A Brocken Heart

I always knew I was strong. I held onto a vision, one where I would conquer my injury, rise from that hospital bed, and walk again. Every day, I whispered words of hope to myself, certain that my freedom was within reach.

But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, doubt began to creep in. Could it be true, what the doctors said? Was I truly bound to this wheelchair for life?

Refusing to accept it, I clung stubbornly to my faith. God had pulled me from dark places before, and I believed He would again. I poured my heart into physiotherapy, each movement a promise to myself that I would walk. I didn’t stop hoping.

As months slipped by and a year passed, we heard of a herbalist who claimed to have medicine for my condition. I seized the chance, following each prescription with desperate hope. But after many months, I saw no improvement. Another herbalist came along, adjusting my diet and rubbing roots on my back, yet still, nothing changed.

In the face of desperation, sometimes only the most extreme measures will do. One of the herbalists applied an oil to my skin that left me smelling like fried chicken—utterly unbelievable. All of this, just in the hope of finding a cure.

My hope was fading, yet I clung to whatever remained. I discovered a clinical trial in India. It was costly, but it felt like my last chance. The doctor in India encouraged me every day, and his words kept me going. So, we made the journey.

The surgery was scheduled for the day after we arrived. When it was over, the doctors came in with devices that stimulated my legs. For the first time in so long, I felt movement. My heart surged with indescribable joy. The treatment continued, and after many adjustments and days of therapy, I could finally take a few assisted steps. I was ready to go home.

But back home, progress stalled. Weeks went by without change. Every option exhausted, I was forced to accept a painful truth—I might never walk again.

Broken, confused, and angry, I was left grappling with my reality. Darkness fell over me as I withdrew into thoughts of "why" and "what if." Depression took hold.

Then, one day, I turned to God, realizing He was the only lifeline left. Therapy, herbs, and medical treatments had failed, but I hadn’t yet reached out to the one source that never falters. With a humble heart, I began to seek Him.

As I read His Word, I found solace in Matthew 11:28-30: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Psalm 51:17 resonated deeply: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” And in Psalm 147:3, I found comfort: “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”

Each verse renewed my hope. 2 Corinthians 12:9 encouraged me: “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

With each day, my heart was lifted. I began to see purpose in my struggle. Through this trial, I discovered the profound strength that arises from pain, loneliness, and humility. I realized that God works powerfully in those who come to Him with a humble spirit.

I still face both good and bad days, as we all do. But now, I strive to live for God each day, holding onto Matthew 24:13: “But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.”

This journey has shown me that, through faith, the broken can be restored, and even in weakness, God’s strength sustains us.

Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord and He will lift you up.