Upward and Onward

My mind rewinds and plays a reel of "what ifs." What if I had stayed in China to pursue language school? What if I had never come to Indiana? What if I had moved out of here in May when I had the chance? What if I had never gone on a bike ride that Sunday several weekends ago? What if I had recovered faster and been more immune to that infection?

It's enough to make me go crazy. And I know that they're all accusations straight from the enemy. I shouldn't dwell on "what ifs." I shouldn't and I can't. I can't analyze or ask why all these crazy things have happened and why my life is in shambles. Like did my sin cause this? Is this meant to bring God glory? I just have to move forward and look upward.

So my mind chooses not to analyze or dwell on "what ifs." But then it easily moves on to anxious thoughts. I live below the poverty level and was living okay before my medical bills started to spiral out of control. Tens of thousands in ER bills. Thousands more in follow-up appointments, physical therapy, and x-rays. Which ones will insurance cover? Which ones won't be covered? My knees are still black and blue from my accident 7 weeks ago. My heart and lungs are still messed up from either the accident or hospitalization or severe allergic reaction that didn't get treated right away and my doctor doesn't know what's up. Nobody really does. And I kind of don't care anymore. As long as I keep breathing another day, then I'm okay. One doctor I talked to decided my body was just extremely traumatized and shocked, and that it might take months to totally recover.

I don't know what I would have done without friends and family. I can't count all of the incredible friends who visited the hospital, called me at home, asked about my well-being... Mom spent several days with me and then Andrea came and took charge of the recovery effort. For most of the ten days Andrea was here, she recited Psalm 23 to me. Faithfully, she made me lunches, dinners, and held my hand at night if I couldn't sleep because my heart was racing or I was fearful that I wouldn't wake up in the morning.

Since I've literally been on the brink of eternity several times in several weeks, I feel rather numb. I don't really think I feel sorry for myself, but just wounded. I don't plan too far ahead. I don't think about too much. I wake up, don't usually bother to put on makeup or do my hair anymore, force some oatmeal down my throat, make a sandwich, drive to work, try to concentrate at my desk all day, try not to focus on the pain in my chest or my weak limbs, come home, go for a walk, make a little dinner, sew or read, and then go to bed to sometimes sleep.

To be honest, one of the things I can't seem to do very well or often is pray or read my Bible. If I do pray, usually they're more like little gasps of prayers--such as, "Jesus, help me make it through this meeting... Jesus, help me not panic in this crowd of people... Jesus, help me to swallow this rice and chicken..." And if I do pick up my Bible, I have gravitated toward Psalm 27 for the past couple of weeks.

I don't really feel depressed, but nor do I feel very hopeful or joyful. Once and awhile I sort of glimpse a glimmer of light. Last week I had to get yet another x-ray of my chest. I was standing there in the robe with my hands above my head in the little x-ray room and just felt like crying. There, right in front of me was a little poster with Psalm 27:5: "For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock." That's when I really wanted to cry. I remembered I wasn't alone and I remembered that I am indeed safe in his dwelling, even if I feel horrible most of the time and don't understand why everything is happening this way.

I'm sure (or at least desperately hope) that I'm learning during this difficult season of struggle, and I'm sure that God will use some of this for good some day. Right now I just want to feel normal again. My Christmas wishlist is to have a body that doesn't feel like it's rejecting me. I want to laugh heartily. I want to praise God with heartfelt thanks. I want to love Chinese students. I want to feel whole. I want to serve others again. I want people to look at me with smiles and not sadness.

Thanks as always for your prayer and encouragement! Here are some pictures from the past week:

Looking out at Lake Monroe with Andrea.

Sitting on the pier. Felt like my soul healing a tiny bit.

Went on a little hike with Andrea.

The sky in my backyard.

An amazing fall wreath Andrea handcrafted out of burlap.

Gorgeous Andrea on the gorgeous campus.

Me.

A baby blanket for a friend I sewed all weekend.

Life renewed

Here's another hospital story, although this one is probably less humorous and filled with fewer cute guys than my last one...

Last Friday morning I noticed a little red bump on my left forearm. Throughout the day at work it turned into a big nasty blister and alarming splotch of red that continue to grow. By that night it was burning and itching. I was hanging out with Cindy, and we decided to go to the ER on the busiest night of the year. It was homecoming weekend and the ER was filled with undergrads who had made bad choices or been the victims of bad choices. I got home at about 1:30 a.m. after they gave me a shot of antibiotics and a prescription. They said I had most likely been bit by a spider.

