A long night, on a cold floor

A moment of laughter, strength in adversity, and above all else, love.

There are moments in life that test not just the body, but the mind and soul. Moments that strip away all pretense and leave you face to face with pain, vulnerability—and, if you’re lucky, love.

On a recent visit to Boston, Massachusetts, I had what I can only describe as a brutal fall. One moment sat upright, the next crumpled on a cold ceramic tile floor, my body a dead weight. I lay there for eight hours, unable to move, the pain in my shoulders, knees, and ankles so intense it blurred the edges of time. My wife, bless her, was beside herself—unable to lift me, unable to ease the agony. The helplessness in her eyes was its own kind of torment. She covered me in blankets and placed a pillow under my head; all she could do to help me. During that long night, at some point I reached for my phone and called my dear friend Rick who lives just around the corner from where we were staying. But his phone was on sleep mode. The call never came through. I questioned myself and my ability to be able to make it through another six hours. Questioning myself every hour thinking I cannot last like this much longer …… I did. So this shows me the ability and limits human condition and ability to endure suffering.

When morning finally broke and his phone stirred back to life, he saw my missed call and rang me instantly. Within minutes, he was at my side. No hesitation. No questions. Just presence. He sat me up gently, then wrapped his arms around me in a hug that said more than words ever could. And then, in the quiet of that embrace, he prayed.

“Lord,” he said, “grant me a share of this man’s suffering” I looked at him, half-laughing through the pain. “No way,” I said. “You’re not having it. It’s mine.” He tried again. “Do you love me, Lord? Then grant me a part of this man’s suffering. I want to share it.” Again I pushed back. “No way. Get off my suffering.”

And then we both laughed. Deep, belly-shaking laughter that somehow made the pain feel lighter. He looked at me, incredulous. “How can you laugh in this situation?”

“That,” I said, “is where I get my strength.”

We laughed together and as I laughed I said can you imagine the Almighty listening in on our exchange. “Lads,” I said, “I’m a busy man. Get back to me when you’ve sorted your shit out. I’ve got a lot of people to look after!”

More laughter. More light.

Later, he told me how devastated he was that he hadn’t answered the call. He wished I’d called his wife Donna. He immediately changed his phone settings to make sure I was listed as an emergency contact. That’s the kind of man he is. There is always something redemptive in even the darkest hours. A glimmer. A grace. A friend who shows up, not just to help you up, but to share the weight of your suffering—even if you won’t let him. This was a moment of pure love and I’m grateful for the whole experience, could this be the gift of being broken? I have to believe so.