The Chronicles of Rehab: Better Than Others

     I DISLOCATED MY SHOULDER WHILE SKIING THREE YEARS AGO. I NEVER HAD SURGERY ON THE SHOULDER BECAUSE I WAS CHEAP AND I COULD LIVE WITH IT. IT WASN'T IMPACTING MY DAY TO DAY LIFE. THIS PAST AUGUST I TORE MY ACL. IT IMMEDIATELY IMPACTED MY DAY TO DAY LIFE. I DECIDED TO OPERATE ON BOTH, IN THE SAME INSURANCE YEAR, SO THAT I COULD "BUY ONE GET ONE FREE" FOR SURGERIES AND REHAB. THESE EXPERIENCES WILL LIKELY DOMINATE THIS BLOG FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.

(another side note: I really thought, upon creation, that this blog would be more funny than serious or philosophical, but all of my funny keeps getting absorbed by my other blog. Oh well.)

     My students at LCC this term have been treated to an instructor who has had two surgeries in two months. On the first day of class, I limped in on a knee immobilizer (but at least was off crutches), and last week I walked in with a hefty, all-business sling. One of my students made this blunt, astute comment regarding my surgeries: "That's a real shot to your manhood."

     It really has been.

     All told, I am going to lose about a year (and two summers) to these injuries. They keep me from being able to work around the house, exercise, and now I can't play with my baby like I used to. It's been humbling and frustrating, and for the first time in my life I think I've had little bouts of depression.

     (After my shoulder surgery, my main thought has been "I am so glad I did this," just because I can't wait to have a stable, trustworthy shoulder again. So don't put me on a suicide watch list or anything.)

     A lot of people have offered me consolation along the lines of "well, it could be worse" and "there are plenty of people worse off than you." I find myself thinking through the logic of those sentiments. It's odd - maybe "terrible" is a better word - that comfort can be found in comparing one's self to those less fortunate. It's just the human condition I assume. But those statements imply that there are a select few individuals that can't be consoled. No one has it worse. It couldn't be worse. Is that possible?

Job not Gob

     This is where the term "of Biblical proportions" has great meaning to me. The Bible is filled with stories of extremes. King Solomon had access to all earthly comforts and desires and wasn't satisfied, Jesus lived a perfect life and died for sin, Paul was the top Christian-killer before his conversion, I can't think of anyone with a better claim to revenge than young David against King Saul, and Job lost everything - land, livestock, family, health - yet still praised God. These extremes make our mundane lives comfortable and easy by comparison, which I think is among God's goals with scripture.

     Even without the story of Job, my plight is not terribly severe. I have a loving wife, healthy baby, warm house, good job with good insurance, a friend from church who's a skilled surgeon, and supportive friends and family surrounding me. But Job sure helps me find perspective.

     "It could be worse" bothers me less than "there are plenty of people worse off than you." I liken it to the following scenario: when I chat with someone that has a casual belief in God and Heaven, they invariably state that they think they'll go to heaven because they are a good person. When I ask what they mean by "a good person," their response is typically not about the good things they do, but the bad things they don't do. "I just know there are people a lot worse than me. I don't kill or steal or do things like that."

     If one stops and thinks about it, this is a crappy, dickish way to determine who gets into heaven. It'd only be half of all the people, right? The good half? That sucks. It means, by default, billions of people have no shot at heaven. What's worse, you are taking somebody's spot!! If you were a good person, should you give that spot to someone else?

     This doesn't seem fair. Shouldn't heaven be fair? Maybe it's not the top 50% who get in, but the top 70%. Or 90%. Whatever percentage we land on, we are going to have the same quota problem, where a certain number of people have to go to hell (or go to "not heaven," or even "not the best level of heaven" if you are that soft on Hitler and his ilk). That's no good. Curving a class only helps people above the curve, it actually dooms those beneath it. That's only fair if those people deserve to fail already. So we really can't base our heaven-going status on relative goodness.

     So a universal standard of goodness must be applied. I think we can all agree on major things, like don't murder or steal or abuse your kids. But as we get down to the nitty-gritty of that line of thinking, it becomes a huge disaster. What about the hungry who have to steal to eat? What about killing out of self defense? What about people born with a genetic disposition towards anger, or alcoholism? What if someone's dad beat them, making them much more likely to beat their kids? It turns out that things beyond our control - our parents, environment, fortune, location, era, health, etc. - probably have a greater impact on our "goodness" than we do. This also does not seem fair - that those privileged in this life are more likely to be privileged in the next.

The 99% aren't good. Neither is that 1%.

      One could claim that God would know who was and wasn't a good enough person. He can obviously account for all of those factors that I just mentioned and make a fair judgement. But there's still a logical flaw in this logic. One only has to be good enough. One could balance their good with choice bad, to their advantage. Maybe doing intentional, calculated bad means that one is truly a bad person, but then I think that would make all of us bad people (for what it's worth, I think we are). I can't see a getting-into-heaven-system that doesn't accommodate anything but constantly pursuing good.

     I moved quickly from "my shoulder hurts" to "there are no good people." That's just how my brain works. I test an idea by taking it to its logical extremes, both enormous and minute. I think God is a God of logic. In fact, I think "logical" might be the best way to describe him, above all other terms. I'd like to take this moment to clarify that "logical" does not mean "simple" or "scientific." I think a lot of people confuse those.

     I appreciate condolences about my surgeries and injuries. I know people are well-intending, even when they call me old and broken. Apart from this short span I am super healthy and relatively injury-free. I am extremely blessed, and not just because my life is better than most. I believe that all people have the potential to be blessed, because it's not only offered to the good. Because there are no good. It's offered to all who are willing to take it, and it's called Jesus Christ.

