An Un-Finished Product.

So, right now, my leg is almost a finished product. At least as far as my plastic surgeon is concerned. The graft has taken very well, and that's what his job was. He's proud of his work. And really, he did do a good job. The Hole, as I call it, is completely covered with skin/scar tissue.

But, and this is a big one... it's not finished. I am currently able to walk on it, but not very well. No proprioception (the ability to tell where it is at) and no feeling in most of it. Medically, there is nothing that can be done. According to medicine, I will always have The Hole, and it will always be super sensitive. I will always have a nerve deficit, and will be unable to regain a lot of the function that's been lost.

But there's something even bigger than that. I refer to Him as God. You know, the Creator of the universe? He amazes me with His love and His faithfulness. He is my provider. My healer. And with Him? Exceedingly above and beyond that which I could ask or even dare to imagine. That's what He'll do for me.

I can't honestly tell you what my leg will be like when He is done doing what He's doing. I don't know how much I'll feel, or what I will be able to do. I don't know if He will get rid of The Hole (He can, you know - He can do anything), or minimize it, or if it will always be as ugly as it is now.

But I DO know this: His mercy, shown to me in spite of the fact that I picked up the blade, I made the cuts, and I ignored His pleading voice... His mercy has left me standing. Do you get that? STANDING. I can stand up. I have two legs. Both of them work well enough that I can stand. And I can walk.

Today, I visited a friend who was working in the long-term care unit of a local hospital. The people there can't say what I can. Many of them will never walk again, this side of heaven. It wasn't all that long ago that I lay in a hospital bed, my leg feeling like it was on fire, and wondered if I'd still have two legs the next evening. It wasn't that long ago that a physician advised me I should be prepared, because a lot of the bacteria that grew in my wound culture was completely resistant to treatment. It wasn't that long ago that I quietly pleaded for my life. So in a way, I do get what those people are going through.

But in a much bigger way, I don't. The reality is, "The Worst Case" has already happened to them. For me, it was a future possibility. At times, I was told it was a future likelihood. But, I have received MERCY. I cannot complain. Yes, my leg is hard to use. Yes, my knee keeps getting wrenched because my foot floats to some some absurd angle mid-stride. Yes, I lay awake at night unable to sleep because my leg is covered in goosebumps and quivering and shaking and jerking.

But there's more. Because I can stand on my own two feet. I can walk down the long hallway of a rehab unit to visit a friend. I can get in my car and drive. My foot has a pulse despite significant arterial damage. My skin graft took, the first try. 100% of it. I stood in front of a Martial Arts class last Thursday, and taught. Next week, I'll stand in front of a group of women and endeavor to give to them what's been given to me.

I'm not ready, yet, to share what is left of my leg. It isn't pretty. It isn't completely healed. I still have a huge red rectangle where the doctor took skin for the graft. I still have to have it wrapped all of the time, to try and prevent swelling. But you know what? I am ready to share that my God has preserved my leg. I still have it. It is still useful. And, despite so many emotions saying otherwise, so am I.

So am I.