"Every good and perfect gift is from above..."

~ James 1:7 ~

I was messaging with one of my closest friends today, and we got onto the subject of strength. What it means, where it's from…

This particular friend and I were really close throughout high school and then the first year or so when I went off to North Carolina for school we just kind of drifted. It wasn't until my accident last Christmas brought me back home that we truly reconnected. It was totally a God thing that we eventually figured out we were both back "home" at the same time, and by the time we were resuming our Caribou Coffee dates after too many year's hiatus, I was back on my feet and [theoretically at that point] planning my return to Bulgaria.

I say all that to draw point to the fact that she had no idea how much I struggled after my accident. How angry and bitter and frustrated I had been over the whole situation. I broke my leg, lost my job, had no semblance of independence, and no one could tell me when I would walk unassisted, drive a car, go back to work, or if I could return to Bulgaria. And I didn't even know if I even wanted to go back. And other than my parents noticing this internal battle going on, I told no one. In fact, I hid it. Apparently rather well, too.

This subject today came up when we were talking about not wanting to be strong anymore when times of trial arise. And about how incredible it is that when we ignorant humans decide time and time again that we can't handle something on our own (can we ever?), that we DON'T HAVE TO. Every single time – HE is there.

I admitted to her at this point that every time someone back home had told me what a "trooper" I was, or how strong I was being, or how much of a fighter I've always been… that I wanted to scream. Loudly. I didn't feel strong. I felt ANGRY. She asked me how I pulled out of it. What made me return to the only foundation and stability I've ever (and will ever) known. I never hit rock bottom. I also wasn't praying myself through this, and since no one knew what I was going through inside because I made sure they didn't, I'm pretty sure no one was discerningly praying me through it either.

But wow. The thought of a "perfect gift." Undisturbed clarity. Being able to all of the sudden see through the storm and finally noticing a hand ready to pull you up (one that has without a doubt been there the entire time). THAT'S what turned everything around for me. And honestly? I don't think I saw it at the time. Actually, I know I didn't. My surgeon will tell you it's because I started physical therapy or walking again. But I know different. I know that the reason I healed a non-union fracture after a months of non-healing can't be explained with some medical jargon. My 0% to 90% healing marathon in a mere six weeks was because I received a gift. A perfect one. A second chance. An open door. One I had promised to walk through should the opportunity arise. And here I am.