Sam is Healed from a Torn Tendon

By Elizabeth Stalcup, founder and executive director of Healing Center International

Perhaps 23 years ago, in a season when my two youngest children were often sick, my husband Sam tore a tendon in his right middle finger. It happened like this. He spilled a cup of coffee on the cream-colored carpet in our family room, then got a dish towel and started rubbing, trying to soak it up. He rubbed so hard that his middle finger caught. He felt a sharp pain and was astonished to see that something was wrong with the last joint of his middle finger. He could grab it with his other hand, straighten it and it would pop into place but when he made a fist and it curled, it remained curled when he opened his hand. We went to the doctor and they diagnosed torn tendon or ligaments.

“These usually repair on their own if you keep it straight for six weeks or so,” the doctor said. The nurse wrapped Sam’s finger in a splint and sent him home with instructions to come back in six weeks. As I recall it was not a huge impediment. Sam no longer had to wash dishes, which made him happy. Six weeks later he went back to the doctor who took off the splint. He had him ball his fist and then open his hand and sadly the last joint of the injured finger remained bent. They put him in the splint for another 12 weeks or so, but the finger did not heal. On the third visit to the doctor, he said, “You’re going to need surgery.”
 
Sam has never been one to complain. But the night before his surgery I had a meltdown. I remember being in bed and telling God that I had had it! Wasn’t it enough that my son and daughter could not seem to kick the strep? After the surgery, Sam would be even less available to help around the house—or even pick up after himself. I remember sobbing as waves of hopeless despair assailed me. I felt I did not have a capacity to take care of everyone, to do the laundry and put meals on the table and work at the geological survey. I remember telling God, “I can’t do this.” 
 
At the time I had no thought that my rants would change anything, I simply could not contain myself. My feelings were bubbling up and out. I was telling God, the only person who was willing to listen to me that I simply could not face the future I saw before me. Years of childhood trauma had left me with intense unregulated emotions and at this point they were like a steam locomotive bearing down on my heart and mind. I think Sam was asleep next to me. He’s always had the gift of the five second drop off to sleep—nothing wakes him unless I grab him and shake him. So, no one heard my cries but God.
 
I soon drifted off to sleep. There is nothing like crying hard to make you sleepy!

The next morning the alarm blared about two hours earlier than usual because Sam needed to be at the surgery center by 7:30 AM. As was his custom he sat up in bed, swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up, trying to wake up.

I rolled over and closed my eyes, hoping to go back to sleep for a bit longer.

Then I heard him say loudly, “Look! Look!” I rolled back and opened one eye. He thrust his hand in front of my face. I struggled to focus. He made a fist and straightened it, then did it again and again. His finger was completely healed. My groggy brain could barely take it in. How could that have happened? Was he showing me the right hand?

Then we both realized: God. God had done this. I was overwhelmed with the awareness that God had done this for me. Yes, clearly also for Sam, but in that moment, it felt personal as gratitude for his love and care swept over me.

“What should I do?” Sam asked.
 
“I think you should go in. If you don’t show up, they’ll think you’re a no-show and they might get stressed waiting for you since you’re their first appointment of the day.”

“You’re right,” Sam said, he stood up. He pulled on some clothing laid out the night before. Soon I heard the car start in the driveway.

Within an hour he was back jubilant. The doctor said it is completely healed. That was more than 20 years ago, and he has never had problem with that finger—no pain, no clicking or popping, no trouble opening or closing his finger. It is just as straight as all the others.

We praise God for his faithfulness, his kindness, his goodness. He sees, he hears, he understands, and he is able to do something about what ails us.
 
May this simple story, one that I know is true because it happened to us, bless you today.