Oops! It's Father's Day

The freewriting prompt this morning at BWP was personalized for me: "Oops!"

Father's Day was a day to remember at the Rucker house this year. Earlier in June during the week of Vacation Bible School, my youngest daughter accepted Christ as her personal Savior and made a profession of faith at the final VBS worship service. The next couple of weeks, she asked questions about details concerning the next step in the process.

"Hey Momma," she called one afternoon from the backseat of the car, "When can I walk down the aisle to join the church?" While driving, I questioned her about what joining the church meant. She was huffy with me. "I don't want to talk any more about it." We went about our business with no more talk about aisle-walking that day.

The next day, Rebecca was concerned about what she was going to say to our pastor when she walked down the aisle. "What do I say to Brother Wayne? How will I know he knows what I want to do?" she asked.

"Honey, I know that you have asked Jesus to live in your heart. You don't have to worry about the words. You will be fine! You'll know when it's time to walk down the aisle to join the church, and Brother Wayne will know just what to say to help you," I reassured her.

She is so my child. Worried about all the little details. She wasn't worried about the state of her heart; she just didn't want to say or do anything wrong. I just continued to reassure her. Two services came and went, but on Father's Day, she walked to the front of the church and talked with Brother Wayne.

What a perfect Father's Day for my husband. His youngest daughter publically makes a profession of faith and joins our church, and it is his special day as a Father.

Then, oops! We were late leaving church that day after standing up front to receive many well-wishes from those not hustling to beat the crowd at the local restaurants for a Father's Day lunch. For those unfamiliar with my church, it helps to know that we are in the middle of a building campaign all around our church, making arriving and leaving the building difficult.

I walked out the backdoor to cross the rear parking lot. We now park across the street from the church because construction has removed a large part of the rear parking area, leaving few spaces. We want to save those spaces for people unable to get around as easily as we can. On my way out the building that morning, I walked as I normally do under the pick-up shelter and out onto the asphalt of the parking lot.

Without warning, I was falling to the ground, a small scream escaping from my mouth. Keith was ahead of me and did not see what was happening until it was too late. Before I fell, my left ankle rolled to the left, my wedge shoe going out from under me. I had stepped on a relatively large piece of gravel that was loose in the parking lot. Several men quickly surrounded me to check to see if I was injured. I told them not to pull me up too quickly because my ankle had popped. Instead they got me up and between the three of them loaded me onto the rear seat of a golf cart used for shuttling people from one parking lot to another.

On the ride to the car, I tried to assess the damage. There were no visible marks on my foot, but I could see my foot beginning to swell on the outer edge. Keith took me to the local emergency room, overlooking my weak protest that it was just a sprain. The ER staff hustled me into the back as soon as I arrived, rolled in a portable x-ray machine, and within 30 minutes, I saw my two fractures on screen as the physicians assistant in the ER explained to me what had happened and what I would now need to do.

Two hours later, I had crutches, a filled vicodin prescription, and ice packs for my foot. Neither Rebecca, Keith, nor I will forget this Father's Day.