My Comfort in Affliction

By Amanda Slikker

Amanda Slikkers story begins on a beautiful Sunday afternoon at the US Naval Academy. Two months into her navy career, she was enjoying the first and, as it turns out, only rugby game she would ever play. During one of the plays, the head of one of the players slammed into her chin, throwing her jaw out of place and putting her in excruciating pain. This injury would change her life forever.

Amanda became a Christian as a child and was outspoken about her faith while at school. Even so, her beliefs were never challenged until she faced agonizing pain. She had countless surgeries, each one weakening her health a bit more. As time went on, she wondered why God was making her go through this unbelievable pain. She had been a healthy child growing up and did not know how to deal with this kind of suffering. She found herself questioning the truths she had learned from the Bible.

My Comfort in Affliction is a profoundly personal journey through Amandas struggles with her faith. She shares her prayers, thoughts, and the Scripture that gave her peace and hope during her unexpected tribulations. God led Amanda through her physical pain and with His hand pulled her to the mountains filled with joy and peace. Her story is a testament to Gods faithfulness and everlasting love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490887630

Amanda Slikker

Amanda Slikker was raised in Flowery Branch, Georgia and graduated from the United States Naval Academy. She served several years in the navy before moving to Little Rock, Arkansas, with her husband, Benn, an Air Force C-130 pilot. She is currently attending graduate school to become a registered dietician.

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Copyright © 2016 Amanda Slikker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com  The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-8762-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8764-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8763-0 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/20/2016

CONTENTS

Part I

1. Out of Place

2. And So It Begins

3. A New Life

4. Life Changes

5. Let There be Light

6. Recovery?

7. Shock and Awe

Part II

8. The Beginning

9. Air Force One

10. A Girl’s Best Friend

11. The Great Depression

12. The Red Name Tag

13. The End of a Chapter

Part III

14. The Start of a Book

15. A New Meaning for the Word Waiting

16. Options

17. Valleys of Sorrow to Rivers of Joy

18. Perseverance

19. Quitting

Part IV

20. The Day Has Come

21. Hercules Wins the Battle

22. Yo Soy una Piñata

23. I Don’t Like That

24. The Nerve of It!

25. Double Digits

26. Life As I Knew It

This book is dedicated to Benn, my best friend.

Mom was right when she said God sent me an angel.

PREFACE

I began writing stories when I was eight years old with my best friend. We wrote a series about a family’s group of pets that got lost and overcame various obstacles to find their way home. Little did I know that my own life would follow a similar course.

On paper, there is no way I should have gotten into the Naval Academy. My high school GPA was slightly above average, I took no AP courses, my SAT score was three hundred points below the Academy standard, no one in my family had served in the military, and my state senator didn’t even offer me an interview for his nomination because I was too far below his requirements. Humanly speaking, I did not have a chance. However, God doesn’t use human standards to work his plan for our lives.

I remember telling my high school guidance counselor the story of my plebe (freshmen) year when I was home the following summer. After hearing the story, she told me I should write down everything I remembered, because it would make a good book. I laughed a little at the idea but did it anyway, thus beginning seven years of writing.

This story reads as if it is happening in the present to capture the emotion of the time. I want you to feel what my heart felt and understand my frustrations, therefore grasping God’s faithfulness to sustain me. He never ceased to teach me something new or to deepen my understanding of his precepts. The beginning of my story has encouraged my own soul throughout my continuing afflictions.

Many people have found strength in my testimony to keep faith during their personal trials. My hope is that you will clearly see how the Lord orchestrated everything in my life to bring him glory. The story is meant to show how God worked through my weaknesses to display his holiness.

This book could not have been possible without the love and support of Benn, my husband. Not only does he encourage me, but also he finds ways to help me achieve my goals.

Thank you to my mom for continuing to visit every hospital with me. Your own faith has been an example for me to follow.

I would like to thank Pastor Steve Jennings, his wife Mary, and the congregation of Westminster PCA. You all are truly my family. I have never met a congregation with the fervor you possess to know Christ more. Pastor Steve’s sermons always have touched my heart in countless ways. Thank you for your faithful prayers.

Remember your word to your servant, in which you have made me hope. This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life.

Psalm 119:49–50

INTRODUCTION

I ’m not a hero. I did nothing to protect my country, nor did I demonstrate valiant actions to save someone’s life. I am a plebe at the Naval Academy, and this is my story.

