A friend of
mine recently broke her right wrist. Suddenly
the smallest things are difficult as she lives her life other-handed until her
dominant hand heals.
I was there
once—with a dislocated shoulder instead of a broken wrist. Two different injuries, same result: all of life is thrown askew with temporary
loss of one limb’s function.
It’s humbling
to go back to preschool coordination. Brushing
one’s teeth suddenly becomes a challenge, not to speak of using utensils or signing
one’s name. What normally goes by
unnoticed in the course of a day becomes the focal point of frustration. Every action is hindered by awkwardness and
every moment tinged with the background pain of healing.
I remember
getting angry at some P.T.A. (physical therapy assistant) students when I had a
sprained ankle. They were trying to
navigate the college campus with assistive devices—a wonderful exercise in
empathy. But some weren’t taking it
seriously or doing it right: instead,
they were walking at a normal pace holding crutches under their arms, striding
along while tapping a cane on the sidewalk, experimenting with wheelchair
wheelies. At the time I was on crutches,
acutely aware of every extra pound of fat and every single deconditioned muscle. For me, walking down the hallway was its own
huff-and-puff marathon in slow motion.
These students weren’t getting the point of their assignment at all!
That leads
me to ask if I am getting the point of my assignment. Wasn’t it something Jesus said about loving
God and loving my neighbor as myself? How
do I do that when I am not whole? How can
I love when old emotional wounds trip me up?
How do I offer a hand when mine is not working?
I could spend
a lifetime grumbling in the corner about the unfairness of it all. I could excuse myself from kindness because I
have suffered emotional abuse. I could claim
that a compromised arm is ample reason to never make another fumbling attempt at anything. Or I could do my best with what I have. Sure, life has not always been kind, but that
should inspire me to empathy instead of bitterness. No, my body does not work perfectly, but that
is a perfect reminder of my dependence on God.
Instead of grumbling in a corner, I can rejoice in the Savior.
I firmly
believe that each and every one of us lives life left handed in some way. Some of our challenges are visible, others
hidden. God wants to bring healing and
wholeness to every single person in this whole wide world. I can cooperate with his spiritual therapy by
getting enough exercise and doing the stretches He proposes. As the gospel song says, I can “show a little
bit of love and kindness” to those around me.
As I yield my life to God’s purpose, He can even use my broken parts.
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