Sweet Release

Posted on March 6, 2010 by Steve Foster

Physical therapy has officially ended. Friday was my last day. I have graduated, moved the physical therapy tassel, and received my degree…or at least a large co-pay bill…on my way out the door. I have been released.

I am not back to normal by any stretch of the imagination but my therapist believes that I can continue my recovery on my own now. The mobility of my ankle has increased substantially and I can walk without too much of a hitch.

It was ironic that on my last day of therapy a new guy came in on crutches, a walking boot on his right foot, and sat on the bed next to me. I asked him what happened. “Achilles rupture” was the reply.

For eight weeks I have been the only Achilles rupture patient. I have felt sort of lonely. While everyone else was rehabbing shoulders, backs, and knees, I was the only one learning to walk again on a repaired Achilles. It would have been nice to have some company. As it turns out, I at least served as a vision of hope for someone else. The therapist made a point to show him my progress as a source of encouragement. She asked me to walk back and forth across the room to show how well I could walk. For a moment, I thought I was on the runway of some fashion show. It wasn’t a long moment, for those who might be concerned.

Later, as I walked on the treadmill, I watched as the therapist started doing the initial evaluation on the guy. I watched as he tried to flex his foot. His toes were shaking. It was obvious he was straining hard. But the foot simply wasn’t moving. I remembered my own frustration trying to do the same thing just eight weeks ago. I have come a long way.

If I served as an encouragement to him, then he also served as a good reminder to myself. Sometimes I get discouraged with my progress. I can walk but I am not walking totally normal and I can’t go long distances. And the swelling around my Achilles is still very noticeable. It’s funny how easily you can forget your progress, and your blessings, and find yourself only focusing on your present hindrances. I needed the reminder to be thankful.

So now I am on my own. Each day I have to keep walking and stretching my Achilles. In May, I will be able to return to a more active running, jumping, playing lifestyle. Just in time for the summer.

Someone asked me recently, “So what was the biggest lesson you have learned through this injury?”

The answer came to me pretty quickly. “I have learned that God can take you down in a second.”

I am not saying that God snapped my Achilles. He certainly allowed it…and certainly could have used it as a way of accomplishing His purposes…many of which I may never know until eternity. (This website is one fruit of the injury and my prayer is that it is an encouragement and blessing to someone out there.)

But in my mind the Achilles injury reminded me once again that I am not as strong as I think I am. If I am ever tempted to glory in myself, to become prideful, to start thinking that I have it all together, then I know that God can bring me down in a heartbeat. It doesn’t take much. One snapped tendon is enough to drop me to my knees. And one touch of Jacob’s hip was enough to make him limp the rest of his life.

There is a universal principle repeated throughout Scripture—God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble (Proverbs 3:34, James 4:6, 1 Peter 5:5).

It is that simple. Exalt yourself and God will find ways to humble you. Humble yourself and God will find ways to lift you up.

The scar on my Achilles will forever remind me that God has made me weak and mortal so that I have to depend on Him for strength and life.

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Glimpses of Normalcy

Posted on February 10, 2010 by Steve Foster

I have been walking in normal shoes for a week now. At times I forget that anything is wrong with my Achilles.  I have glimpses of normalcy. But then I make a certain move and feel a quick tightness in my calf that reminds me that I still have a long way to go.

Physical therapy has ramped up. Now my sessions include more exercises (squats, small calf raises, etc.) and six minutes on a Biodex Gait Trainer.

The Gait Trainer is pretty cool. It is a treadmill with a large computer screen. The therapist enters my age and the length of my legs and then starts the treadmill. The computer screen then monitors my steps, showing me a box where my foot should land each time. It sort of reminds me of Dance Dance Revolution…but without the music…and without the dancing. As I walk, the computer screen essentially yells at me… “Step Longer”… “Left Go Longer”… “Both Go Longer”… and every once in awhile to keep me from getting discouraged… “Good Job!”

