Broken

      I was laying on the hospital bed waiting for the doctor to arrive and decide what was needed to be done to fix my shredded arm.  Nurses, Phlebotomists, and billing personnel came in and out asking questions and reading screens, while I tried to hold back the tears.  I was not crying from the pain, or for my situation.  Tears poured down because in that moment I realized I had neglected one thing that could have prevented this whole situation.  I was too prideful to admit that I needed help in dealing with my disorder and with the emotional shock of everything that was going on; No insurance, a genetic disorder that could possibly have been passed to my children, loss of my job and any way of supporting my family, and now I may lose my right arm due to a silly accident.  I knew that if I had turned to my Heavenly Father, and reached out to my Bishop, or my family sooner then my family and I could have peace instead of the feelings of worry, fear, and despair.  I didn't want to tell my loved ones that I am weak and cannot do this alone.  I felt like Elsa from the Frozen movie; "Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know." 
         Feelings of anger also surfaced in that moment.  If the Lord does really love me, and does not give us more than we can bear, then why am I lying in this bed torn, teary, and tattered? Shouldn't the Powers of Heaven uplift me and allow me to see where I was going? Maybe even an Angel descending from the clouds to administer to me like the Saints of old. I felt an enormous amount of pressure at this time. I felt as if I was asked to do way more than I could do. I felt as if I was alone.
        As I was in this mental battle between humility and extreme pride, my wonderful wife came into the room. I was blatantly spewing these thoughts to her and anyone else who happened to be in the room. She really is wonderful, she listened to what  I had to say and encouraged me when I needed it, and cried with me when I cried. (And I know there is a lot of crying going on, but I was under the influence of morphine) A short time later, my Bishop and his Counselor came to give me a Priesthood Blessing. I don't remember exactly what was said, only that I knew things would get better. Not this instant or maybe not next week, but it would get better. I was reminded of a talk given in Stake Conference about how the Lord loves broken things;

"Broken clouds give rain
 Broken storms yield light
The break of day heals night
Broken pride turns blindness into sight
Could it be that God loves broken things?
And yet our broken faith and our broken promises
     Sent love to the cross
And still that broken flesh that broken heart of his
Offers us such grace and mercy
Covers us with love undeserving
This broken soul that cries for mending
This broken heart for offering
I'm convinced that God loves broken me
Praise His name my God loves broken things."
By Kenneth Cope

I was and still am broken. But through His love and mercy I am on the mend.