Manhood

     There's no rite of passage to becoming a man in modern culture. We don't kill a lion or walk across a volcano. If you're Jewish you become a man when you have your Bar Mitzvah, but I am not Jewish. There's not even a set age when manhood arrives. There are stepping stones, like being able to drive at 16, fight wars at 18, drink at 21 and rent cars at 25, but all of those things are more about adulthood than manhood. And adulthood isn't exciting, manhood is.
     There are several moments and decisions throughout my life that, when I reflect upon them, I can see how they've directly impacted who or where I am today. It's a fun little game to play, and I encourage you to see if you can think of any. I had a lot of time last night/this morning to think. Really, to do nothing but think. My baby was sick, for the first time, and not handling it well. He had a high fever, wouldn't sleep for more than five minutes at a time, and he wanted to be held. I held him, walked in a circle, and thought. From about 4:00 - 5:30, my goal was to last as long as I could holding him, hoping to give my wife some much needed rest.
     Currently, my left arm is in a sling and car bear very little weight. Holding a jar of peanut-butter causes my shoulder - which was recently operated on to fix and old dislocation - to have a decent amount of pain. I was holding Wyatt with one hand (luckily I am right handed) walking around in the dark, tired and in pain, trying to last as long as I can.
     I've done this before, I remembered. I did this the night I became a man.
     (I know that last phrase is often used to mean "when I lost my virginity," but that's not the case here. What a great moment you just ruined, thinking along those lines.)

Our very lucky, seldom killed prey.

     I was on my first hunting trip. I was twelve years old, and joined my dad, uncle, and dad's friend Pete. I hadn't done any hunter's safety training to get a license, so I couldn't carry a gun or shoot anything. Really, I decided last minute that I'd like to go. The family was in the car and dad was telling mom some details of the trip. I interrupted and said "Dad, can I go?" He was taken aback and said, "Well, yeah, sure, if you want to."
     He was taken aback because I had never shown any interest in hunting. Truth be told, I didn't really want to go hunting when I invited myself that day. I just knew that my dad would like it if I went. I often felt bad when I was young because I didn't like doing some of the things with my dad that he liked doing with his dad. Things like fixing cars and working in the garage and other man stuff. I didn't have video games at this time, so it's not like I was wasting my time in other areas (I played a lot of legos), I just didn't like to watch and not really know what's going on. When you're young and your dad is building something, you can't really participate. You can't measure and cut the wood and design the plans and pick materials. You just get to do things like passing a wrench or holding down one end of the wood or something. I told myself, back then, "When I am able to actually do this stuff, I'll enjoy it." I think I was a pretty smart kid, really.
     So, dad was going hunting and I was going to join. One day, I don't remember which, my uncle Roger shot a bull elk. I wasn't around for it. I didn't get to see the kill, be a part of the gutting/cleaning, or anything. In fact the rest of us waited and built a fire until Roger joined us with some meat, and then Pete and Roger went back to grab more. Eventually, the men strapped meat to their backs, we grabbed the elk's head, and started to walk to the trucks.
     It was late. So late it was early, in fact. Let's say it was 2:00 am by the time we were really heading back. The men all had enormous amounts of meat strapped to their packs, so heavy I couldn't remotely lift them. On top of that, we had a big elk's head to carry back. I looked around and saw that, literally, I wasn't carrying my own weight. They thought about giving me a small amount of meat to strap on, but it wasn't really working. So I volunteered to help carry the elk's head.

     This is not going to sound as epic as it felt. We walked a long ways in the dark and cold. It was probably 20 or 30 miles (okay, maybe 2). But for some reason, I don't know why, once we started I had a strong, clear desire: I was going to carry that head all the way to the truck. I was a small, twelve-year-old kid who had avoided real work his whole life. I could have gotten out of it. I could have helped for a while and then just followed along. But I felt the need to help. When we started, I could barely lift up my half of the head. The grip on the antlers was weird, the weight hung at an awkward angle, and I wasn't tall enough to let my arms drop - I had to bend at the elbow. The first thousand steps were hard.
     My feet were frozen, my arm was weak and hurting, I couldn't see, and I was tired. I almost quit several times. Then, at one point, I realized I am going to do this. It wasn't a proclamation of my determination, like "no matter what I will get this done," it was more of a realization of the reality. This is going to happen. I am going to do this. At that point, my arms stopped hurting, my feet warmed up, my legs had energy, and I had this newfound awareness. I was alert. I was going to do this.
     Looking back, at that moment I became a man.

     Carrying around a baby who's sick, with one arm in a sling and the other hurting, doesn't seem as intense. Especially in a warm house walking on carpet with couches always within five feet. But last night/this morning, my arms were hurting, I was exhausted, and I didn't know how long I would last. The baby was sleeping, and I needed that to last as long as it could. I remembered that I had done this before - tired, weak, carrying something for an unknown distance - under worse circumstances, and I could do it again. My pain went away, my energy returned, and I became aware again.   I was able to walk for as long as we needed to. Wyatt eventually woke up, his fever was gone and he smiled and played a bit. He was better. I am going to pretend that I did that.

     I'm sure there are all sorts of lessons and morals to pull out of this. I won't bother telling you what they are, as you've already suffered through me talking about myself at length and ad nausea. I'll just add that I had a ton of fun on the first - and all the following - hunting trips I've been on. I've never seen an animal I could legally shoot while hunting, but I've been able to skin and clean an elk, get lost and unlost in the woods, and experienced true adventure. I haven't been able to go hunting for nearly 10 years, due to school and always having a new teaching job (it's tough to take a week off at your new job in the first month, especially when you get breaks in the summers and winters and springs), but I am going to go back this year. I probably won't kill anything, but I'm sure I'll have a good time.