The Age of Happy Endings Is NOT Dead

A small disclaimer as I tell you this story. This wonderful, happy story. One that I know comes from a position of extreme privilege, something for which I thank God every day. I do know how blessed we are. I do. And the loss described in this small tale is surely not anything grand or even close to horrific. It was, nevertheless, loss. And now it is not. And in the midst of living this story, we felt heard, we felt seen, we felt loved. I share it today because I think it’s amazing. I hope you will, too.

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It was an anniversary gift. An iPad Mini, handed to my husband over a plate of fine salmon as we celebrated #47. At first, he was dismayed: “What am I going to do with this?” he asked.

“You’ll figure something out,” I said, smiling shyly.

He is not a man of the technological age, you see. Not quite a Luddite — but close. He’s learned the basics of email and attachments, but refuses to own a cell phone or to explore his desktop computer any more than he has to.

But I knew something he did not. On a small iPad, he could read books. And he could play Scrabble. And once he had mastered those simple things, he was sold. I mean, that iPad accompanied him everywhere, to each room in the house, in the car when we drove down to the beach to sit and reflect, when we went on vacation.

Everywhere.

He put a great photo on the desktop — Poppy with his two grandgirls — and he became a grandmaster of internet Scrabble, playing only against the computer and usually winning. Definitely, winning.

So, yesterday was a busy day for us. Compared to most of our days since my surgery two weeks and one day ago, it was jam-packed. We had a beach trip in the morning and a doctor’s visit in the afternoon. See what I mean? Jam-packed!

And now that I’m temporarily sidelined, he must load the car with our various and sundry traveling equipment all by himself. So yesterday morning, he trudged out with our two water bottles, his own sunglasses (two pair are required — don’t ask!), his iPad. Then, I slowly wheeled myself out to the garage, carefully positioned myself just past the door opening, squiggled backwards a tiny bit and then plopped down into the front seat. He picked up my scooter and stashed it in the back of our Honda Pilot and then carefully backed us out of the garage.

Instead of reading at the beach, which is our usual pattern, we chose to talk yesterday, so neither of us noticed anything amiss. Then, when it was time to go to the doctor’s, I asked him if he would bring his iPad along for the wait time and we realized it wasn’t in the car. A cursory inspection of the house yielded nothing.

The doctor’s visit was good — cast is off, stitches are out, baseline x-rays have been taken. We could easily see the two, long narrow screws now permanently embedded into my heel bone.

We were, however, told that this healing process could take longer than planned and we were also informed that there might be a problem with the big toe because of what he had to do during the surgery. I remain committed to holding positive thoughts, however, and am trusting that things will go as initially stated — eight weeks without walking, then another eight weeks of physical therapy. Then walking, as usual.

We returned home with some very mixed feelings and Dick began to scour the house, looking for that crazy iPad. We sat down and talked through the day together at least three different times, trying to back-step our way through where it might have landed.

It was not to be found.

He began searching again this morning after we had yet another conversation about everyplace he’d been the previous day.

Nothing.

I prayed quietly. Fervently. “Lord, this is such a good man. His list of ‘pleasure’ activities is pitifully short during this particular siege. So, maybe, could you help?”

I had a phone appointment at 9:00 a.m. and during that call, someone else called through. I made the decision to answer it because I thought I recognized the number.

Wrong.

It was “David.” No clue who David is.

But this is what he said: “I found an iPad with your name on it and I’m wondering if you’ve lost one.”

Say, what?

You found an iPad with my name on it?

YOU FOUND AN IPAD? Where?

It was at the Salinas Street exit of the freeway.

THE FREEWAY, did you say?

THE FREEWAY??

He figured out how to get into it, went to the contacts list and plucked out my cell phone number.

And just like that, we received an airmail, special delivery love note from God. 

Just like that.

Dick hurriedly left to drive across town to retrieve it, I went back to my original phone call, and we were both wonderstruck that such a thing could happen.

Here’s a possible scenario for how it unfolded, given the scant information available to us: sometime during the morning get-in-the-car commotion, Dick put that iPad on the roof of the car near my door while he was helping me get situated.

It remained there all the way to the beach and back, all the way to the freeway on-ramp, only flying off as we began to accelerate. Salinas Street is the very first exit heading north, and that’s where it was found, a slight dent in the bottom, the stylus missing, but otherwise intact and operational

It didn’t go into traffic. It couldn’t have started out on the driver’s side of the car, or it would have been trashed. It didn’t fly off the back of the car, either.  

