Oh, community…
For some reason, I had thought it a good idea to play around and attempt a handstand after doing cartwheels with Kirsten and MK. My right arm, though, thought it was a good idea to give out midway through said handstand. We pick up the story here: eyes closed tightly, nose crinkled, mouth pressed into a firm line; everything tense and head spinning.
Gravity: 1/ Abby: 0.
From left to right: Beka, Kirsten, me.
I knew something wasn’t right when my shoulder made a chorus of snapping sounds when I tried to move it. I didn’t realize my joint was made of bubble wrap. After lying on the ground motionless for a bit, Kirsten and MK come over to double check on me.
Why is it that I can keep it together when no one asks me questions, but as soon as someone says, “are you alright?” the waterworks begin. Well, now my shoulder and ego are injured as I make my way over to the car to be taken back to the apartment. Awesome.
Much like suburban America, Kenya’s road developers are obsessed with speed bumps. I have never dreaded speed bumps so much in my entire life as on our way home that day. Mama Mary sat on my left and Kirsten sat on my right, cupping my shoulder and preventing it from moving too far in any direction. She was like my human arm sling.
We arrive home and suddenly I have an extra set of arms, an extra body, in fact. I carry nothing but my arm up the stairs, my dinner was brought over to me, Nalgene filled, etc. I try to retain a bit of independence when changing shirts which basically resulted in Kirsten finding me in post-“miserable heap” in our room. It’s exceedingly difficult to change out of a normal t-shirt when you can’t disturb your shoulder in the slightest. I was disallowed to change my own clothing from that point.
“I feel like an invalid,” I grimaced as Kirsten helped me get into bed.
“Abs, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes, especially when you’re legitimately hurt,” she told me.
She stayed with me for the next day, too. I wasn’t allowed to get my own tea. If I dropped something, someone else would snag it for me before I could even bend over. She came with me to the hospital, was my arms and backpack, opened the car door and remained completely servant minded, the whole time.
Before the Race began, alumni and coaches warned us that we might get stuck with a particular person for maybe the whole Race and that sometimes you may adamantly wish for that person to be swiftly assigned to a different team. I’ve been “stuck” with Kirsten since month one, since Training Camp, even. Why is it, then, that it’s taken nine months to really understand her heart? You could ask either of us and you would probably hear something like, “Abby/ Kirsten is the one person who I needed to be stuck with this whole year despite my feelings.”
“Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.” Proverbs 27:17
Perhaps it’s because we have so many things alike that it’s been a challenge to be together these past months. Maybe it’s because we’re stubborn/ insecure/ defensive in the same areas. Maybe it’s because we needed to learn the ins and outs of communication that we’ve been stuck together all this time. Whatever the case may be, it’s been a love of agape demonstrated here. Agape is not an emotional, shallow or rollercoaster type of love- it is a love of choice.
So maybe Kirsten and I didn’t choose each other or click immediately like some of my friends in the past; however, we’ve learned from each other, grown together and arrived at a deeper understanding of ourselves and one another that we might not have, had we had an “easy” relationship.
She’s a servant, a lover and a sister.
I think it’s funny how it took me crashing on my own head, being essentially helpless and in need for me to have her true nature underlined. My perspective of this fine teammate has been properly redefined. I mean, it only took nine months, right?
Seriously, I love you, girl. Thanks for everything <3
