swim. Raymond, the then wiser of the two, suggested I ask my mother for permission. My request was met with a resounding NO! I left the screened back porch undaunted as I met up with Raymond and directed him to follow me. I knew a back way where we wouldn’t be seen by my mother. Raymond must have assumed an affirmative response from Momma since I was taking eager strides toward the cool and refreshing flow of the creek. Soon we arrived at our sought after destination already populated with other swimmers enjoying the gentle flow of water beneath the dam behind the decaying old mill. The passage over the dam was easily navigated as I found my way to the western bank with ample sand on the inviting shore. Stripped to my underwear, I jumped forward into the refreshing flow, relishing every moment. Suddenly a figure appeared on the dam above the glistening pool of freedom. To my surprise, she called my name and announced that my mother was on her way. I fled the water in a panic, grabbed my shorts and fretted over what I would do with wet underwear. Perhaps the briefs would dry if I lay in the sun as I waited for my mom to walk the distance from our house. Just then, a car unrecognized by me, pulled up and a very angry and concerned mother emerged. “Get in the car”, she commanded. I complied with a shaky “yes ma’am.” As we approached our driveway on the then unpaved dirt road, my mother asked the driver of the car to let us out at the edge of the road. Thanking the driver profusely, Momma broke a weed growing near the road and proceeded to “switch” my legs as I skipped along the driveway toward the house with my uncle Billy sitting on the front porch as witness to my humiliation. The switch didn’t hurt, but the embarrassment at having been apprehended in the act disobedience did. So many lessons were learned that day. Soon my humiliation at having been “caught” for my act of determined self will became an abiding sense of gratitude for love that would seek me out to keep me from the arms of danger. Going after the things one desires to do is held in high regard. With that “going after” sometimes comes the “got instead”. It does not signify failure, but rather the consequence that was probable at that time. Living with PD today means I cannot as easily do some of the things I use to do. I can still go after my desired activity, but I fully recognize and accept that sometimes I will experience the “got instead”. There are love lessons there as well! I’ve learned to be open to them.