Broken Lives Matter

 For you created my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Psalm 139:13-14

He was still and gray against the white sheets of the hospital bed. Tubes ran in and out of his body. "He's unconscious," the recovery room nurse said, "but you can talk to him."

So we did, my daughter and I, telling my husband that we loved him, that we were there, that everything would be alright. We said it because we believed it, not knowing that infections and complications would result in many more surgeries and hospitalizations, eventually leaving Ron disabled and in chronic pain. Nine years after the car accident, a parade of nursing aides now care for Ron while I am at work. It's not what we planned.

But I have to  believe that Ron's life, however disrupted and broken, still matters.

January 20 was Sanctity of Life Sunday and while I sat in the pew next to my best friend Chris, I listened to Pastor Aaron read from Psalm 139. My mind was taken back to March 2, 2000, the day when the lives of my family--Ron, me, Dennis, Bonnie, Allen--were drastically changed, bent from our intended trajectory and launched into the unknown. We were woefully unprepared for what was to follow.

But God was not. In verse 7 of Psalm 139, the psalmist says "Whither shall I go from thy spirits?" assuring us that God is ALWAYS aware of just where we are and what is happening to us. Acts 17:28 says, "In him we live and move and breathe and have our being." It is often difficult to remember that while I sit in yet another waiting room outside an operating theater.

It helps me to know that David, the accepted writer of Psalm 139, had his own challenges in life. John Gill explains that this particular Psalm was written at a time when David had been falsely accused of many dastardly deeds. In fact, David didn't live the life one might think of as kingly. As the youngest of Jesse's sons, he suffered from loneliness and exclusion, spending many long hours in the field with only the sheep for company. He, the anointed King, spent years running and hiding from jealous Saul. In many ways, David failed as a king (2 Samuel 24:9-10) and a father (2 Samuel 13:21). He had troubles--lots of troubles there in River City--some of which he brought upon himself.

Sure sounds like a broken  life to me. How could such a life be of any value to anyone?

Sanctity of Life Sunday was initiated by President Reagan in 1984, who noted the date was the 11th anniversary of Roe vs Wade, the landmark Supreme Court case that legalized abortion. Since then, the third Sunday in January has been set aside to celebrate the gift of life--ALL life--and to commit to protecting life at all stages, no matter how bent or broken they may be, no matter how little value they seem to contribute to society.

All lives matter. All lives have meaning.

Ron can no longer work to support his family, or play baseball with his sons, or walk more than a few feet. His care has often put a drain on our finances and my energy. Yet his life is still one of meaning. In the last nine years, we have had countless opportunities in many hospitals to display our faith and our commitment to our marriage. One doctor said to me, "I do not know how you have done such a big thing," and I told him, "I serve a big God."

Recently, Ron's afternoon aide told me it had been a particularly difficult day, but added this. "I've worked with a lot of folk, but I think you and your husband are the nicest ones. You care about each other and other people, too. And your husband never fails to make me laugh."

And isn't that a valuable thing?