Injuries on the homefront

Gib, along with several of his friends, has been playing on a softball team on Thursday nights for the past few months. It's been fun for the guys to get to have "guy time" and play ball together, and although they play in a city church league, sometimes things on the field get a little… ahem… competitive.

And sometimes that extends to the stands where I get… ahem…competitive.

Because so many of their games this fall have been late in the evening, Levi and I haven't attended more than a handful. Last Thursday, the games began early, so there we were, all bundled up with the other team wives and kids. I looked up to see Gib round second base, where he found himself in "a pickle," as I have always heard it called. He was caught in the middle between second and third base, and the other team was throwing the ball back and forth trying to tag him out.

As he sprinted back to second base, the third baseman chasing him down not only tagged him out, but also gave him, in my objective opinion (ha!), a harder shove than was needed, which sent him flying to the ground.

I was livid. How rude! How dare he! THAT'S MY HUSBAND THERE, BUDDY. But Gib got up, so I settled down. Until I heard my husband ask for a medic. A medic. A MEDIC?!

I won't post a photo of his finger because it was gruesome. It bent in directions that a finger was never meant to bend. And my anger flared. Where was that heartless, ruthless third baseman who attacked my husband? Where was he?! (Can you tell that I tend to overreact sometimes?) Could I punch him while holding my baby?

But you know who wasn't mad? This guy:

He remained calm and cool all the way to the hospital, and laughed while in the waiting room. He was polite to the nurses, even conversational. When the doctor yanked his finger straight, he didn't utter so much as a yelp, even though the grimace on his face showed me that he was in some serious pain.

As you can see from the photos, he is currently in a temporary cast until we see a hand specialist this week. We are definitely praying that no surgery is needed.

I want to brag on my husband. It is taking him twice as long to do things, and there are lots of things he can't do right now with only one working hand. In the face of difficulty, he has been so patient and so kind. I am not surprised, for that is who he is and has always been.

When I let my flesh rise up and get angry within seconds, my husband, the injured one, had no trouble finding joy even in the midst of his circumstances. How blessed am I to have him as the head of our family! I certainly have some things to learn from him.