It was good and gone. Gone, I tell  you.

And then, it was found.

And so were we.

Not a grand miracle. But a very, very good one. Thank you, Lord.

Some photos from yesterday’s grand unveiling:

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Cutting through miles of bandage,

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a huge wad of cotton,

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to a swollen ankle, in all its glory.

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Two incisions, one at the way-back end for the bone breaking and stabilizing, one up a little higher for the tendon rearrangement.

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The two pins in my foot. Can you see them?

IMG_4194The only stitches to be removed were here on the back, at the back end of the two screws. See those darkish round spots? Yup, that’s it.

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Wrapped for protection from the inside of the boot.

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And into the boot for the next six (we hope!) weeks.

 

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Comments

  1. Sandy Hay says:

    Our God loves us so much that He would see that your IPAD was rescued and returned. :)))) I want to say your photos are terrific, which they are , just a bit different then the usual scenery ;)

    • We surely felt loved, that’s for sure! Yes, it is an interesting set of photos. I am fascinated by most things medical and if this were not my foot, I would still want to know all about it. That piece of this journey has been a good piece – it helps me keep focussed on the mechanics more than on the pain and helplessness.

  2. love love love the colour on your toes
    making beauty out of pain
    jut like He does!

  3. Love this so much Diana. Those small moments of grace are so important. So grateful for this for you.

  4. I lost and then found my weeding ring in a miracle moment like you describe here. No explanation for its recovery but God. I know how you feel. What a gift. Grateful to hear your healing is going well. Will remember you in my prayers Diana.

  5. I think God enjoys our delight over the gifts He sends. Thanks for sharing this one with us, and may your foot heal quickly and thoroughly!

  6. I love your prayer and that God chose to honor it with a yes, in a cool way, too.

    I prayed a similar prayer for my dad (who just lost his wife). He loves sports and was rooting for Vanderbilt to win the college World Series. “God this is your faithful servant. Just becausem could you help his team win. It would be a huge boost to his spirits.” I know, others were probably praying for the other team. But they won and it was a sweet moment of joy.

    That ankle looks pretty bad still. Glad it is mending and the first weeks are done.

    Fondly,
    Glenda

    • Oh, how is your dad doing, Glenda? I am so sorry for this loss in his life and pray for his loneliness to ease over time. Thanks for the kind words, my friend. And yes, it still looks pretty bad. But to tell you the truth, I was actually expecting worse! So I’ll take this.

  7. Hallelujah! What a blessing, and that fact that it wasn’t shattered, wow!

  8. I don’t know why this makes me all teary, but it does. What a faithful Father we have. He knows just what we need to encourage and bring joy. I’m so thankful for this for you and your sweet husband.
    The Lord reminds me every morning to pray for you. Praying for healing and recovery – and He adds His special blessings. Praise to the One who knows and cares for us with unfathomable love.

    • You know, it made me teary, too, Linda! It was such a gift in the midst of the strain of this long recovery – such a personal, small story that said, “I see you. I care about you.” I am SO grateful for your prayers, my friend. So grateful.

  9. Thank you for this post. I love the color of your toe nail polish too! And thank you for increasing my vocabulary….I must admit I had to look up Luddite…and laughed when you wrote he “was not quite, but close.”

    Continuing to pray for your healing. Blessings!

    • Hi Cindy! Thanks so much for stopping by, reading and commenting. And even though it’s a little obscure, Luddite is the best word I know for a person like my husband – who is ‘almost’ there! Thankfully, he is slowing becoming willing to learn a little bit more about technology every day.

  10. Glad to hear news of your condition. You sounded pretty discouraged when we talked. Keep up the positive attitud and keep us informed. I am so sorry I wasn’t able to see you. A cell phone would have helped, but I remain committed to not have one. Some of it is principled and some of it is stubornness. Next time I’m in town I won’t call, but will arrange to meet you. I do hope your healing is as painless and as prompt as possilbe. Newell

    • Slowly, slowly. Better each day. Hope you got home safely and that the trip was worth the effort, Newell. And yes, if you come this way again, let’s just set a date and keep it!

  11. I love miracle stories. And the fact that your toenails are bright and colorful despite everything. :)

  12. Somehow I missed this when you posted it, but even belatedly, I’m pleased to see your recovery going so well AND thrilled at the miracle of your hubby’s once-was-lost-but-now-is-found iPad. What a remarkable story! God is faithful in little things even as he is in big things. :)

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