Sunday, February 21, 2016

“You gwyne to have considerable trouble in yo' life, en considerable joy. Sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne to git well agin.” ― Mark Twain, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”

Thanks to Facebook, I have been able to keep up with a number of people who have been struggling with cancer and other serious health matters. I pray for them and rejoice in their successes.  I also know and admire a missionary near here who has had cancer, surgery, chemo, and when it was all over—she came back here to serve God.  I’ve been sick, I’ve had the surgery, and now I’m back home.  Only problem is that I’m not whole yet.  I’m still in pain every day and learning to walk slowly, using a walker and doing physiotherapy.  Progress is so very slow, painfully slow (literally and figuratively), but it is progress.  Karen watched and took notes when I was working with the physiotherapist from the hospital and does a really good job of keeping me on task.  It’s just extremely frustrating to want to do so many things and it’s just not on.  I can’t stand long enough to brush my teeth at the sink—a little thing, but big to me.  It’s a part of normal that I’m not.  Because of my dislocated (now relocated) shoulder, I can’t even use my left arm for much, but I can use it and do exercises for it.  As I wrote in a previous blog, I am independent in the bathroom and that’s a huge thing for me.  The most important thing is that I am home.  Bishop Festo came to see me on Friday so that I could buy the bus tickets for our three pastors that are in the Methodist Seminary in Arusha—I may be broken, but I can still serve the church.  I can pray for others, for the church, for hope, and for peace.  I may not be able to sit for long at any one place but compared to being helpless and confined to a hospital bed just two weeks ago, I have come almost a universe away from there.  We all need some perspective so that we don’t dwell on what we can’t do, but instead, focus on what we can.  I say to myself over and over while I am walking IOP, IOP (it’s only pain).  There are millions who have it worse than I do, so I do not complain (okay, it may have seemed that was what I was doing, but I wanted you to know how things are).  The thing is that there is always hope, and we can always become better people regardless of our physical condition.  I consider myself blessed because of the all the people who have prayed, thought of me, given money for my medical bills, sent messages of encouragement, and gave me incentive to work harder.  God never told me it would be easy or always fun, He just told me it would be worth it.  It is, you know.
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