Something of a different nature this time: the essence of a piece I contributed to
The Pulse, our church newsletter.
God gave me two hands – a blessing I rarely consider (to my
shame) but utilize daily, all day long. His design was gracious, in that I
would have at least one ‘worker’ should the other be out of commission. This reality
I learned to appreciate several years ago while healing from a green stick fracture. One
round of this experience should be enough.
Apparently not. Last week, due to an accidental tumble off
my bike, I injured my right hand/wrist (the dominant one, naturally), necessitating
stabilization by a splint wrapped with a tension bandage. A forthcoming x-ray
will reveal if there’s a fracture or not. God-willing: it’s not. The idea of sporting
a cast at this time of year is a thought I’m deleting every time it pops up in
my mind.
So I’m gimpy, handicapped – albeit low-level pain and injury
– and I swing from “this too shall pass”, to “why another physical issue that
cramps my active lifestyle?” Add to
that, guilt, because I should not be angry about such a little thing, for years
ago, I memorized “And we know that in all
things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called
according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28, NIV
Frustrated or not, sunshine is a tonic, and after a day’s
adjustment to the splint, I had to get outside. Propping the right handle of
the wheelbarrow under my forearm I had two ‘extensions’ to transport leaves and
compost. Using a light-weight tool with my left hand to dig and scrabble at the
soil and weeds, the flower beds (after several hours) looked much better - contrary
to my appearance, with black fly welts, dirt smudges and a frayed tension
bandage that just couldn’t keep out of the way.
Did I feel better? A bit. Still struggling with the ‘how
come’ and wondering how much I should do, if I hadn’t already overdone it!
My philosophy is if you’re well enough to work, you’re okay
to play. My left knee still isn't too happy with running, so cycling has become my 'new' passion. Squeezing
a brake and clicking gears on the road bike – that wasn't possible with that splint in the way. But I could operate my mountain bike, so I was
game to give it a go. Derryl picked an easy route for us on the Rail Trail (trail built on an out rail track bed - great.)
It was a beautiful ride - I really was happier than I appear here!
Honestly, I was anxious about balancing and trusting my left hand to handle the
lion’s share of the navigating. I started to lose my nerve on the
sections with
heavy gravel and chunky rocks; tensing up, focusing directly in front of my
bike wheel, I breathed “God, please help me.” I needed to do something
different or this was going to be a very long ride, or worse, I’d jack-knife
and crash again! Then I remembered a conversation from the previous night, talking with friends about painting (something I am much less proficient at than cycling!), in reference to the technique of looking
ahead to where you want your brush to go and your hand will take it there. The painters in the group - Derryl and our hostess, Heidi - were so convincing I thought I'd try it for the bike too.
It did work. I needed to look in advance a
few metres to where I was headed and I could steer without difficulty to get
there. So - the afternoon's jaunt wasn't just about cycling from Martins River
to Chester. God
wants me to live this way, to look forward to His broader plan, rather than focusing
only on the niggly, bothersome things right in front of me.
May God forgive my self-pity, and help me to accept His path.
Yes, a journey with challenges and setbacks, but also views of beauty, vistas
of fulfillment and relationship with Him. “For
I know the plans I have for you, ‘declares the Lord’, plans to prosper you and
not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
Two weeks later, I'm back on the road bike. No fractures, just recovering from strained ligaments. Trying to remember to look ahead down the road a little further instead of the pinpoint view in front of my tire.