{"id":5,"date":"2016-03-24T01:13:00","date_gmt":"2016-03-24T01:13:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2020-03-09T15:59:01","modified_gmt":"2020-03-09T15:59:01","slug":"gravity-and-brokenness","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/katiepolski.com\/?p=5","title":{"rendered":"Gravity and Brokenness"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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We\u2019re broken, finite people. I don\u2019t always want to believe this, and there have been times in my life when I\u2019ve tried to defy this reality. My youngest likes to hear the story about the time I broke my foot in elementary school because I was trying to fly.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
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Naturally. <\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
There was not a soul who could convince me that my plan was ridiculous. I was sure that if I could get up high enough on the school playground, I could make this flying thing happen. My youngest loves to hear about this bizarre occurrence from my childhood and when she does, there are certain questions that always follow: \u201cDid you\u00a0actually\u00a0fly?\u00a0 Like maybe for five seconds did you fly?\u00a0 Can you show me how high you jumped so I can try too?\u201d\u00a0 <\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
No. No to everything. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
I usually bring up facts about gravity when we discuss this story because, well, who can argue with gravity? My hope is to squelch the excitement I see as she imagines herself jumping off the playground in her own attempt to fly. But on one particular rehashing of the story, my youngest simply said this:\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
God could have let you fly if he wanted to.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
Yes. But He didn\u2019t. I wasn\u2019t made to fly in my broken state, and as a child, my fractured, broken bones reminded me of that reality.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
I kept thinking about this brokenness during my moms last days on earth. They were tough, an ever present reminder of our broken, physical state. One particular day, while she was in and out of consciousness, I watched her wrestle to sit up on her own. She attempted to move her leg off the bed in order to stand up, so I pushed her leg back into the bed and tucked in the covers. My heart swelled with sadness and guilt because pushing it under the covers was a way of saying to my strong mother: let your strength go. Be still and give into your weakness, mom. <\/i>It just didn’t feel right.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
But the process of dying should never feel right.\u00a0<\/span>Death was never the intention. The reality of our frailty is not celebratory, and\u00a0<\/span>death is not okay; I\u2019ve seen first hand how ugly it can be. Death is no doubt a result of this broken world.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
Jesus Himself lamented death in the book of John when His friend Lazarus died. Those watching saw the grief on the face of the Son of God and exclaimed, \u201cSee how he loved him!<\/em>\u201d (Jn 11:36) <\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
I\u2019ve thought many times about the weakness this disease caused in my mom. Since her diagnosis only three years ago, she fought to defy the implications of a brain disease by doing things like reading out loud to her grandkids every chance she had, but over time she simply could no longer form the words; she traveled to the beach regularly, but soon it became impossible to function in a regular room without hospital equipment.\u00a0 <\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
And yet, with the loss of speech, strength, and simple abilities, she surprised us all with a unique strength of spirit that was displayed through her legs and her hand. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Just three weeks before she died, mom made one last visit to her home church. Though she was essentially wheel chair bound, mom was determined to walk down the aisle and out the church doors after a brief service in her honor. I couldn’t have been more proud to watch that ten minute struggle as she clung to the neck of her caretaker. I laughed as I imagined her twirling around and kicking the wheel chair to the side. Because really, she probably would have if she could have.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And while she didn’t have the use of her right hand, she used her left hand to communicate. With one hand, mom pointed, hugged, pushed cups off places they shouldn’t be placed, and grabbed on to the things she wanted. That hand stayed so strong throughout her deterioration. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0 <\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
But the reality is that we are broken. S<\/i>he was broken. The strength in her hand and legs<\/span> could not defy death; it showed its ugly face and we lament its existence, just as Jesus did.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
But, that\u2019s not the end of the story. Praise God it\u2019s not the end of the story. We weren\u2019t saying good-bye to her forever when my sisters and I whispered in her ear: \u201cIt’s ok\u00a0to fly to Jesus now, mom.\u201d\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
\"FullSizeRender\"For every believer in Jesus who has kissed good-bye a precious loved one, we\u2019re not giving into death. Death does not have the victory, though it feels in our weakness that it has somehow won.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
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\u201cWhere, O Death, is your victory? Where,\u00a0O Death, is your sting?\u201d\u00a0 <\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
No. Death has not won, but it reminds us of our brokenness and our need for a Savior. Without Jesus, we fear the grave. With him, we have defeated it.\u00a0 <\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/div>\n
Jesus is so close in grief. My sisters and I know His presence fills the gap where our parents used to stand. Praise God. And praise God for the brokenness that forces us to long for what both of our parents are experiencing now:\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Seeing their Redeemer,\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
running without growing weary, \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
celebrating without sin, \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
worshipping with a restored heart, \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/div>\n
feasting with loved ones… \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
and maybe there’s even some flying. \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
They are broken no more. \u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
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We\u2019re broken, finite people. I don\u2019t always want to believe this, and there have been times in my life when … <\/p>\n

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