As a sophomore in high school, all I wanted to do was go to the United States Naval Academy. I had heard the stories and seen the pictures; I wanted to be part of the legend. The videos of the Academy thrived on the horrors of plebe summer and the opportunities awaiting graduates after their four years by the Bay. I worked hard for the last three years of high school, spending every day of my senior year checking the mailbox for that prized letter telling me that I was good enough to be part of the Brigade. A busted eardrum from basketball in February of my senior year almost dashed my chances of going there, yet I received that letter I had been waiting for in March. I began my Naval Academy journey on June 29, ignorant of what was to come.

Plebe summer is known by most as the worst experience they encounter at the Academy. For me, however, I found that summer to be the best seven weeks of my life. Plebe summer was more challenging mentally than physically, and by the end, I could see myself as a successful member of the Brigade. I was anxiously anticipating the academic year and looking forward to trying new things. One of these new experiences I wished to undertake was rugby. Since I was a three-sport athlete in high school and an avid soccer player, the aggressiveness of rugby appealed to me.

Rugby is not played in the South, so needless to say, I was starting from the beginning. The first week of practice was a learning experience, and like most athletes, I picked up the game fast. I was told I had potential to become a great rugby player. I was scared of nothing and no one. Our first game was against a women’s team from the city, and the players had at least one hundred pounds on all of us, 150 on me. They were ten years more experienced, adding to their ability to dominate with ease. None of this bothered me, as I enjoyed the rush of hanging onto someone until she finally fell to the ground.

Just as September 11, 2001 changed many people’s lives forever, the fourth anniversary of that awful day changed my own life in a way I never would have imagined.

PART I

CHAPTER 1

OUT OF PLACE

What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish that I may gain Christ.

Philippians 3:8

I remember that day like it was yesterday. It is a warm Sunday afternoon on the large grass field known as Hospital Point at the Academy. The end of the game is drawing near, and I do what I did the whole game in my ignorance of the position I am playing: run after whoever has the ball and tackle her.

The woman is huge, at least 250 pounds. I pull all my strength together and lunge at her, clinging onto her waist with my lanky arms. She stumbles several steps until she finally topples firmly to the dirt. The crowd turns their eyes to me, a five-feet-ten, 135-pound girl who managed to bring down someone almost twice her size. I slowly begin to stand up and am still bent over the woman when she springs her weight off the ground. Two hundred and fifty pounds of force slam upward into the bottom right side of my chin. My left jaw joint explodes as the bones slam together. A sharp pain tears through my joint into my mouth. I shake my head in agony and figure that my jaw has simply popped out of place and will go back with a little help. I lightly push my chin back and forth, trying to pop my jaw back into place, but the jolting increases the pain like lightning through my joint. I wipe the feelings from my head and run back to my position to finish the game. I tell no one of my injury and pray that the pain will go away.

My alarm clock beeps unmercifully, letting me know it is six o’clock on Monday morning. I slam my hand onto the snooze button and crack my mouth to let out a yawn. The pain in my left jaw joint squeezes my mouth closed, suppressing my diminutive yawn attempt.

Well, it’s only been one night; it will start getting better in a couple days, I tell myself.

I grab my normal cup of Special K with strawberries at breakfast and fill the bowl with milk. I smash the crunchy flakes into the milk with my spoon and look at them with wonder. I rub the muscles in my jaw and stubbornly struggle to pry my mouth open to no avail. I can’t even fit the spoon between my clenched teeth.

You’ve got to be kidding me! What am I supposed to do?

I irately push the cereal cup to the side and reach for Yoplait’s strawberry yogurt. That will have to suffice for now.

The week passes as the sharp twinge in my jaw increases with the elapsing of each hour. I spoon through another cup of yogurt at breakfast on Friday morning. A firstie (senior) looks at me with concern in his eyes. He orders me to take a trip to the clinic immediately.

I think I hurt my jaw, I mutter to the trite corpsman behind the counter.

You what? Can you please speak up? she rudely yells over the crowd of midshipmen attempting to get out of Friday’s classes.

I hurt my jaw, I squeeze out of my clasped mouth.

"That is a dental problem. This is medical," she says.

I walk down the hall to the dental clinic, praying that they can unpop my jaw and get me on my way.

I just went to medical, but they told me to come here, I murmur to the lady at the dental office.

What’s wrong? she kindly asks, quite contrarily to the annoyed corpsman at medical.

I was playing rugby Sunday and hurt my jaw. Now I can’t open it very wide, and it hurts a lot, I reply sorrowfully.

I can see that, she says with concern. Wait right here, and I’ll get you in to see the dentist.

She returns quickly and escorts me to the examining room. A short, plump dentist plods through the doorway minutes later.

