Not My Plan ... Kathy Pierson

Pain seized my arm as I lay on the cold cement. My head rested on a pillow of freshly fallen snow. My husband ran over to help me up. “I can’t move yet. The pain is too much,” I moaned. My teeth chattered. The temperature was in the teens and I needed to get off the frozen ground. After a few minutes, Gary propped me into a seated position and lifted me. As I placed weight on my right foot, excruciating pain shot through my pelvis.

We were retired and in our seventh year of volunteer ministry. Two weeks earlier, we arrived in Wisconsin to work at a facility for mentally impaired adults. We lived in Michigan and were accustomed to snow, but the night before, the wind had taken the two feet that fell and whipped it into six-foot drifts. In the early afternoon, Gary shoveled the front porch and sidewalk so we could venture out to take pictures.

Once outside, my foot got tangled in our dog’s tieout. When I tried to catch my balance, I plummeted off the porch. My right elbow hit the concrete first as I subconsciously protected the camera I held. Gary tried scooping me into his arms, but it was too painful. Desperate to get out of the cold, I managed to raise my heels ever-so-slightly and rotate sideways on the balls of my feet. This movement continued a half inch at a time until I reached the steps.

“Can you lift me just enough to get my feet on the porch without bending my body?” I gritted my teeth against the pain as Gary carried me to the threshold of the house. When we got inside, Gary retrieved a chair, lowered me onto it, and called 911.

I held my aching arm and wept. Why God? We’re here serving in Your name. How will I teach the women in the drug and alcohol rehab back home? How will I continue studying to become a biblical counselor?

God interrupted my questions to remind me of something a dear friend said after she broke her hip: “Kathy, every time God allowed a trial in my life, I started the journey kicking and screaming my disapproval. This time, I decided to get in the canoe with Jesus and enjoy the scenery along the way.”

I wasn’t sure I knew how to enjoy the scenery. I enjoyed staying busy and wasn’t good at being still before the Lord. While I watched the rescue workers approach the house, I decided to take Dorothy’s advice. Right then, I let go of my anxiety, knowing God had a different, but good, plan in mind for the near future.

The paramedics applied a sling to my arm and helped me shuffle toward the stretcher they had squeezed into the foyer. Fear gripped my heart as they rolled it down the long, snow-covered driveway. I was relieved when they finally lifted me into the warm ambulance.

Several hours later, an orthopedic surgeon entered our cubicle. “Hello, Mrs. Pierson. I just looked at the x-rays and cat scan. Your pelvis is broken but stable and should heal fine on its own. The fracture in your right arm is another story. The elbow is shattered. Since it’s so swollen, I’ll need to wait a couple of weeks before surgically repairing it.”

“If I need to wait that long, can they can do the surgery in Michigan where we live?”

“That’s fine if you plan to fly. There are too many risks if you ride in a vehicle. Any more questions?” We shook our heads. “I’ll write your prescriptions while the nurse wraps your arm in a partial cast.” The doctor strode out of the room. I felt overwhelmed. Gary held me while I cried.

Late that evening, Gary pulled our van close to the volunteer house, and I began the sideways shuffle to the porch. The temperatures had fallen into the single digits and the wind cut through the paper scrubs I wore. My teeth chattered as my husband placed his coat over my shoulders.

Gary slept on the couch so he wouldn’t accidentally bump my broken body. As darkness surrounded me, I wondered what purpose God had in allowing this. My fall hadn’t taken Him by surprise. He had a plan. I drifted to sleep praying He would give us strength and wisdom in the days ahead.

Since I volunteered at the nurse’s station, a borrowed wheelchair, hospital bed and side table were only a call away. While we waited for the maintenance men to deliver the equipment the next morning, we made plans to stay in Wisconsin the rest of the week until I felt stronger. Later that day, I noticed a look of distress on my husband’s face.

“Do you remember when we started volunteer work?” I asked. “We said we would put our plans on the calendar in pencil—and give God the eraser. Maybe this is how we find out if we really meant it.”

Soon thereafter, we wrote down the many blessings we encountered on this unexpected journey. Every day, we added to our list and often referred to it when we felt discouraged.

When our travel day arrived, my husband helped me into the volunteer coordinator’s car so she could take me to the airport. Gary then hit the road in our van with our dog and personal belongings.

On our first night home, I slept on the couch with the back of the sofa supporting my arm. The hospital bed wouldn’t be delivered until the next morning. We were both exhausted, so sleep came quickly.

A few weeks later, I chatted on the phone with a friend suffering from Lou Gehrig’s disease. Like me, she was now in a wheelchair, but unlike me, the abilities she lost would not be reclaimed with time and therapy. When I hung up from our time of encouraging one another, it dawned on me that, before my accident, my busy schedule would never have allowed time for this unhurried conversation.

I marveled at how God could use me to bless others from a hospital bed in the middle of my living room. Turns out, I didn’t need to be busy for the Lord to be used by Him. In the following months, I endured weeks in a wheelchair with a painful pelvis, surgery to place a plate in my broken elbow, two months of therapy, eight months wearing splints to help the arm bend and straighten, and a second operation to have the hardware removed.

During my recuperation, God provided encouragement through texts, emails, phone calls, and cards. He met our needs through meals brought by friends and our church family. The Lord also blessed me with excellent care from Gary and our neighbors.

Pain, loss of control, and dependence on others isn’t the route I would have chosen. I wouldn’t have planned this journey for myself, but God showed me His plans for my life are infinitely better than anything I could imagine. My whole life, I’d been a planner and a doer, but now God let me experience something new—and it was beautiful.

Kathy Pierson

Kathy Pierson is a freelance writer who migrated with her husband to North Carolina in 2013 to be near their two children and three grandchildren. Kathy desires to write inspirational stories to encourage others in their walk of faith. Other articles by her have been published in Now What?, Nature Friend Magazine, Power For Living, the anthology-Broken Moments, and in her local newspaper.