Shattered Pride

Yesterday, I blew out my knee again - even worse than the first time. Because my knee felt pretty strong and I could lightly jog easily, I decided to play some easy, casual ultimate with people. I don't really remember what happened, but one moment I was catching the disc, and the next moment I felt my knee pop multiple times like bubble wrap, and I was on the ground again in excruciating pain. After the initial blinding pain faded, the emotions of what just happened struck me hard, much harder than even when I initially tore my ACL. I wept as I was carried off the field and wept as I sat on the sideline. I wept as I broke the news to my mom, and wept alone in my apartment.

Trying to process everything, I've been puzzled by the uncontrollable emotion springing from within me, especially because I didn't ever feel this way about the ACL tear. In a God-given moment of lucidity, I realized that even more than the grief of a broken knee, I am reeling from a broken pride. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a supreme, and often sinful, sense of self-confidence. A self-confidence that had me believing that I would beat the odds and not require surgery for a full recovery. A self-confidence that gave me the illusion of invincibility. Before yesterday, I truly did not believe that something like this would happen. But it did.

And in an instant, all the remaining pride I had in me was shattered. The pride in my seemingly fast recovery. Pop. Gone. The pride of my admirably high spirits despite my difficult circumstances. Pop. Gone. The pride in my tough-guy attitude and grittiness. Pop. Gone. I was reduced from a smiling, happy, positive man with his held high to a physically and emotionally broken boy, slumped over and crying on the sideline.

And I hate it. I hate being weak. I hate that I cried in front of everyone, and I hate that I killed the mood on the field. I hate that I couldn't do what I thought was the "mature", "Christian" thing to do, and to smile through the disappointment because I trusted God. I hate that I had been self-confident when people asked me how my knee was doing, only to have my ironically optimistic answers thrown back in my face. I hate the conspicuous clanking of my crutches that herald the arrival of a cripple, and I hate having to repeatedly explain my pitiful situation to well-meaning colleagues. Even worse than being weak, I hate being weak in front of other people.

So what do you do when your true, weak self is exposed for what it is? What do you do when everything that goes wrong is your own fault, and you have no one else to blame? What do you do when guilt, shame, and regret unceasingly haunt you? I'm not going to pretend like I know the answers, but I'm glad I know One who does. To God be the glory.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."