What can I do for you? he asks over his shoulder as he rubs soap bubbles through his stubby fingers at the sink.

I was playing rugby on Sunday and got hit in the jaw. Now it hurts, and I can’t open it, I explain, pointing to the left side of my jaw.

First things first, let’s get an X-ray to make sure you didn’t break it. He motions me down the hall to the X-ray room.

Doesn’t look broken to me. He holds the X-ray up to the light, studying it intently. Probably just some fluid built up in there. Take some Motrin and come back Monday morning if you don’t see a difference.

But … I can’t open my mouth, I try to say as he hands me the prescription and ushers me out the door.

Ridiculous!

I don’t think I can make it like this through the weekend. I continue to chemistry class as my head pounds with the pain resonating from the joint. I am already terrible enough at chemistry, and I don’t need this pain to make my concentration even worse. The weekend brings no hope of relief as I anxiously await Monday morning to return to dental.

So, you’re not feeling any relief? the stout dentist asks as if he is honestly surprised. I shake my head no while he directs me to open and close my jaw as much as possible. Let me go get Captain Adams to take a look at this, he says, referring to an oral surgeon, before waddling out the door behind me.

He returns with his colleague, who shines a light in my mouth and presses my joint unmercifully. Okay, Midshipman Lawrence, I suggest you wear a mouth guard to see if it will help. Continue to take that Motrin too, Captain Adams says as he shoves the premade retainer in my mouth. I drool down my chin, barely able to keep the retainer in place as they once again steer me out the door without explanation.

My jaw hurts more, and my gums bleed frequently with the retainer. I am sure this isn’t the solution to my problem. I survive off milk and yogurt for the next couple days and manage through the pain until Friday morning, when I return to dental.

My jaw is hurting worse, and I can barely eat or talk, I attempt to explain to the same doctor. He is bothered by my continued rebuttal and snatches my jaw with his rough hands. He maneuvers it back and forth as I screech and pull away from him.

If your jaw doesn’t get any better, we are just going to have to send you up to West End Memorial hospital, he states in a threatening tone. See if it gets better over the weekend. If not, come back Monday morning.

Are you kidding me? Another weekend like this?!

I replay his words and actions in my head, praying for the Lord to give me direction. I start up the stairs to my room in a daze. It has been almost two weeks since the injury occurred, and this pain is unbearable. I turn the corner out of the stairwell and hang my head as I pass by my next-door neighbor, an inspiring Marine Corps helicopter pilot with a don’t-mess-with-me attitude.

Miss Lawrence?

Yes, ma’am, I stop, fully expecting to be reprimanded for not greeting her (as all plebes are required).

How is your jaw?

I replay the past two week’s dental visits and especially the recent interaction with the dentist for her.

We are going down to dental right now and I’m going to have a word with him, she angrily replies as she leads me down the stairs. I just can’t believe this. They can’t ignore your pain like this. They need to send you to the hospital… We storm into dental and quickly track down the dentist.

Ms. Lawrence, how are you? The stout dentist nervously twitches as he looks from her to me.

I’m one of Ms. Lawrence’s upper class, she quickly explains. I would like to know what is going on with her jaw. She is in a lot of pain and, from what she has said, is not getting help from you.

Well, he begins in a meager attempt to explain himself, we gave her a mouthpiece, and well, this is just a very difficult issue.

I don’t think that is working, she relentlessly argues back. You need to send her to the hospital so she can see a specialist and get this taken care of.

They continue in an unfriendly banter until he succumbs to her stubborn request and calls a specialist at the hospital. He passes me the phone and instructs me to explain what is going on to the doctor on the other end of the line. The doctor schedules me to come to his clinic first thing Tuesday morning. You can always count on a Marine to get things taken care of!

Only four more days of this …

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Tuesday morning seems like an eternity away. I shine my white shoes and iron my uniform like any good plebe. I leave all unnecessary items in my room, taking only my military ID, knowing little of what to expect. I wait for the shuttle to the hospital in the Bancroft (the building where all midshipmen live) eighth wing parking lot with several other midshipmen, all upper class. I step onto the bus and sit alone by a window in the back like it is my first day of school and I have no friends. I watch all the other midshipmen sleep during the hour trip as I fearfully wonder what today holds.

Be with me today, Lord, I whisper a short supplication.

I quickly get lost wandering through the halls to the Facial Pain Center. A commander sees me reading signs and maps to no advantage and kindly directs me to the elevator in the right direction. The Facial Pain Center sign decorates the otherwise pallid third floor hallway. I take a deep breath and slowly open the door. A friendly face greets me as I step through the doorway.

