His Nails

I've held them in my hands. They are strong. Sturdy. They have very sharp ends. And they saved Spencer. They've given my mind much to ponder during the past 72 hours.

Spencer stopped being able to use his left leg last Monday. I wasn't sure if he had hit it on something. Or. If this was something to do with the (what the doctors call) "flexible nails." We've referred to these nails as "rods" for the last 7 months. For a couple reasons. Nails (in my mind) sound very little--like a "pin" or something. Yet, having seen many scans of this little boy's legs, they were long, extending the length of each of his femurs. Hardly a "nail," it seemed to me anyway. I have put the term "nail" aside for the past seven months.

After a trip to his orthopedic surgeon the following day (Monday night he was unable to crawl into my bed, scared, as he does nearly every night. I knew this was a sign that he hadn't merely bruised his leg and that something was really wrong.), we learned that his legs were healed sufficiently that the nails were likely causing discomfort, irritation, and it was time for them to come out. I panicked. I had prepared in my mind for this day to come, in June and not before, really. I told the doc that I wasn't in any rush to have the rods taken out, that if they needed to be in longer I could manage to help Spencer, that surely he could walk again....But he wanted to have them removed. Surgery was scheduled for last Friday.

I wasn't sure how this would go. I got the other two boys figured out for placement during/after surgery. Friends came to our aid and helped with arrangements and meals and other acts of service. I was humbled, again, by the angels that surround us when we are in need of help. But, I was still nervous for Spencer. What if he had to be recasted? What if I had to endure crying at night every half hour like I (and my parents) did for the next 8+ weeks while Spencer endured nightmares and had pain in his legs? Suddenly the nightmare seemed to be coming back again.

It's like post traumatic stress disorder, at its best definition. I'm certain of it.

Friday came and Spencer was still not walking. He could crawl around the house quite fast, but was unable to straighten his leg. That was the problem. We went to surgery, as was scheduled.

He is recovering, the best he can.

I asked for the "flexible nails" back. Yes, I know. A little morbid, creepy, and disturbing to some. I got them. Sterilized and in a little pouch. They are facinating to me.

I find it no coincidence--now--that they are called flexible nails. These very pieces of titanium that have held my little boy together, the very thing that would make his legs grow and become...whole. They are a testimony of the power of prayer. The power of the Priesthood of God. The power of faith. Of miracles. Of our Savior Jesus Christ.

Christ died for every one on this earth--everyone. Those who believe on His name and those who do not. He suffered in Gethsemane for each of our sins. Our shortcomings. Our imperfections. Our flaws. For the sins of each person. When we have been wronged, the pain that we feel--he has already felt it. Only He. Only One. He is the only other person who knows of our individual trials, sorrows, and grief. And only through Him can we learn how to overcome these difficulties, these times where we are given opportunity to grow. He has already suffered for us.

Nails were driven into Christ's hands, wrists and feet. Nails that caused him pain, anguish, sadness, and death. Nails of a different kind were the mechanism that saved my little boys' legs. Nails made him whole. It is only through our Savior Jesus Christ that His nails--his suffering, his anguish in my behalf--can make me whole.

Nails.

I never expected this juxtaposition during this experience. Yet here it is--a very vivid reminder. A reminder of which I will be compelled to remember forever.