As of next week, I have been married for
36 years, half of them to a right-handed man and half to a left-handed one. I
suppose you could argue it’s the same man. Like greatness, some people are born
left-handed and others have left-handedness thrust upon them.
Many families can name a day that
slashed a giant mark across their life’s timeline, forever dividing “before”
from “after.” For us, it was September 29, 1995: the day Jon lost an argument
with a piece of farm machinery and subsequently, his right arm.
Once, after we described this
before-and-after concept in a group setting, a friend nodded knowingly, then embarrassed
herself by calling the event “The Great Cut-Off.” We all laughed wildly and
learned laughter really can help.
To prove it, Jon’s been known to accuse
long-winded people of talking his arm off.
I once told my husband he’d make a great
magician because he has nothing up his sleeve.
And when he took too long in Polo Park
one day, I threatened to leave him behind, reasoning he could hitchhike home since
he still had a thumb.
I know. Be quiet.
Did you know there are actually
advantages to being left-handed? Everyone knows you can’t sit left of
a lefty at the dinner table, or you’ll bump elbows. Smart southpaws use this to
their advantage to gain a spot with more space.
Apparently, many more words can be
typed solely with the left hand than with the right.
And southpaws also have an easier
time writing in Hebrew because it’s written from right to left. How handy is
that?
However, finding advantages to being
one-handed proved a greater challenge. But if he ever visits Belarus, where clapping
is outlawed because dissidents use applause as a form of protest, it is unlikely
Jon will be arrested. Good to know.
This photo appeared with an article in our local paper four months after the accident. |
Two
days after his accident, we celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary in the
hospital. I remember falling asleep that night with the words of our marriage
vows running through my head: “For better or for worse, for richer or for
poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part.” I particularly focused
on the “for worse…for poorer… in sickness” sections. In the following weeks and
months, all three would surface, but death had not parted us yet and for that,
I was grateful. Neither of us knew there would be ugly days ahead when we would
wish it had. I won’t lie to you—it sucks.
But
the God who promises to walk with us through the dark valleys keeps his word. In
those early days, a peace settled over our home that can only be the result of
hundreds of prayers raised on our behalf. We gained a new reverence for life,
more gratitude for community, and a deeper perspective on what matters. We grew
closer as a family and felt ourselves carried
along by a sweet spirit.
Supportive friends and strangers blessed us in countless practical ways. I like
to think our kids are more kindhearted people because this happened to us.
Would we get Jon’s arm back if we could?
In a heartbeat.
But it’s been my bittersweet privilege
to observe a man grow in his faith when he might have scorned it forever. Where
he could display bitterness, I’ve seen him instead demonstrate compassion
toward fellow strugglers because everyone carries their burden of seen and
unseen pain. I’ve watched him tackle the daily challenges of one-handedness in
a two-handed world with patience, determination, courage, and grace. I am certain
I would not have done as well, and I am proud of my lefty.
Happy Anniversaries, Jon. And safe
harvest, everyone.