The road less traveled

Dear Megan,
I haven't felt like writing since I sat in this chair two nights ago and listened to the announcers at the Calvin-Hope Volleyball game utter the last words I ever expected to hear, since I listened to the silence that followed, which was louder and more difficult to bear than the horrible, awful words they spoke. "Korber is down. She looks to be in a lot of pain....The Van Noord arena remaining on its feet....You can only hope that limp is some kind of strain, nothing torn here....Korber receives a nice sportsmanlike ovation from fans of all stripes....The victory dampened a little bit by that potential injury to Megan Korber....Once again, all prayers go out to Megan Korber. That did not look good."

It was a terrible feeling staring at a black computer screen, listening to announcers I could not see comment on a sister hurt I could not reach.  I can't get to you, I can't get to you, I can't get to you was all I could think.

And today, the news worse than we imagined--your ACL and MCL both torn.  The sound of your voice on the phone broke my heart.  My sweet sister who worked so hard to overcome last year's injury, to live her dream by being the best d@#% volleyball player she could be, and to play the way I heard you were playing, to be that strong, that determined, and now this defeated.  "There are so many worse things that could happen," you said, "but I'm just so angry at God.  I'm just so sad. I just want to quit and come home."

"We're really boring here," I replied through tears, having nothing better to say, having no wisdom to give.

Of course, you are right. It could always, always be worse. But this was your dream and it is your grief to bear, and it is OK to be sad and angry.  And now, tonight, hours later, I call Mom to get the update, which is still bad news. The ACL is wound to a little nub, three to four weeks of physical therapy before surgery can even be performed.  I am expecting your response to be utter despondency.  Instead, Mom says: "So, she told me she's ready to do whatever it takes to get back out there."

Really? You said that. And I am so proud to be your sister.  So very impressed with your determination and grit, your perseverance in the face of adversity.  And so very proud to be the daughter of a mom who can say to you that God has great things in store for your life; that your life, your call is bigger even than your greatest dream--to play volleyball, to be the best, to win.  Perhaps this is true.  Perhaps God loves you so much that he is unwilling to allow this to be your greatest dream.  Perhaps his imagination is wider and deeper and more beautiful than ours.  Perhaps he sees in you a potential that reaches far beyond what we already know you possess.  Perhaps.

Your willingness to imagine the truth of that is a true test of courage.  Your ability to say, "I will work harder, be better, get stronger, play again," inspires me and makes me proud to be your sister and friend.

This is only the beginning of what will prove to be your greatest challenge so far.  And all I want to say is I am so sorry and yet so utterly impressed with the colors you wear in the face of adversity, and so very excited to see what God has in store for my little sister who always jumps higher and drives harder, who wears her heart on her sleeve and keeps her faith close wherever the journey leads.

Safe travels sweet sister, and may the view at the top prove to be lovelier and truer than the one you imagined, than the one you thought you would see. And when you get weary, when the path seems too rough, we will run with you. Just don't expect us to be able to keep up.

That's my little sister, #15!