A good kind of Brokenness

This post is a little slower coming off of my fingers because I only have use of 9 of the 10.  One of them, a very important middle digit (important to typing that is) is in a splint for the foreseeable future.  Bone breaks are never fun, but I will take this one and understand the blessing that it represents because there is also a good lesson here.

When Beautiful and I went to urgent care on Sunday to have it looked at, and I explained that I injured it playing football with my son, she looked at diminutive P.C. doubtfully.  I explained that it was his bigger brother who is 12.  She was still skeptical that it was broken and not just sprained, but she ordered the X-Ray anyway.  That is when things changed.

When the doctor reappeared in the room a short time later, she was a lot more animated than before, in fact she seemed a little excited.  That is when she said, “It is not only broken, it is an impressive break.  The bone is completely detached in the finger.  I would like to see the 12 year old that threw that ball.”  We had to laugh a little.  We are used to Thunder doing all kinds of things that people don’t expect (keep in mind this the boy that scaled out of his crib, jumped off of the dresser and came running out of his room at 10 months).  Beautiful gave the doctor a few details on him and I provided the picture on my phone.  We received the familiar refrain, “He is only 12!?”WP_000157

Thunder in adult catchers gear

The whole thing is sort of funny now that Thunder is not feeling guilty about it (it was my fault after all because I was the one that made that lazy catch).  And therein lies the lesson.  Thunder was not created to be an average child.  The differences that make him what he is, also come with special challenges. He is WAAAAY past the age where I can play at anything less than my best with him.  But, even when doing that, I have to expect I will be visiting more doctors in the future.  I will take that with joy.  There aren’t any purple hearts for a non-Samoan raising a Samoan Son, but I am okay with that.  That kind of brokenness, acquired while helping my son figure out how to be the most that God made him to be, is a good kind of brokenness. 

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