The first day on the Gait Trainer the tightness in my left calf hurt when I tried to keep up. The therapist coached me to keep making longer strides but I politely protested, “I thought I was supposed to avoid pain when I stretched my Achilles.” The therapist indicated that that day had passed. Uh oh…

I finished the six minutes with only two or three “Good Job” steps. I suggested to the therapist that if they designed the Trainer to give out a high score and spit out some game tickets at the end then it might make for better motivation. Sort of like Chuck E. Cheese. After collecting enough tickets, I could go up to the front desk and get a stuffed animal or a plastic ball or some multi-colored wrist bands. I don’t think she took my suggestion too seriously.

My repaired Achilles next to my normal Achilles

My repaired Achilles next to my normal Achilles

The next day on the Gait Trainer I did better. My walking is definitely improving…especially after the Achilles is loosened up with heat, massage, and exercises. Unfortunately during the day it tightens up more and my walking becomes a little more stilted.

I still look at my left foot and wonder if it will ever look normal. The area around my Achilles is swollen and it just plain feels weird. I don’t know if it is scar tissue, swelling, a thicker Achilles, or a combination of all three.

I also notice that I can flex my right foot and tighten my calf muscle but I still can’t do that with my left. The flex creates more tightness in my Achilles than in my calf. I am not sure when that will change.

But life is slowly returning to normal. I am getting around better. I am more stable when I stand. And I am even able to help my wife with cleaning up the kitchen and with shoveling a little snow…and even for that I am thankful.

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

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Walking Shoes

Posted on February 4, 2010 by Steve Foster

The day has arrived. I am walking. In regular shoes. Woohoo!

My stride is still not normal. Extending my heel is still difficult so I walk with sort of a hitch. When I slow down  my pace, I seem to walk better. But I find it hard to slow down. I never realized that I had such a fast pace…until now…when I can’t go fast.

Monday was my reevaluation during physical therapy. The downward flex of my foot increased from 5 degrees to 45 degrees. I almost have full motion downward. My upward flex (pulling my foot up toward my leg) increased from -20 degrees to 0 degrees. In other words, I can at least keep my foot flat on the ground without too much strain on my Achilles. The side to side motion of my foot is practically back to normal.

Surprisingly the swelling in my foot is exactly the same that it was four weeks ago. The therapist told me that this would simply take time. I thought for sure that I would be able to see my ankle bones clearly by now.

Wednesday I had a check-up with my orthopedic surgeon. He said that everything looked good. The walking boot was now optional. If I wanted to wear regular shoes I could. I took the walking boot off when I got home. I don’t plan on putting it on again. I will probably sell it on ebay.

So yesterday was my first day walking around in regular shoes. The swelling in my ankle makes the left shoe slightly uncomfortable but it feels much better than the moon boot that I was wearing. I feel like life is returning to normal.

Of course, that’s the danger. The surgeon warned me. “This is when re-injury often occurs. Your Achilles is still not totally healed. So be careful what you do. You cannot resume full activity until six months after surgery.”

I understand what he means. As soon as I put on my regular tennis shoes (or sneakers as they say up north), I found myself wanting to get back into the swing of things. I even threw some football passes to my boys later in the afternoon. It was so nice to be able to share that part of life with them again. And even though I was incredibly careful…at times I could see how I could easily forget my situation. One of them throws the football back at me…it is a little high…and something inside of me wants to jump. Thankfully I didn’t.

Knowing your limits. Realizing your weakness. It is often a hard pill to swallow…especially for a man. That’s probably what put me in this situation to begin with.

I am reminded of my favorite Bible verse:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us (2 Corinthians 4:7).

God has given us the treasure of life, the treasure of grace, the treasure of relationship with Him…in jars of clay. That’s our bodies that he is talking about. We are weak beings, susceptible to tiredness, hunger, injury, sickness, pain, death. We are fragile beings…no matter how many push ups or sit ups or pull ups we can do. One snap of the Achilles can put us on the ground. Why did God do this? Why did He put such glorious life in a weak body? Why did He give such a high calling and great task to a mortal being?

To show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us.

He made us weak so that we would have to depend on Him.

It is our mortality that drives us to His Son Jesus Christ for eternal life. It is our struggle with temptation and sin that drives us to our knees in need of redemption and grace. And it is our weakness that drives us to His strength.

