Transforming through Trials

In every recovery journey, there are moments that stand out—not because of their grandiosity but because of their quiet significance. At first glance, they may seem like just another step in the process, but in hindsight, they reveal themselves as pivotal pieces of a much larger picture. One such moment for me was undergoing serial casting. What started as an uncomfortable, repetitive medical process turned out to be a foundational step in my recovery.

preparing the cast

What Is Serial Casting?

Before my motorcycle accident in 2009, I had never even heard of serial casting. When the doctors suggested it as a way to address the lack of flexibility in my right ankle, I didn’t fully understand what the process entailed or why it mattered. I had never experienced a broken bone or worn a cast before, so this was all new territory. I couldn’t understand how this would help. I didn’t think my ankle’s flexion was a problem, and I couldn’t see the purpose of what they wanted to do. But I would soon learn how transformative it would be, not just for my physical mobility but also for my perspective on perseverance and patience.

Serial casting is a method used to improve range of motion and alignment. In my case, it involved forming a cast from my foot up to my shin while positioning my ankle in a specific degree of flexion. I wore each cast for several days before the doctors would cut it off, reposition my ankle to stretch it further, and apply a new cast. This process repeated three or four times, each adjustment aimed at incrementally improving the movement and alignment of my ankle.

Enduring the Process with Patience

It wasn’t easy—mentally or physically. Wearing the cast was uncomfortable, and each adjustment pushed my limits. But the purpose was clear: to prepare my ankle for the proper alignment and flexibility it would need for the milestones ahead—standing, walking, and eventually gaining greater independence.

fitting the cast

"But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing." (James 1:4)

When it came time to remove the cast, I remember feeling a little nervous about the saw they used. But they reassured me, explaining how the tool wouldn’t cut my skin and even demonstrated its safety. That put my mind at ease. Today, my ankle gives me zero trouble.

"In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

At the time, I didn’t realize just how important those weeks of casting were. It felt tedious, even frustrating, to endure. But now, looking back, I see how those small, steady adjustments set the foundation for so much more. They taught me a lesson I carry to this day: progress doesn’t always come in leaps and bounds. Sometimes, it’s the quiet, incremental changes—guided by persistence and faith—that make the biggest difference. While serial casting set the stage for my physical mobility, regaining motor skills in my arm and hand was another mountain I had to climb.

Relearning the Basics

When you’re forced to relearn something you once did effortlessly, it has a way of reshaping your perspective on strength, patience, and perseverance. During my recovery, one of the most challenging aspects was the loss of movement in my right arm and hand. At that time, it didn’t move at all—not even a little—unless I physically lifted it with my left hand.

Starting Over

This left me relying entirely on my left hand, which had never been my dominant side. Suddenly, I was starting from scratch, learning how to navigate a world where even the simplest of tasks—buttoning a button, grasping an object, or zipping up a jacket—felt monumental. My therapists didn’t just encourage me to adapt; they made it their mission to ensure I could use my one functioning arm to its fullest potential.

"He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength." (Isaiah 40:29)

For hours each day, five days a week, I practiced these seemingly small tasks—things most people do without a second thought. The process was frustrating, exhausting, and, if I’m honest, deeply disheartening at times. The thought that my right arm might never move again loomed heavily over me.

exercising the right arm

What kept me going was the hope that progress was possible. Even on the hardest days, I focused on each small accomplishment, no matter how insignificant it seemed. If I could button one button today, maybe I could button two tomorrow.

"And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not." (Galatians 6:9)

I see now that those hours of practice weren’t just about relearning motor skills; they were about relearning resilience. They taught me to find joy in small victories and to trust that even the smallest steps forward matter. At the time, I couldn’t imagine the progress I’d make, but those moments of persistence laid the groundwork for everything that followed.

But therapy for my right arm didn’t stop at those small, repetitive exercises. My therapist would also move my right arm manually, guiding it through different motions and activities like brushing my hair. She moved it up, down, around, and through various positions. I assumed this was to help establish muscle memory or at least to exercise the arm. Of course, I always hoped that her efforts might trigger some kind of reaction in my arm. I didn’t fully understand the purpose at the time, but I trusted her expertise. I realize now how important those sessions were in maintaining my arm’s range of motion and keeping hope alive for eventual use.

daily task practice with the left arm

Reflecting on the Journey

I wanted to share these stories not just as a glimpse into my recovery but as a reminder of what we can endure and overcome with God’s help. These experiences have taught me that progress is not usually immediate, as much as we’d like it to be. We don’t start running a 5K without first learning to stand, take small steps, and walk steadily. The big milestones come later, and they only come when we commit to the smaller, often tedious steps along the way.

Success is a process, and the path to change or new perspectives is rarely easy. It’s slow. It can feel insignificant at times. You might even wonder if you’ll ever achieve the goal you’ve set before you. But the key is this: don’t quit. If you never try, you’ll never know what you’re capable of.

Looking back, I am incredibly thankful for the foresight and care my therapists and doctors had in addressing my needs, even before I fully understood their importance. I see how those moments that felt small or frustrating were actually crucial steps in God’s plan for my recovery. They taught me to trust the process, embrace perseverance, and celebrate the victories—no matter how small.

And as for my right arm—while it once seemed immovable, it is now fully functional. I use it every day, including when I write. Though it remains weaker than my left arm, I am actively working on building its strength through regular gym sessions. I am incredibly grateful to have two useful hands, a blessing I don’t take for granted.

Biblical Lessons from Recovery

These experiences remind me of some important Biblical truths. The parable of the talents shows us the significance of using what we are given. Whether it’s five talents, two, or even one, we are responsible for cultivating and growing what has been entrusted to us. The servant who hid his one talent lost even that. Using our talents wisely isn’t just a suggestion—it’s a command from God.

I’m also reminded of the verse that says, “To whom much is given, much is required.” (Luke 12:48) With the blessings and gifts we are given comes responsibility. And even when what we have feels small or insignificant, we know that God can make much out of little, just like the two fish and five loaves. (John 6:1-14)

The song, Little Is Much If God Is in It, echoes this truth beautifully. We see it in the mustard seed of faith, which is so tiny—like the period at the end of a sentence—but powerful enough to move mountains. We see it in stories like Gideon’s army of 300 men, who triumphed because of God’s help. God doesn’t require large numbers or grand gestures; He requires our commitment and faithfulness.

Whatever you’re facing today, I hope this encourages you to keep going. Trust the process, honor what you’ve been given, and keep moving forward—one step, one effort, one talent at a time.

Be encouraged. 🧡