Did you know I started learning to longboard a few weeks ago?
It’s been on my bucket list for years, because why not? A couple of friends at work had recently purchased boards and my ears perked up at the thought of learning with them. I hesitated for a while since I’m leaving in January. I didn’t want to start learning and then leave for 5 months! But then I got a free helmet at work that looks like a cat with purple cat ears sticking up from the top and I knew it had to be a sign from God for me to get a longboard and to get it now.
At 27, I didn’t think my late night (ok, early afternoon) Amazon impulse buys would look much like a yellow wheeled quest longboard, but I can’t say I’m disappointed with the way(s) my life has surprised me.
My friend, (Ashley) Francis, told me I’d learn so much about the Lord when I started boarding. I didn’t not believe her. I mean, she’s really trustworthy and says a lot of profoundly simple, but necessary things. But I also didn’t believe her. Then the day came.
The day where I was alone in a giant empty boat launch parking lot by the water on a grey, chilly evening. I’d been through the ringer of emotional catastrophes in recent days and thought a quiet moment on my longboard with the wind on my face would do me some good. I hopped on my board, had a few good coasts down the slanted gravel, and then got a little too confident…
With too much speed for the newbie I am, I fell, scraped up my arms and legs, and resisted feeling the inevitable stinging pain of fresh wounds my whole way home. (Of course this was after my long walk…limp…of shame across the parking lot back to my car with my longboard tucked up under my arm). I knew what I should do when I got home. I knew I should rinse my abrasions with soap and water, making sure each scratch was free of gravel, but I didn’t want to. My superficial and seemingly minor gashes were already sore, tender, and beginning to throb. The last thing I wanted to do was increase irritation and my symptoms.
Then the Lord spoke; my great physician and teacher of everything spiritual athletic training related.
He reminded me of what I’d expect…more so demand…of any athletes I’d worked with in similar positions as I now found myself. I’d make them let me clean their wounds and although I’d know it’d hurt, I’d also share with them the benefits. Because I’d know it’d hurt, I’d move forward as gently as possible with hope of clean healing as my guide. If this is what I’d do with any of my athletes (or any person I have the opportunity to treat), how much more will my Father in Heaven gently tend to my wounds?
How often though, do we recognize our wounds, feel the pain of them, and resist doing anything more with them even if it could help them. Isn’t it already painful enough? Haven’t I already experienced enough hurt? You want me to choose to take on more? No. Surely you don’t understand how agonizing these wounds already are. Wait for the pain to lessen and then I’ll let you near them. We logically know the issues that come with this kind of thinking, but it sometimes doesn’t stop us from reacting this way. Thankfully, response doesn’t have to match reaction.
In this stand off of pain vs more pain, I let God remind me of the benefits of optimal healing. As an athletic trainer, we can’t always make an injury heal faster than the body is made to heal itself, but we can find the optimal environments for the body to heal best. Sometimes this means saying yes to more pain.
I was also reminded of the importance of saying yes to my own pain and healing as I’m entrusted to lead people into theirs. I shouldn’t speak to anyone else’s wounds unless I am also willing to clean the debris from my own. So I went home and cleaned my wounds, that became scabs, and are now scars from the time I started learning something new and exciting and fell in the process.
I’ve gotten back on my longboard several times since this happened, even as my wounds were still wounds. I hope this is the way we choose to live even the most serious parts of our life; with a sensitivity to the needs of our injuries, but without walls against the fullness of life we can still have in spite of them.