When I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

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Baby Steps

Posted on January 23, 2010 by Steve Foster

The day has finally come. I am walking!

Well, I guess you can call it walking. I am waddling in a walking boot. Sort of like Frankenstein moving in a ski boot. But it is progress. Major progress. And I am happy to have some aspect of freedom again. The simple ability to carry a book and walk at the same time is a wonderful thing. I never thought that such a basic ability would mean so much to me. I guess I’ve always taken walking for granted…ever since I learned it 39 years ago.

The transition to walking began on Thursday at physical therapy. My walking boot was adjusted from a 10 degree decline to a neutral setting. It actually took two therapists about 15 minutes to figure out how to do this on this particular boot but eventually they got it done.

Next began my baby steps.

The therapist gave me one crutch, held onto the back of my pants, and slowly retaught me how to walk.

I thought I knew how. After all, it is only walking. But in the course of eight weeks, I had forgotten how to use my muscles and had developed some bad habits on the crutches as well.

First, I sort of hopped. I was afraid to put full weight on my Achilles so I moved in short spurts, hopping on my good foot and sort of dragging my bad foot along.

The therapist stopped this and told me to go heel to toe on my foot.

My next effort was still stilted because I was bending my left knee too much and not straightening my leg as I made my stride. She corrected this and then I overcompensated by locking my knee as I walked.

Finally…after taking about thirty faulty steps…and after telling the therapist that she was starting to give me a wedgie as she held me up by my pants…I relearned the stride and started to walk.

The funny thing was that the other people in therapy started to congratulate me and cheer me on. It felt like one of those big moments…like a man walking on the moon…or a bunch of excited parents watching a toddler take his first steps.

It was sort of neat experiencing this little “fellowship of the suffering.”

I have been in therapy three times a week for two and a half weeks. I have become a “regular” of sorts. And I have gotten to know many of my fellow “therapees” (is that a word?). The bartender after knee surgery…the accountant with the neck pain…the union worker recovering from back surgery…and a host of others with heating pads wrapped around their shoulders, knees, necks, or ankles.

The fellowship of the suffering.

Our conversations begin pretty much the same. “So what did you do?” “Did you have surgery?” “Is it getting any better?” “How long you got?” Like we are all prisoners waiting for our release date.

The common experience of suffering opens the door and then further conversation ensues. Despite all our differences, we are still human beings experiencing our weakness and frailty firsthand, seeking to get better, and encouraging each other in the process.

Why isn’t the church more like this?

I thought the other day, “Should the church really be seen as spiritual therapy?”

Okay, the word “therapy” sometimes has negative connotations in today’s world but it is actually a biblical word.

Therapeuo. Used in the New Testament 44x. Meaning “to heal, to cure, to bring back to health.” Of course, it is primarily used to refer to physical healing but there are certainly spiritual implications as well.

We are all sinners. We are all spiritually suffering. We all have a “ruptured Achilles” that we can’t repair on our own.

Christ is the Great Physician who performs the surgery. And then in the body of Christ, the church, we learn once again how to walk…encouraging each other and cheering each other on as we take baby steps in faith.

Perhaps we don’t experience the “fellowship of the suffering” because we pretend we are not suffering. We pretend we have it all together. We forget our weakness. And we fail to confess our sins to one another and pray for each other so that we may be healed (James 5:16a).

Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his classic Life Together noted:

It is possible that Christians may remain lonely in spite of daily worship together, prayer together, and all their community through service—that the final breakthrough to community does not occur precisely because they enjoy community with one another as pious believers, but not with one another as those lacking piety, sinners. For the pious community permits no one to be a sinner. Hence all have to conceal their sins from themselves and from the community. We are not allowed to be sinners. …So we remain alone in our sin, trapped in lies and hypocrisy, for we are in fact sinners. However, the grace of the gospel, which is so hard for the pious to comprehend, confronts us with the truth. It says to us, you are a sinner, a great, unholy sinner. Now come, as the sinner that you are, to your God who loves you. …The mask you wear in the presence of other people won’t get you anywhere in the presence of God.

Only those who recognize their sickness go to the doctor (cf. Luke 5:31). Only those who see their sin come to Jesus. And only those who know they are crippled and who want to walk again, go to therapy.