Later Saturday it was only getting worse. At about 10:30 p.m., my arm was swelling and going numb, while the red splotch ascended up my arm. I was also getting chills and losing control of my muscles. So back I went to the ER, where they finally saw me at 2:30 a.m. Thankfully Christine was with me, and she sat with me all night. The nurses and doctors were quite concerned about this infection, especially because it was progressing despite antibiotics. They had seen arms like mine rot to black. Oh, I was so scared and sad! If the infection spread into my bloodstream or to the bone...

They decided to admit me to the hospital and finally found me a room in the pediatrics ward at 5:30 a.m. Sunday. Poor, dear, patient Christine was with me the entire time. By that point I felt even more awful. My arm was covered in marker and pen as various nurses grimly tracked the spread of infection. They hooked me up to an IV, which they kept well-supplied with a variety of the strongest, caustic antibiotics. The doctor talked about the possibility of cutting out the infected tissue if I didn't start improving soon. I felt like I could barely pray or think straight.

The rest of Sunday was still a rather frightening day. I had barely slept, because nurses kept poking me with needles, drawing blood, and changing bags of IV fluids. As we played the waiting game, all I could do was ask my family and friends to pray. Pray they did--I'm pretty sure I was covered in prayer by hundreds of people. Several friends came to stay with me until Mom arrived. She drove all day Sunday from Pennsylvania to reach me. She started to cry when she saw me--all weak and hooked up to machines. I was so thankful she came to help me.

Over the next couple of days I had many other wonderful visitors, and it was so encouraging to know I had an army of believers praying on my behalf, especially when I felt so discouraged and downtrodden. I know God was looking out for me and was with me even through these really dark hours. During this time I still managed to smile at nurses and treat them kindly. One nurse said she knew God wanted us to meet, and I had a Christian doctor.

Monday morning no one was really sure if the infection was being beaten back by antibiotics. The kind nurses dutifully would come in to look at my arm and draw another line. Nobody knew what caused the infection, which they now called "cellulitis." The doctors speculated I was bit by a spider, and it was aggravated by bacteria I probably had in my skin from the bike accident four weeks earlier. All the nurses and doctors commented on how it was rather unbelievable all these crazy things have happened to me recently--getting hit by a car and then having a mystery, deadly bacteria ripping through my body. It was almost funny if it weren't so real.

Yet, by that afternoon, I had turned the corner, and it looked like the intense antibiotics were working--probably just by killing my entire immune system. For the first time since Saturday, I felt hopeful. And I was finally released Tuesday afternoon from the hospital with a strong antibiotic to take. They still didn't know what I had or why. I was just so thankful to still have my life and limbs!

Fast forward to Wednesday night: I had gone back to work that day, although I was extremely drained and weak. While trying to fall asleep, my heart began racing, my legs were burning, and my eyes seemed like they were trying to pop out of my head. My tongue seemed to turn into a giant cotton ball, and I could barely stand. I had never felt so thirsty in my life. I managed to stumble downstairs to get Mom, and was beginning to shake uncontrollably.

It was about 1 a.m. now, and Mom dumped me in the car and raced across town to the ER as I started getting a lot worse. She drove amazingly fast and pulled up to the ER door, where she ran inside calling for help. Some nurses ran out with a wheelchair and pulled me from the car. They took me straight back to a room as I had full-on rigors (like convulsions). I couldn't really breathe by this time or talk, and my heart was racing at 120 beats/minute (usually mine is about 60 beats/minute). They immediately put an IV in me, hooked me up to a machine to track my vital signs, and tried to ask me questions to understand what was going on. They didn't know if what was happening was due to my earlier bike accident, the infection, or my antibiotics.

Thankfully it was a very slow night in the ER. It was just like being in a TV show as the doctor and nurses tried to piece together the mystery quickly as I rapidly declined. It was like a race against time as my body began to shut down. My legs went entirely numb and my arms were on fire. I was still shaking uncontrollably, and I couldn't breathe as my tongue got larger and larger. They hooked me up to oxygen and watched as red splotches broke out all over my chest and neck, then my heart rate would spike dramatically.