You must be Midshipman Lawrence, the woman at the front desk says.

Yes, ma’am, I nervously confirm.

She grabs a stack of paperwork and leads me to the chairs in the waiting area. I need you to fill these out and give them back when you finish. I’ll let the doctor know you are here.

I take the papers and settle in a chair as the nice lady quickly hustles through the back door, smiling as she goes. Minutes later, a jovial doctor opens the door.

Midshipman Lawrence, we are ready for you.

I’m directed into a room with doctors in white coats awaiting my arrival, all wearing the same smile as the one on the face of the lady at the desk. I glance around the room and stiffly take a seat in the middle of them. On cue, I explain why I am here as they all have their share of poking and prodding around my mouth. The head doctor pushes his way through the crowd to take his turn. A puzzled expression appears on his face as he turns to explain his findings to my observers. I look on timidly as they turn to look at me one by one, as though my puppy has just been run over by a car. The head doctor hastily leaves the room without a word, and the once-happy group avoids eye contact with me. I stare at them curiously.

Okay, Amanda, the doctor begins as he slides back through the doorway. When you got hit, there is a joint right here—he points to the painful area of my jaw—called the temporomandibular joint, or TMJ. There is a disc in there that probably got dislocated. Your joint space is filled with blood and fluid. We really need to get that out before a blood clot forms. It has been sixteen days since your injury, so I’m not sure if this will work because two weeks is the border line, but it is best to try to do this now.

Do what? What may not work?

I called my colleague, Colonel Greene, at the army hospital, and you are going to go over there so they can surgically …

Surgery?! I panic at the word. I see the doctor’s lips moving as he explains the details, but I hear nothing. He guides me out of the chair from the sea of white coats and leads me to the front desk with the smiling lady.

Um, I begin as my mind snaps back to reality, I need to tell someone at the Academy what is going on. I feel around my empty pockets and realize I left my phone in my room at the Academy. After looking through various phone books and the Internet to find the Academy’s number, I get in touch with my company’s senior enlisted leader (a high-ranking enlisted navy or Marine member that assist the company officer in the leadership of the company). I explain to him that I have to go to the army hospital for surgery and that I need someone to pick me up afterward. He is shocked that I am having surgery today but assures me he will set up a ride back to the Academy.

The doctor and the smiling lady talk in the background as her grin turns to a concerned frown. But the shuttle left an hour ago, she notes to the doctor. He looks troubled as they speak in a lower tone.

You haven’t had anything to eat today, have you? he says, turning to me. I shake my head as my brain spins wildly. I am about to have surgery for the first time in my life, alone in a strange place. I don’t even know what surgery really means. I am scared.

Amanda, since the shuttle to the army hospital has already left, I am going to personally drive you over there, the nice lady says. She quickly grabs her purse and bustles me down the hall. I recall the many times mom warned me against riding with strangers, but what can I do? We scurry through the parking garage to her minivan. I climb in, and she turns on the engine. Christian music begins playing out of the radio.

Thank You, Lord, I pray, and I feel a sudden sense of comfort. I like this song, I kindly say to her.

She smiles in return and pulls out of the garage into the busy traffic. I stare at the cars passing by as she navigates through the city neighborhoods. I think about the people in the other cars and wonder what they are going through, what their lives are like. I pray that God will protect me.

Have you ever been to the army hospital before? she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

No, I’ve heard of it, though. I know it is the place where badly wounded soldiers go. It doesn’t seem like a place for me: a plebe who got hurt in a rugby game.

It’s a rough place to go. There are a lot of severely injured people there, amputees and the like. She turns to look at me. I solemnly glance at her as she pulls up to the front door of the army hospital. Go in the door and down the stairs to your right. There is an information desk inside that will be able to help you find your way.

Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it, I say to her as I climb out of the van. She gives me her usual smile and pulls away.

I walk through the sliding glass doors shaking in fear.

CHAPTER 2

AND SO IT BEGINS

For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to

believe on Him, but also to suffer for Him.

Philippians 1:29

M y gleaming white shoes bear down on the brown rugs covering worn blanched tiles. Dark bricks build the inside walls as dim yellow lights reflect off flagpoles bearing each army unit’s insignia. A nurse pushes a soldier with one leg past me in a wheelchair. I wipe the image from my mind and hurry down the stairs to the information desk. The man points me in the direction of the oral surgery clinic. I follow his directions and step through the doorway apprehensively.

Are you Midshipman Lawrence? a gleeful man asks me at the surgery desk.

I nod my head affirmatively and follow him to a large corner room with a nurse sitting against the wall at the counter.