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Slowing

Posted on January 12, 2010 by Steve Foster

In the fall, I preached a sermon series through the New Testament book of Philippians. The theme was “Finding Joy in a Stress-Filled World.” In preparing for one of these messages, I remember reading an excerpt from John Ortberg’s book, The Life You’ve Always Wanted.

Ortberg talked about the practice of “slowing”—“cultivating patience by deliberately choosing to place ourselves in positions where we simply have to wait” (p. 83). His examples stuck out in my mind:

  • Deliberately drive in the slow lane on the highway.
  • Chew and eat your food slower.
  • Find the longest line at the grocery store and stand in it, ignoring how quickly the other lines are moving.

Why in the world would anyone do this? Because “hurry is the great enemy of spiritual life in our day” (p. 77).

clockWe are addicted to hurry.

According to Dr. Meyer Friedman, the cardiologist who pioneered studies on Type A personality, stress, anger, and heart disease, we suffer from “hurry sickness”—“a continuous struggle and unremitting attempt to accomplish or achieve more and more things or participate in more and more events in less and less time, frequently in the face of opposition, real or imagined, from other persons” (p. 78).

Friedman gave this diagnosis of American life in 1984. Things have only gotten worse since then.

While on Christmas vacation, I had the opportunity to read the entirety of Ortberg’s book. (It is a good one and I would recommend it.) Reading back over the section on “slowing,” I realized that, with my ruptured Achilles, the Lord is giving me a crash course on the subject.

All of life has slowed down for me. Getting ready in the morning takes longer. Walking is slower. Accomplishing tasks takes more time. And getting up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom takes forever!

This past Sunday at church I had to walk up to my seat using my crutches. I was trying to obey the therapist and keep putting weight on my foot. This reduces my walking pace to a crawl. I can scoot faster on crutches if I just pick up my lame foot and move. But I chose to walk slowly. It was amazing the number of people I could meet and greet during that time. I got to my seat late…but enjoyed the stroll.

Slowing is not easy in our culture. We are ruled by the clock. I wonder what life was like before people wore wristwatches. I suppose that people had more time for one another. Tasks were less rushed. Appointments and meeting times were more general and loose in their starting and ending.

I remember spending two summers in Central America on mission trips. The Hispanic culture down there was less dictated by hurry and stress. Church started around 9am and continued until they were done. No one checked their watches…except us Americans. Fellowship and relationship were more important than the time-conscious pull to do more and more things in less and less time. Half the time we don’t even know where we are going or what we have to do…we just know that we have to get there or do it in a hurry.

I am starting to rebel against the hurry and hyper-drive of American culture…and the American church. I have to. I am becoming too burnt out, too driven by tasks, too stressed. Perhaps that is why the Lord “caught my heel”—not to trip me up but to slow me down.

God is not in a hurry. Indeed “a day to Him is as a thousand years and a thousand years is as a day” (2 Peter 3:8). This is not a mathematical formula but a simple statement that God is not dictated by time. He operates above time. He created time as a servant not a taskmaster.

As God’s children, we are called to “number our days” (Psalm 90:12) and  “make the most of every opportunity” (Colossians 4:5). We are not called to stress ourselves out with endless tasks or with a feverish rush to accomplish more and more things. Our addiction to hurry, instant spirituality, quick fixes, and steroidal church growth are not indications of a healthy church but a sick one.

It takes time—deliberate time, slow time—for “the tree planted by rivers of water” (Psalm 1) to be planted in God’s soil, to become rooted in God’s Word, to be nourished by the water of the Spirit, to meditate and contemplate God’s glory, to produce the fruit of God’s character.

Weeds grow fast. Trees take their time.

Or as Ortberg notes, “Following Jesus cannot be done in a sprint. If we want to follow someone, we can’t go faster than the one who is leading” (p. 79).

And the One who is leading has told us…

28“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Lord, help me to slow down. To walk not sprint. To rest not race. To redeem the time not rush it. To savor life not overschedule it. And, Lord, if I start going 55 mph in an Autoban world, please keep me from being run over.

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