As many of my readers already know, I took a bad tumble on Saturday, crashed my head on a table, and ended up in the emergency room. End result: 15 stitches in the forehead and torn tendons in my right shoulder and chest. I have been in a great deal of distress since then. Those who have torn their rotator cuff will understand. And to make things worse, I’m in the midst of a cold, which means that every time I sneeze or cough, my body convulses in sharp agony. On the other hand, I’m sure that the wound on my forehead will leave an impressive scar, making for an engaging dueling story–no doubt something having to do with apocatastasis and the honor of the Orthodox Church.
My poor wife has been a trooper. Christine is barely able to walk—she is scheduled for hip replacement surgery next month—yet somehow we have been able to make do (or more precisely, she has been able to make do; I cannot do much of anything, except whimper). We could use some help walking the Collies, though. Just saying.
But I do want to share with you something that happened in the ambulance on the way to the ER. I remember the paramedics talking about my condition and vitals and asking me lots of questions. They were concerned I had suffered a concussion and neck injury (fortunately I did not). I tried to attend to their conversation but could not—I was pretty dazed. Then I noticed that in the midst of the chaos, my deep heart was already quietly praying: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me.” I surrendered myself to the prayer. I was at peace.