No Decking

Last Thursday I went to see my surgeon. The week he operated, he had told me I could drive again in six to eight weeks. Thursday was a little over the five-week mark.

I went to his office with a speech prepared. I was ready to beg him to let me drive four blocks to the grocery store. I had it all figured out. I could do all right turns using only my right hand, and I could get home by making four more right turns—making one giant square full of right angles.

But I didn’t have to beg. He told me I could take off that awful sling with the plank that I’ve had to sleep with. And I can finally drive! I grinned from eyebrow to eyebrow.

The first place I drove was to my daughter’s school. They were holding the annual Fun Run—a one-mile course that parents can do with their kids. I opted for a half-mile walk. But considering I’d walked with a cane the previous week, I felt pretty excited, almost cocky, about doing that much.

That is, until one of the grown-ups gave me a hard time for doing so little. And this someone knew what I’d been through! Yup, right then and there she gave me some advice for participating with my daughter.

But I knew she meant well, and I interpreted her words as kindness.

NOT.

I wanted to deck her…uh, in a spirit of true Christian love, of course.

Have you ever noticed how insensitive people can be? You get a cold and people tell you what kind of soup to buy. You go through infertility, and people tell you to just relax. You have a discipline problem with one of your kids at the store, and you suddenly endure strangers telling you how to parent your child. You take your baby in a stroller to the mall, and a grandma stops you to tell you your kid will catch pneumonia unless you start doing a better job of swaddling.

Since I fell, people have told me to hold on to the rail now (I was holding on when I fell). They’ve told me to slow down when I go down stairs (I was going slowly when it happened). They’ve told me God must want me to slow down at work (so why did He allow me to fall, which increased the stack-up of my work load?). They’ve asked if I was sober when it happened. (Okay, that last one was funny…)

As a culture, we do a crummy job of zipping our lips and showing empathy. I do it, too, without even realizing it. Anybody who says the first thing that comes to the top of his or her head is guilty.

That’s why I especially appreciated the wisdom sent by one of my colleagues this week:

On the topic of what people say: I’m convinced that part of the trial and responsibility of whoever has a public malady is to kindly bear what the rest of us say. It should be clearly stated in The List of Directions for Sufferers because not everyone knows this and might tend to assume that the malady itself was enough already.

On Saturday night my family went to hear the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. We ordered our tickets too late to get great seats, so we had to sit in the nosebleed section. We still saw a fab concert, but it meant hiking into the stratosphere to get to our places. And to tell you the God’s honest truth, when I got to my seat, I sat down and cried. Those stairs were steep and scary. I clung to the rail as I climbed, taking ant-sized steps, fearing that at any moment I might topple over across the concrete to my death. Terrifying.

So you see, I don’t need anyone to warn me; the warnings scream loudly enough on their own.

In this context I am struck afresh by Peter’s admonishment to grow in grace. Growing in grace means growing in my ability to give grace away to the undeserving. I didn’t deserve grace, and I got it—plenty of it in abundant supply. So no decking allowed! My colleague is right. Part of my responsibility here is to kindly bear it when others seem insensitive. The malady itself is not the sum total of the trial.

What insensitive things have people said to you? How have people shown you grace you didn’t deserve?