By:  Jana Greene              

             Several weeks ago, I wrote in my journal about the experience of breaking my right ankle.  It was a deep and angsty piece  ruminating on the inconvenient timing of the accident, why God would allow it to happen two days after I quit my job (didn’t He know it was supposed to be a happy time?) and why it happened before I had other health issues resolved.  “Why?” I asked God as I typed.  “Why?”

                Surely God knew I needed to find another job, at least part-time.

                Surely He knew we didn’t need any more medical bills.                

                Like so many other things, it seemed a random misfortune, especially considering the manner in which it happened.  I didn’t injure it skydiving or bungee jumping, or even by participating in that fitness staple of the forty-plus-year-old woman, “Zumba”.

                I broke it by stepping…