Pastor’s Pen, Beatrice Daily Sun- submitted Mon., July 24, 2006
On May 10th my wife and I were in an eight car pile-up in a rain storm in the mountains of Tennessee. We were moving my wife’s mother from South Carolina to Homestead House here in Beatrice. I was driving a 17 foot U-Haul truck. My wife and her Mama were in our mini-van. I have no memory of the accident. Because of a concussion, I lost about 24 hours surrounding the crash. Cindy was able to come to a stop just in time to see me smash into the back of a semi-truck changing lanes next to her.
I was life-flighted to the University if Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville where they put titanium plates in my pelvis and left hip. My left knee sustained some ligament damage. After looking at pictures of the truck after the crash I firmly believe my seat belt (and I’m not known for wearing seat-belts) and air-bags saved my life. I call those my “Lucky to be alive,” pictures.
I spent a week at the University of Tennessee Medical Center before being flown to Beatrice by Brian Husa, our Staff Parish Relations Committee Chair. One day after arriving at the Beatrice Hospital, God spoke through the nurse who leaned down and said, “Honey, you’re gonna’ have to learn how to ask for help when you need it.”
If I’ve learned nothing else from this broken hip and broken pelvis, its that I’ve overlooked the value of dependence for most of my life. Now, I have no choice. I am dependent on others for almost everything (and I mean EVERYTHING).
And, since I can’t help but wonder what God has to do with all of this, I wonder if part of what Jesus was trying to teach us, was about how we need to depend on each other; how, being a part of a community is how we get closer to God; how, depending on each other is a rather Christian thing to do. Maybe independence is not all its cracked up to be. Maybe dependence on God is what is most important. Maybe dependence on each other is what follows. I don’t know. But my near death car crash experience and subsequent recovery time has forced me to reconsider such things.
Now, I’m waiting for mid-August when I can begin putting full weight on my left leg. But I still get to do physical therapy three times a week. Right now, healing is measured in numbers. It’s a matter of degrees. My physical therapist, Jason, works my left knee that’s recovering from a torn PCL and small tears on several lateral ligaments. At the end of each session we get out the sliding board, and the big clear plastic angle measurer, and start the bending. I started at 91 degrees. By the end of the first week I’d progressed to 97. Then, I got to 107. Two degrees progress can make me very happy right now. One degree is not good enough. Stay the same or decrease and I’m crushed (not a good concept for me right now). The ultimate goal is to bend the left knee to 120 degrees.
Healing is a weird thing. It’s a mental, physical and spiritual thing. In the end I know I want to walk; no limp, no leaning, a regular 46 year old 200 pound male stride. But a return to my gait won’t heal the mental and spiritual disruption.
After looking at post-crash pictures of the truck I was driving, I know I’m lucky to have the possibility of walking again. Seeing the x-rays of the metal plates and spikes in my pelvis and hip reinforced just how damaged my insides were. That cured me of any thoughts of putting weight on that hip before the doctor told me it was O.K..
If chasing 50 hadn’t done it enough for me, this accident has slapped me awake to the realization that I am not going to live forever. There are limits to how much time I have left here. There is no reason to avoid my life’s to-do list any more. My soul is having to digest the idea that I might not get everything done that I want to get done before I’m done here. If that air-bag had not gone off, I’m not sure I’d be satisfied with the life of Kelly Jay Karges to this point in time. Maybe my check list needs to be revised, shifted a few degrees. Maybe I need to erase the “Whats” and “How much-es,” of that list and replace them with “Whos” and “Whens.”
I think the mental and spiritual healing takes a little longer. How do you measure the holes in your soul? When do you know you have closure? Is being satisfied really all that big of deal? Is the end accounting any more important than the middle? I don’t know. I think it’s a matter of degrees.
Our congregation has been wonderful through all this. I thank God for all those who fed my family for a month after we got home; for the nurses in our church & Dr. Butler who came into my home and gave me a shot in my stomach for a month after I got out of the hospital; for all the creative ways our members reached out to us and let us know we are loved. I didn’t know there were so many different kinds of Get Well cards! One young mother told me that she had prayed for me in my prayer spot in the sanctuary (north side, three rows from the front, in front of the second pillar), sensing my presence, keeping my spot warm for me ‘til I could get back. Our colleagues in the Beatrice Ministerial Association visited me in the hospital and let me know we were in the prayers of all their congregations. Dr. Gloor and Dr. Butler were there for Cindy who called from Tennessee needing re-assurance and answers to her questions. Our church Trustees made a ramp magically appear in front of our house, so I could get in with my wheel chair. Our church staff stepped up and took over while we were gone, keeping the church going in our absence.
There is not enough room in this paper to thank all those that need to be thanked. I have learned through all of this that my healing is a group project, a community project. My life will never be the same. Who I am and will be is because of all those who reached out to help in my hour of need. For that I thank God. I only hope I can do the same.
Grace & Peace, Rev. Kelly Karges, Co-Pastor, Centenary United Methodist Church
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