Oh, I can't even explain the pain and the feeling of my body literally spiraling out of control. The worst part was when my legs and arms when entirely numb. This is when the doctor and nurses got even more concerned. Mom said by this point, there was the doctor and three nurses crowded around me, as three more nurses hovered just beyond them as the doctor barked orders. I was entirely paralyzed. One nurse scrapped the bottom of my feet and prodded at my hands. No reaction whatsoever. They finally conjectured that perhaps I was having a severe allergic reaction to antibiotics. This was confirmed when they tried to put some antibiotics into the IV, which they promptly replaced with strong anti-histamines.

Then several of them carried my limp body to a stretcher and put me through a CT scan to check on my heart, lungs, and head. I felt like I was fading really fast and fought to stay conscious. All the concerned voices and faces seemed so far away. I tried to tell Mom I loved her. I forced myself to keep breathing. The CT scan didn't reveal anything, and the anti-histamines in my IV kicked in just as I felt like I was going to slip away.

Another miracle (my life seems full of them these days). I didn't immediately feel better, but the doctor finally relaxed a bit as I began to regain feeling and speech. My heart only spiked every couple of minutes instead of continually. The doctor consulted with an infectious disease doctor in the hospital, but they could only conclude that I was suddenly allergic to penicillins and Avalox. I had all the severe reactions that are possible with Avalox: central nervous system effects, serious allergic reactions, skin rash, changes in sensation and nerve damage, and serious heart rhythm changes. Fun stuff!

I finally got to go home at 6:30 a.m. with a different antibiotic. By noon, however, my heart wouldn't stop racing, and my tongue was swelling again. So we got to head back over to the ER for the fourth time in less than a week. This time they knew what was wrong with me right away, so I felt better a lot faster, although not before my arms cramped up into strange contortions. They gave me 3 other medicines to counter the effects of the antibiotics. My heart still races some, and I still feel weak and extremely wobbly, but I feel a million times better. Sleeping 12 hours last night also helped.

Wow... what has been going on? Being on the verge of death and then being revived again is a little exhausting, to say the least. I literally have felt attacked by the enemy. Yet, at the same time I've never felt the presence and love of God so acutely. I continue to feel utterly broken, but somehow I feel whole knowing I'm wrapped in God's arms and His peace.

Thank you, Father, for life!! And thank you for your prayers! I promise someday I will have a blog post about something entirely light-hearted.

My arm Friday. The infection was above and below the skin. It would get a lot worse over the next couple of days.

Some of my dear friends visiting me in the hospital and reading from the Word.

The 26 year-old patient in the pediatrics ward.

The pen marks tattoo are parts of where some of the infection spread. This was when it was getting a lot better.

Sitting in the broken

How can someone feel so sad, but so joyful at the same time? I've experienced painful, rather difficult things before--divorced parents, surgery, H1N1, winters in China, witnessed the deaths of 4 pedestrians throughout my life, the loss of loved ones I didn't get to say goodbye to... I grew up in a culture where you pull yourself up by the bootstraps. There's always someone worse off than I am, and to feel pain and hurt (or to admit it) is almost a sign of weakness. So throughout life I've walked around with saying "I'm fine." But I'm not. I need healing.

I feel like I have lost many things--my plans, relationships, illusions of safety... It's like I'm going through a refining fire. I've learned more in the past few months than in a long time. And I've learned that all I have left is Jesus. I'm not afraid of death, but sometimes think daily living is more challenging. There were times in China where I nearly plummeted off cliffs on a motorcycle, barely missed getting mowed down by taxis, fell desperately ill, and somehow avoided being crushed by a massive window falling from the 5th story. And almost a month ago now, I gazed up from the pavement of an intersection not being able to move, while shivering uncontrollably. I've never felt heaven so close, and was honestly a little excited at the possibility of seeing Jesus.

Yet... I continue to live. What do you do with these experiences? Some people might say they make you stronger. I disagree. I think they make you realize how weak you are really, and the enormity of God's strength. You come to the end of yourself. You can't hide anymore. You aren't in control. Just telling people "I'm fine" doesn't cut it anymore.

