“We’re going through a bad patch right now.” I smile as I remember hearing our friend from Bristol, England, express these words over the miles of airwaves that separated us from them in Tennessee. He spoke softly, unashamedly… knowing there would be no judgement… only acceptance and love.

I also remember writing an update while serving in Vienna entitled… the good, the bad, and the beautiful. Our team leader at the time forwarded that update to the regional counselor, asking him to read it and ask, “Is there something wrong with Barb?” The counselor told me this a few months later when we were attending a meeting together… “There is nothing wrong with Barb…”

I had written that update after arriving home one snowy February night, leaving Tom in a Vienna hospital after going through five hours of surgery that morning. I was exhausted, he was in pain, not sure of the future. It was a cold, bleak train ride home— we were in a “bad patch”.

As I closed the window coverings at home that night, I noticed how the thick, deep snow had framed our small back yard into an exquisite work of art. Even through pain, disappointment and fear, the Beauty of the moment held me… “You’re mine, Tom is mine, and I am here.” I knew the Whisperer; I felt protected. And I wrote that update expressing the pain and the hope. (After all, I was keeping lists of whispers. See here . )

Bad patch is primarily a British idiom used for going through difficult, hard times; in America we might say we are having a tough time or we’re struggling.

It has been three months since I have posted a blog. Our bad patch has lengthened and widened since early April… increasing more in May and June. The distress wasn’t too rough as long as I could take care of the situation and serve Tom. Tom had double pneumonia in April, needing double times the injections and meds. But I managed to “be fine” during those days.

It was not until I had a major fall, resulting in a black and purple face, a concussion and had Covid at the same time, that I  began to wallow in the patch. Almost recovered from this first fall, I slipped a month ago in the wet garden and broke two bones in my ankle. Now I can do nothing for Tom. Or myself. Would I survive? 

“I can’t do this,” I cried as I momentarily passed out, fresh from the emergency room. “Yes, you can.” my strong man whispered in my ear, “Soldiers, 25 year old young men, come home with no legs. You can and will do this.” 

 A friend wrote a note and said, “I know you are learning new wisdom; I will be eager to hear.”

Initially, I could not; I had lost focus. Effects of the concussion caused emotional twists and turns. How could I learn anything? I accepted the fact that I would never write another word. I couldn’t even praise. I’ve always prided myself into believing I could dance in the rain, under any umbrella. But now all the umbrellas are broken, and I can’t even walk. Slowly, slowly I am learning to walk into this bad patch with great thankfulness… not for this disruption in life, but in spite of it, I choose to be thankful for the small delights and gifts. 

(Lavender and blueberries are June’s gifts. I am thankful for the friend who snipped the lavender while I bunched it, and for Tom who is picking the berries this year.)

Every human on my prayer journal pages is going through a bad patch, and I step carefully into their storms. I will never take others’ pain lightly again. I have known challenging times of Lyme disease and Q fever, but I could walk! I could still run and do for others. 

Not one spot in this bad patch could be changed. It is what it is, as Tom says. I can only change my attitude, my heart. I had to hear again… . Brennan Manning writes: Happiness and sadness may play havoc with our emotions, but once we learn that God dwells in darkness beneath the shifting surface of our souls, we know that that is where we must go to find Him. There we will pray in peace and silence…”A heart at peace gives life to the body…” (Proverbs 14:20)

We rise above our bad patches by lifting others, by caring, truly aware of their troubles. I read several stories of “bad patch” scenarios, and I wept. Pain, such as I have never known… yet. Our experience these three months has been humbling. “You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light. With Your help, I can advance against a troop; with my God I can scale a wall” (Psalms 18:28-29).

I can’t walk these days, but soon. Then I will be able to climb a wall!  This post may be more personal than some, but this is life today. 

… it is ok…