Patient Love

At a red light, my day is just beginning, but the day is still night. I’m exhausted and on auto pilot. My night was not restful. Eighteen years into this journey and a comfortable night’s sleep remains elusive. Then I feel it, well, I feel its absence. And turn my head down to my arm. It rests peacefully in my lap. It’s not asking anything of me, and I do not require anything of it.

But I hear Trish, my occupational therapist, “Ang, you need to use your arm more. You can use it. It is you, not Little Guy. ‘It takes too much energy and effort to use it’ is not an excuse. Why are you working so hard every day if you’re not going to even try?”

Right here, right now. I have three choices.

One. I can lift it with my right. For years this was my only option. It could not move on its own. Even today, there are times when this is the kindest option. Like when I am especially tired or in pain. God does this for us sometimes. He pick us up and places us where we need to be.

Two. I can find that neuron. You know the one. The one that connects Little Guy to Angela. Oh, that first day I found her. She was sitting there waiting patiently to be seen. Trish and I stood in front of a mirror. My brain saw two arms, but the left was just a reflection of the right. When the right moved, my brain saw the left rise. In that instant, a single, dormant neuron woke. She sent a gentle spark. The connection floated in on a feather with the speed of an electron. Peace and insight met in my heart, as Little Guy rose. That’s right he rose. Beautiful and amazing.

God does this, also, in our lives. He will gently show us connections. Connections in our own bodies. Connections with others. And connections between Him and I. Life is relationship with ourselves, others and God.

Three. I can ask my arm if she even wants to move and what kind of support she needs to accomplish a connection. Sometimes God patiently asks for our needs. He asks us to ask. He asks us to participate in our own healing. He asks us give ourselves to others and to Him.

These are all loving and valid options in their proper time.

But right here, right now, there is only one loving option. First two would be forcing. She does not need to be placed. She is content where she is. She does not need a mirror. She knows who she is. She needs me to ask. She needs to participate in her own healing. My arm needs that to feel seen and heard and loved.

So I say. “Do you want to move?”

She pauses. I wait. Then she responds. “Yes, but I need help.”

Before I form the question, she continues. “Maybe you could give me a breath.”

“God breathed life into the man, and the man started breathing.”

Genesis 2:7

I take in a deep breath, and exhale it into my arm.

“Oh, yeah. I like that. Can I have another?”

I give another and another and another. With each exhale, life builds and gathers and fills my precious arm with life, until she simply rises to the steering wheel on her own accord. She is not forced. She is loved, and we smile.

What parts of you simply need to be placed?

What parts need a mirror to make the connection? Who or what is that mirror? A dog? Scripture? A friend? The opposite side of you? Your husband or wife or child? Your mother or father? Co-worker or boss? A bird or squirrel or tree? The sound of water? A familiar scent?

What parts need patience? What part needs to be seen and heard? What parts need to be loved?

Sometimes we need to be picked up and placed. Others we need to strive and work hard. And then there are times when we need to wait for life to open.