Originally written: August 30, 2015
When we got in the car after a beautiful day spent in the rolling hills of Ohio at a birthday party for my nieces, my hands began to tingle. There are definite times of reprieve now, times when I don’t even notice them. This is big. HUGE. This is improvement. And then, like today, they remind me.
We got in the car, and I looked at Brian: “Do you think they’ll be better in the winter? That without this heat I will hardly notice them?”
And then it dawned on me: it’s been a LONG time. A very long time. Long enough that they should have healed if they are going to. And I turned to him and asked the question I’ve asked him so many times, “Do you think they are ever going to heal?”
And for the first time he didn’t say yes. He didn’t tell me to give it time. He didn’t say, “Just be patient.”
Instead, he scrunched his nose and nodded his head sideways. No, is what he meant.
“I think that will make me very sad,” I replied.
And then I repeated my words in my head: “I think that will make me very sad.” As if it’s something I’ll think about in the future. As if it’s not something I’ll really deal with right now. What’s wrong with me? I think that will make me very sad? Really? That’s all you can come up with when you realize your hands are probably going to tingle for the rest of your life???
And it did make me sad. And I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t. I’m honestly not sure if it’s denial, or the Lord’s protection or both. I’ll choose to be thankful for whatever it is at the moment, and I know that whatever it is still comes from the Lord.
And in the background (of course!) I hear Phil: “I need hope and I need you cause I can’t do this alone…”
And I am reminded of the sermon this morning at church. It was a beautiful sermon about Matthew 6:25-34. It was about worry, about being anxious. And I was reminded ofthe illustrations he gave us to turn to in the birds and the flowers:
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?
And I suddenly needed to see some flowers. I needed to be reminded. I needed something tangible, something in front of me to remind me of the Lord’s grace. Oh me, of little faith!
Our pastor had told us--if you start to worry, look at the flowers—let them teach you.
I needed the flowers.
Right then.
My hands may never heal.
I think that will make me very sad.
And suddenly there were no flowers. Where I had seen them spattered everywhere along the roadside on our drive down, we now could not seem to find any—not at a home, not in the fields, not anywhere. It was like doing one of those maze puzzles on the back of a children’s menu. Dead end. Dead end. Turn back. Try again. And I looked. I looked for yellow, for pink, for red… .
Purple. I saw the purple first. It caught my eye as we twisted around a bend on the windy back roads. The purple was sprinkled everywhere—down a deep ravine. And it crossed my mind that it’s probably a weed, but what a beautiful weed if so! And if God clothes even the weeds with such majesty, what then, do I have to worry about?
As we drove through the little towns, I saw a group of people gathered outside on a porch. It was rundown, appeared to be some kind of community house—a place for people to gather. There was a woman walking alone on the side of the road with her dog, and I wondered about her story. And I was reminded that I have so much to be thankful for.
Yes, my hands tingle and at times, they hurt. But so be it. Lord, your will and not my own.
And I thought to myself that perhaps I should use my hands as a reminder of what I am thankful for: For the three sweet children asleep in the backseat, for a Godly man sitting in the driver’s seat next to me. For the in-laws I’d just left behind at that party—a sweet, sweet mother-in-law, the handiest and kindest father-in-law you could ever ask for, four more sisters and four more brothers. That the Lord wakes me at the same time in the morning (usually right before my alarm) to greet Him and the gracious quiet dawn He provides. For belly laughs with my mom (yes, I’ve totally peed my pants several times at the dinner table with the fam from laughing so hard). For that round, orange ball and the sweet girls I get to coach. For hope.
Yes, I can pray for my hands. I should pray for my hands, but I must guard against dwelling too long there. I trust that although the time has passed when they should heal, God does not abide by our earthly timing. They may heal. Or they may never heal on this side of eternity. But I am reminded of how much I have to be thankful for. So much. And I am reminded that my prayers must also dwell on those who do not yet know the Truth. So I pray for the lady on the side of the road. I imagine Christ walking with her, his hands on her shoulders. And I pray for His presence on the porch of the building with all those people. I pray for their souls. There are bigger things than my hands, and I am challenged to use them as a reminder to be thankful that the Lord might use my MS to further His kingdom.
And as I type this tonight, I laugh inside that the Lord could work all that out in my head on a car ride home.