Over the past couple of months I've been more transparent and vulnerable than I ever have. Friends (and even some strangers) look at me through different eyes, it seems. Sometimes I fear I've been placed on a pedestal in the past--Laura, she has it all together. I can't count the number of times people have admiringly told me, "I've never met anyone like you." She's smart, funny, confident, cute, and never cries. If you're stuck in a remote town in Siberia or on a crowded train in D.C., Laura's the girl to be with. But that facade has come crashing down. I feel bruised inside and outside, it's difficult to laugh, and I feel anything but cute.

But the crazy thing is that I'm okay! Probably more than okay. I haven't felt such an overwhelming sense of peace in ages, maybe ever. Oddly, I wouldn't trade my current circumstances for anything. Well, most anything... Somehow I have a deep joy in all of this. At small group we read Philippians: "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." vs 4:4-7.

I have that peace. I know what I'm going through may not compare to other people's difficulties, but it's my pain and it still matters to God. And in the midst of the challenges, I continue to gaze on the cross, which puts everything and everyone into perspective. And I remember, "the thing about healing is sometimes it has to get bad before it gets better. It can almost feel like a death, this letting go and sitting in the broken." ~Emily Freeman

So now I can look people in the eye again. I have nothing to hide. I am Laura. I'm going to physical therapy for my knees. I appeared on a half hour radio broadcast for work and was later laughingly described as being "sassy." (Don't think that word's ever been used to describe me before!) I am hanging out with Chinese students again and loving them well. I am pouring into others. I am letting people see me even if I have tears in my eyes. I am brave. I am listening better to others. I feel more vividly that I seem to have one foot here on earth and one foot in eternity. I can laugh. I can cry. I can speak my stilted Chinese in Chinese language class loudly and proudly. I can make mistakes. I can mess up. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to be "fine."

So here I am at my desk at home surrounded with reminders of God's goodness- dozens of pictures of beloved friends and family from all over the world. A wrinkly piece of notebook paper taped above my desk with a gratitude list, thanking God for loyal friends, gorgeous golden trees outside my window, church family... While reflecting on His goodness, I also agree that "I need a healer, someone to stand on my behalf against my past, against the pain and disappointments of broken relationships, against any fear of trusting in the future, against the sorrow and anger of death. Hiding doesn't work. Running doesn't work. And pretending to be strong only works for a time. We don't need fixing. We need healing. We need someone to take the arrows the enemy has aimed at the deep places of our souls. Someone to stand up when we're falling down. Someone to heal." ~Emily Freeman

Searching for home

Late this afternoon I took a walk through nearby neighborhoods. Each house is unique. I discovered one home that looked at least 100 years old. It was two stories, all painted white, and extremely simple but elegant. Two rocking chairs sat side-by-side on the porch, overlooking a large yard and gravel drive. I gravitated toward that side of the street, wanting to walk up to the door and go inside. It just looked like how I picture "home"--peaceful, restful, safe, and a place where you can grow and be yourself...

I guess home can look like many different things in different seasons of life and in different circumstances. Last night I had friends over to my home, which is a little townhouse on the east side of town I share with a viola player. We ate chocolate, told stories, played games, and laughed until we were crying. This morning I went to my church home, where countless friends asked about my well-being, and I was able to relay to them about the incredible power and love of God. For lunch I went to a co-worker's home, which she shares with two single older ladies. Their yard is filled with wildflowers and vegetable plants, while the inside is nearly overflowing with Gandhi quotes and compost bins. That was her home, and it meant a lot that she invited me there.

And then there are just people I'm around, who make anywhere feel like home. When I see my family, hang out with good friends, or chat with internationals, I remember that home probably isn't a physical place. Yes, I someday hope to have a little house instead of a dorm room or apartment, and I get tired of changing addresses every year, but I know home can be anywhere.

