Going into the situation I knew a few possible choices of what action I could choose and thus what outcome could occur, since I had been practicing corner kicks in soccer for about ten years. Depending on the speed and the height of the ball when kicked, I could run in and head it into the goal, use my foot to trap it and shoot, or simply allow it to whizz by if it were simpler for a teammate behind me to possibly score. Soon the ball was kicked and neither option happened. The ball had gone out of bounds. So we practiced it three more times, with the last time me choosing the option of going in with my right foot to one-touch it into the goal. Unfortunately I forgot to mention that there is a goalie guarding the goal, and she also has options. For this last corner kick—the last because of the combinations between the two options that the goalie and I picked—the goalie, Becca, decided to go out one hundred percent to get the ball, as she should do. We soon collided. And the pain slicing through my lower leg down to my ankle was unbearable for me. All that I wanted in that moment was the pain to stop. I did not care about homework, tomorrow’s schedule, or if Becca got hurt more than I. At the hospital, I found out that I broke my ankle and fibula. And shortly after, my perseverance began to subconsciously dwindle. Through such simple actions my thoughts for playing soccer my freshman year in college disappeared in a flash. I knew that next season I would still have potential to play, but in this present time, all I could do was ask God why He allowed this to happen, why He would let someone who already trusts Him get hurt. I was beyond regret at this point and demanded to know what the near future held for me while I was in this condition. I pushed away the consideration that any beauty could come from this and only wanted things to go back to normal.
Right after surgery I talked to my parents, telling them that everything was fine and that the surgery went well. They said that they would call the preacher so that he could get people in my church to start praying for me. My soccer coach was along side of me for much of the time while I was in the hospital, filling people in at the college what had happened to me so that they could pray for me also. As soon as the word started to get out, I received many text messages and Facebook comments from close friends asking how I was, saying that they were praying for me, and not to give up. I listened and believed along the surface of my thoughts, but deeper I still had not resolved the anger between myself and God. It was silly how I was glad and thankful for so many people praying for me, but that I personally had not fully committed my heart and time to settle down and sacrifice my problems to God. This action of not acting caused me to become stagnant in my faith. With the surgery forty-eight hours in my past, I had asked for my Bible and devotional journal and yet had not read nor written. I yearned to eat food, but it did not satisfy what was missing. I would try to stay awake to do homework, but because of the medicine and continuous frustration I would reluctantly go to sleep. I kept telling myself that everything will be okay, but pushing my doubt to the back where they sat and started to inflate. I would type to my friends, “I’m doing okay, to be honest”, but in reality I was only lying to myself and was slowly becoming depressed. Perhaps that was the problem; I was only “okay”. Getting hurt had caused me to become insensitive to many everyday aspects around me, and unfortunately, it also involved becoming insensitive to God.
To commit to God I had to first realize what the problem was, and lying to me made that tricky to accomplish. It was only through time’s passing that I began to realize what was wrong with me, with which I now understand that patience is required to any sort of fallen state of the soul—as much as I’d hate to admit. It was hard to get back on track; to squeeze through that narrow road because becoming indifferent caused me to wonder what action I should take, if I should take any action at all. Consequently, I did what many have done before me: I cried. I cried because I was lost beside the only road that I knew to take and yet somehow could not get back on. I cried because the fire that had been lit inside my soul had now become dimmed down to a constant glow. I cried because I was crying. And I cried because I wanted to feel God’s love again. Unfortunately, I knew that all of this was my own doing. Not that I could have chosen to not get hurt, but that I could have stayed closer to what, and more importantly who, I know is eternally true.
So I confessed to God that our relationship had been hurt. The next step was to try to get back on track. What better response to do than to read the Bible? (Yet again, I did so grudgingly.) Deciding for a night that the book of Psalm would be a good read, I randomly flipped, and arrived at Psalm 121. What provoked me to become immediately comforted was verse three that read, “He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber.” No matter how tired I have been or will become, my God is stronger and able to stay awake to watch over and guide me. Trust is important when in a relationship with God, because when you trust, amazing moments can occur. For example, two days later I was following up on my devotional reading that consisted of starting at Galatians and have working my way into Hebrews. That night I read Hebrews 5:11-6:12, with the title of “Warning Against Falling Away”. The next night I read Hebrews 6:13-20, with the title of “The Certainty of God’s Promise”. The timing of each section could not have been clearer. In fact, I could base my problems chronologically with these titles: First, I fell away, and then I had to remember God’s promise. Once I softened my heart to not discourage the knowledge of his never ending love, I started noticing—or perhaps that God starting showing—acts of spiritual love. Such a case would be when I posted a status on Sunday on Facebook about the miraculous timing that God portrays. Then, about four hours later, my loving Christian friend Mary comments that she had prayed for me the night before, possibly right when I was reading in Hebrews. In continuation with such happenstances, my phone sometimes refuses to receive text messages, sometimes a week at a time, and yet the next day, Monday, I hear a ring from my phone and surprisingly see that Mary had text me a passage from the Bible, Matthew 11:28-30 that discusses the call to be rejuvenated with Christ. How can I deny that He exist and wants me to persevere?
