From the moment I met Ralph, it seemed we’d always been two halves of a whole. We made it official at the wedding of our dreams, and planned for a bright and happy future. However shortly after the honeymoon, we learned that marriage wasn’t the idyllic stuff of fairytales. Years of money troubles, job worries and raising a physically challenged child wore us out. Romance was a lovely thought, but difficult to kindle while circling the drain.

My temporary solution was to run away from home.

As often as possible.

We lived in Florida and my folks lived in Indiana, I tried to visit them every three months or so. It was a means of escape: 1,100 miles separating me from real life.

Then in November of 1999 I received a wakeup call; an event that our pastor labeled “A God Thing.”

As I was boarding a flight to Indiana, I missed the last step leading toward the door of the plane, fell and twisted my ankle.

Hard.

A flight attendant helped me to my feet and offered to call for a wheelchair to take me back to the gate. I stubbornly insisted that I was fine and limped through the cabin, ignoring an inner voice that told me to get off the plane and call Ralph.

An hour after takeoff, I couldn’t walk. A trip to the restroom required holding onto seat backs and hopping.

When we landed, Dad took me to the hospital. I had broken three bones in my foot.

Sleep that night was nearly impossible. In spite of medication, the pain was terrible. Worse yet was how foolish I felt for having made the trip.

And though I was with my loving parents who raised me since birth, I wanted to go home. I needed my husband. In spite of our problems, Ralph was still my other half.

I returned home the following evening. When I saw Ralph’s smiling face, my eyes filled with tears of relief. As he kissed me, one journey ended and another began.

The accident reminded me that home is where the heart is, and worth fighting for. I’d been so distracted by our circumstances that I could have lost the love of my life. It was time to stop running and work harder to become the partner that God intended for me to be.  

I never would have imagined that a broken foot would have a hand in restoring our marriage. 

It truly was a “God Thing.”