I was also reminded that we have a home with God, so I don't ever need to house-hunt for a place of rest and hope for my soul:

"The stronghold of God is not only a place to visit God but to dwell with Him. For those who dwell with God, His presence is not merely our refuge; it is a permanent address." Francis Frangipane

On a separate note, here's an interesting little picture to leave you with:

The fun diagram from my police report, which I saw for the first time this past week. I am supposedly the 2-D lifeless, genderless body. I think this would look nice in a scrapbook. :)

Road to Recovery

I finally cried. It was Thursday, several days after my accident. Mom drove me to work--my first day back since the week before. I was feeling okay, although I hadn't ventured much from the house at all that week. The only quick way to get to my office is to drive through the intersection where I was hit. I wasn't really thinking about it, but my chest started getting all constricted as we passed through the intersection. I briefly glanced around, and nothing looked familiar. That's probably understandable, since I was just biking through, and only had a good look at the pavement and the sky, but not all the other buildings or the layout. Little bits and pieces come back to me--the feeling of helplessness as the car crossed into my path. sirens. the yellow jacket of an emergency responder firefighter. so many names and faces. the feeling of my hair velcroed to the neck brace. the bluest blue sky. And there were so many things and people I didn't see. It's a busy part of town. Was someone directing traffic away from the area? Did this accident create a late Sunday afternoon traffic jam? How many people saw or gathered at the scene? What were others thinking and feeling?

So during my lunch break at work, I took a little walk to try and stretch my achy joints and body. I couldn't help but flinch at every noise and cringe as I gingerly walked along the sidewalk. Why were all the cars going so fast? What prevented all those cars from crashing across the sidewalk and into me? Why were those random sirens in the distance so loud? Why were people playing music so light-heartedly from their windows?

On the outside I look almost back to normal. You can only see the purplish-green tint of my kneecaps if you get up close. No one can see the road burns and bandages tucked under my clothes, the pressure inside my bruised chest, the tiniest bones and muscles that scream at me when I move or drive, the feeling that something has been taken from me, the extra effort it takes to look people in the eyes or to concentrate in a conversation, the sadness that I can't dance or run for a while...

The car insurance lady will meet with me this week to discuss my claim. How will I manage to be calm as the company assigns a monetary value to what happened? Last Sunday and Monday I just felt so thrilled to be alive and not paralyzed. I appreciated all of the prayers, phone calls, flowers, and visits. Now I feel frustrated and sad, trying to heal and also just feeling pretty scarred on the inside. It took me several days to finally cry, but now it seems like I could burst into tears with nearly every slightly raised voice or benign look.

Yes, every day I get better inside and out. Soon the memories will dull. I don't want to pity myself, but for now I think it's okay to grieve in order to move on with the rest of life soon in a healthy way. I'm so thankful Mom could be here for a week, mostly for moral support. Every day I make progress. Today I drove for the first time again--who knew how many little itty bitty muscles it takes to drive? I don't want to be bitter or reclusive. Instead I want to have a brave and thankful soul that encourages and uplifts others! I could definitely use your continued thoughts and prayers as I try to do that with God's grace. I know I will especially need those prayers as I begin to deal with bills, insurance, etc...

I've left you with a couple of interesting pictures as a reward for reading this whole post. :)

Hanging out with some close friends the night before the accident. We sang hymns together and shared a great meal. Several of them were little angels to me right after the accident.

I apologize if this isn't classy to post pictures like this on blogs or if you're trying to eat your breakfast. A fun snapshot of my colorful kneecap as of a couple days ago.

Battered, but not defeated

Greetings from Bloomington, the best place to be in an accident!

Today is the 11th anniversary of 9/11. I wasn't really thinking about it too much, because I had some other things on my mind--like being hit by a car.

My life has sort of turned upside down. Sunday morning I went to church and was feeling quite positive about life in general. I came home, put on my little apron, and cooked a large enough meal to last me through the week. The weather was absolutely gorgeous, so I decided to go on a long bike ride, since I knew it would be getting colder soon. I rode to the west side of town and rode along the beautiful B-Line, Rail Trail, and Clear Creek Trail. I remember marveling at the heavenly weather, the sky that looked like God had painted it with an intricate paintbrush, and the fields of wildflowers. I probably biked about 14 miles and then started to head home for dinner, because I was starving and tired.

I was on 7th street downtown heading east and the light was still green as I was crossed College Ave. when a car was suddenly heading at me as it turned left. The driver was a young guy driving a blue Saturn, and he couldn't see me, because he was laughing and talking with the other guy in his car. I knew I was going to momentarily be hit, because I couldn't stop and he didn't see me. I can still hear my own screams as the car plowed into me. I flew across the hood and into the intersection, while my bike disappeared in the direction of the car. Thankfully I wasn't run over. I just remember having a feeling of horror as I dove into the pavement, basically doing a big belly flop at a million miles per hour. I couldn't move and just turned over on my back there in the middle of the intersection. I didn't even think about the other cars lined up at the red light on College. They all saw and heard the impact, apparently. It was about 6 p.m. at this point.

