The injuries that heal

I was on the phone when it happened. Normal every day phone call with my boyfriend talking about how he got in a fight with a possum. 

My mom suddenly yelled for me, and my heart immediately dropped. Without even thinking, my first thought was, Hudson must be hurt.

But it wasn’t Hudson. It was Penelopi. She had fallen off the zip line at the Back To School Bash.

I ran toward her, helping her walk out of the way of other children to check her out and bracing for the kind of crisis we’ve come to expect without even realizing I was, the kind that changes everything.

But this time was different.

She had a broken arm. Painful, yes. Scary, yes. But not life-threatening? Not forever.

We didn’t race to the ER. We went to Urgent Care, where kids with sprains, coughs, and broken bones sat with their parents. The doctor set her arm, gave her a splint, and said words that almost felt foreign, “Follow your with Ortho but She’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

Fine. In a few weeks.

I didn’t know what to do with that kind of answer.

My mind is used to the long road, the endless follow-ups, the pain that never really leaves.

But here I was, in the exam room like any other mom, with a “normal mom” injury, an injury that heals.

And maybe that was the lesson tucked inside the cast: not every fall is forever.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)

Her arm will heal stronger. And maybe, so will I.

Today she is out of her cast and just fine.

Fine in a few weeks

Just like I was told.