So I was just sprawled out in the intersection knowing I couldn't and shouldn't move. Suddenly a woman was on my left side, crouched down and holding my hand. She said in a perfect Southern accent, "I'm a nurse. My name is Peggy Welch. You're going to be okay!" The guy who hit me called 911. Peggy held onto my hand, asking me questions about myself. I mostly just remember staring at the vivid blue sky, with a few puffy white clouds floating by.

Soon I heard sirens, more voices, and lots of hurriedness. There was a flurry of activity. Peggy disappeared and it seemed like there were 20 different faces hovering around me at different points. They all told me their names. They seemed to repeat the same questions--What's my name? How old am I? Where am I from? What happened? Can I move my legs? I almost wanted to laugh at all the million different men telling me their names. All I could think of was how painful I felt, and how handsome they were! Through parched lips, I kept mumbling answers, staring at the blue sky, and wondering why all the most ridiculously good-looking police offers and emergency responders were kneeling beside me. It's rather bizarre the random things you think about in situations like that.

Eventually several people carefully hoisted me on a backboard, put my neck in a brace, and put me on a stretcher. I could still see the piercingly blue sky around the silhouettes of people. They all seemed to have halos around them. Up until this point I had been quite calm, like I obviously felt the arms of Jesus around me. But then I started getting panicky, because my arms were tingling and then I couldn't feel them. They were going numb. I asked and pleaded, "Why can't I feel my arms?" Nobody responded but just hurried even more. There was a little window in the ceiling of the ambulance, so I could still see that blue sky. The paramedics hooked me up to an IV and put little electrodes on my chest. A couple of minutes later we arrived at the ER and they wheeled my stretcher into the ER, announcing me as a "Two Trauma" case. It was another great flurry of activity and more faces. I could only see the bright lights of the ceiling and think I was sort of going into shock, starting to realize what had happened and wondering if I was paralyzed.

I was also having a hard time breathing, and started to shiver uncontrollably. People were cutting off every article of clothing from me--snip, snip, snip. There went my baggy gym shorts, shirt, bra, underwear. There were more nurses talking to me. Then yet another cute police officer leaning over me. He asked me if I remembered him from the scene of the accident and asked me more questions for a police report. Then he was gone as more hands carried me onto yet another surface and put me through a CT scan--"scanning the heck out of me," according to a doctor later.

I was then taken to another room, where I was assigned my own nurse, Brian, who took great care of me all evening. At this point I felt like I might be dying. They piled blankets on me and put warm fluids through my IV. They hooked me up to a machine to take my vitals, and even put in a catheter. That catheter was probably the worst. Peggy reappeared at this point and sat with me for nearly 2 hours. I felt so alone, but she is a strong believer and prayed with me and kept me company. We started talking about D.C. and it suddenly dawned on me that this was Peggy Welch, the woman who was not just a nurse and a guardian angel, but also a state representative. She's a "conservative Democrat" who has represented Bloomington for 14 years. She was such a huge encouragement and blessing. She called my roommate, Christine, and my mom.

Peggy stayed until about 9:30 when Christine arrived. I was still strapped to the backboard, staring motionlessly at the ceiling, and must have looked rather frightening. I just wanted to cry, because I felt so blessed by such kind people and was so thankful to be alive.

They finally put me in a regular hospital bed when they decided nothing happened to my spine. By this point I was starting to regain feeling in my arms. I was also allowed to have some water and a meal. Christine brought me a Jimmy John's sandwich, which tasted like the best sandwich ever. She called friends to pray for me. I also talked to Mom on the phone, and she booked a flight to come see me the next morning.

Miraculously I had arrived at the hospital seeming near death, and then they discovered I was just badly bruised inside and outside, bloody and burned in some placed, and had swelling, fractures, and contusions in my ribcage and abdomen. Apparently I was the miracle of the evening. When I hobbled out of there about a million hours later with a prescription for painkillers, some baggy clothes Christine brought, and a thankful heart, everyone was smiling so much. One nurse at the door I remember having seen earlier said, "Wow, we were all so worried about you! We're so glad you're going to be okay."

I haven't been able to work this week, and I'm just resting, changing bandages, and talking with the visitors who show up at my door with flowers, cards, and even baked bread. I am totally engulfed by God's love, protection, and provision, as well as the kindness and compassion of strangers, friends, and family.

Today we went to the doctor for a follow-up, and then I went to the police station to talk to an officer who worked on my case. He was on duty, but came back to the station to talk with me. Why does everyone have to be so attractive and kind?? He remembered exactly who I was. He said, "Ah, yes, the girl who was born on July 17th." I asked him some questions about the accident, since I hadn't seen the full report. My story lined up with the driver's and other witnesses. It was entirely the driver's fault. The officer said to email him if I ever had any other questions. I was thinking, "How about dinner maybe?"

Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers as I heal and get to go through the process of filling out lots of insurance claims, paper work, etc. I am also somewhat traumatized, and am already having flashbacks... But God is a great healer and it's a wonderful feeling to be alive!!

Family ties

Friday morning I took a shuttle filled mostly with Chinese students up north to Indianapolis, and flew to Detroit and then onto Rochester for a brief, but great visit to see my grandparents.

One of the best parts was looking through old pictures and hearing little snippets of info about relatives on Grandma's side, some of which I've heard before, but is always intriguing:

-Grandma's father swam a river to escape the Russian draft, and left his home country, Lithuania, for a better life in America. He never wanted to go to church in America, because some priests in Lithuania turned in his friends when they confessed they were fleeing the country.
-A great aunt died in a Soviet gulag in Siberia.
-Several relatives were killed by the Nazis in Poland.
-Grandma's grandfather on her mother's side was also from Lithuania. They were well off in Lithuania, but not so much in America. He died working in a mill in Massachusetts, trying to make enough money to get his family back to Lithuania. (Thankfully he didn't succeed, or I wouldn't be here today!)
-Grandma's mom was a great sport and way ahead of her time--she let even let Grandma go on bike trips in New England when she was young.
-Grandma's dad was always dressed in fine suits, because he was a tailor for a big suit-manufacturing company.

Anyway, the main reason for my visit was to see dear, sweet Grandpa! I visited him every day during this visit. He moved into a different nursing home in the middle of the city that is more hospital-like and depressing, especially since it's 10 stories tall. And a lot of the residents seem just plain crazy. Grandpa seems happy, although he had changed quite a bit from our last visit just 2 months ago. He's in a wheelchair now and is a lot thinner. But he is still so cute, with his big smile, huge eyes, and fluffy hair. We sat and talked to him. I held his hand and hugged him a lot. I just melt when he says, "My Laura, my Laura" and hugs me or kisses my cheek. He doesn't really remember much, but I'm still thankful he remembers who we are. He'll be turning 90 this month!

Although Grandpa didn't or couldn't talk much, I got to work on transcribing his journal when he went to Antarctica at the age of 72. That was a great blessing to work on it, because it was like hearing the voice of my grandfather when I was younger and how I remembered him--strong, funny, to-the-point, and able to seemingly do anything. I'm not done with the journal (everyone knows he doesn't have the greatest handwriting), but already I'm amazed at his courage, even when he felt alone and a little scared. Going to Antarctica for a month on a Russian icebreaker was a lifelong dream of his, which only added to other great adventures throughout his life: serving as a pilot in World War 2, traveling to 6 continents, marrying his charming wife, having 4 charming children and several equally charming grandchildren, providing well for his family, working hard his whole career at Kodak, sailing on his sailboat around Lake Ontario, building his own airplane, venturing out to Kansas every summer to see us, trusting in Christ at 86 years of age...

He has definitely inspired me! My whole family inspires me actually. I wouldn't trade any of them for the world. And hopefully I can inspire some people, too, to live a bold and brave life! Yesterday flying back to Indiana, I was talking with the man next to me, who has 3 daughters. We ended up talking about some of the places I've been and things I've experienced and learned thanks to God's grace. He said, "Thank goodness my daughters aren't sitting next to you right now. I'm afraid they would talk to you and then want to go explore the whole world! They'd never be the same again."

Here are a few pictures from this weekend:

With Grandpa!

Grandma, the expert raspberry picker.

All the raspberries Grandma, Aunt Susie, and I picked and then promptly ate...