From the School of Accident & Illness, Part II

Continuation from the previous blog... 

PATIENCE

“Anything you can do…I can do slower.” Sophie started the song, and I finished it, as a group of us made it over the treacherous path to the chapel one evening (at least it was treacherous on crutches).  I always considered myself a type B personality.  Or at least an AB.  I like to get things done, but I’m not going to stress too much about it.  I hate rushing.  So that makes me a pretty patient person, right?  Not really.  I’m quite sure you can always learn more about patience, but unfortunately it usually has to be the hard way.

I’m getting used to the slow lane.  If I’m on the stairs, or the sidewalk, and I hear someone behind me, I’m quite content to pull over and let them pass.  Just because I have to do everything in slow-motion doesn’t mean everyone else does.  Sometimes it gets really frustrating though.  Like when I have to hop around the kitchen—refrigerator, table, sink, table, refrigerator, table.  Dang it, I forgot the salt. I have learned that if I try to hurry, I usually just make a big mess, so I might as well just take my time so all will go smoothly.  Even walking, with or without crutches, I have learned to take it easy and watch where I’m going.  Sometimes this just means I take out my impatience in other ways—in words or thoughts.  Why can’t people see things the way I do?  It’s so obvious.  If things were done the right way (meaning, the way I see things), we wouldn’t have so many problems.  How could they say that?  How could they do that?  How could they think that?

I’m getting used to the slow lane, but I don’t always like it.  However, I know that as I learn to slow myself down—not just my body, but my mind and words—I will see things I didn’t see before.  I will see people I would have missed.  I will see wisdom where I would have blundered through.  I will see the things I have to be thankful for, and I will have time to thank God for them.  I’m definitely not done learning all this, but at least I know I need to.  If I can just be patient as I learn how to be patient…

HUMILITY

I thought I had already gone through my major humility lessons—last year.  I mean, it’s not just anyone who does janitorial work with a master’s degree.  (If you add in that it was in Yosemite, it does make it a little better.)  Going from being completely in my element, feeling socially secure and mature to feeling isolated and depressed, knowing all the while that it was my own doing.  Yes, that was humbling.  But I was still on my own, and very independent.  A couple of 15-17 hour solo road trips?  No problem.  Bring it on.  I might have been frustrated with my destiny, but I was still in charge of it, in little ways at least.

This year has taught me humility in a whole new way.  The way that says, I can’t do it on my own.  I need help.  I’ve lived pretty much my whole life trying to tell people (subtly) that I don’t need them.  Not because I don’t want them or like them, but because I don’t want to bother them.  For some reason, I’m always afraid of bothering people.  But when I was sitting on a couch with a blazing fever on a very hot island…suddenly things started to look different. When I was laying in a Yapese hospital bed with the news that I was probably going to be on crutches for a very long time…things began to change.  Independence was out the window.  Dependence was my path of humility.  Thankfully, I was surrounded by the best people to help me learn this lesson (mostly, Lorraine and Sophie).  They did not complain at having to fix my meals, do my laundry, clean for me, get me things from across the room, take my extra crutch going up the stairs, hold all my stuff, stay up in the middle of the night to make sure I got my pain meds, and so much more. They got very used to my way of asking: “Would you mind…?”  (Lorraine said she wasn’t quite sure how to answer that in the affirmative.) 

Sometimes I would feel frustrated that I couldn’t do these things on my own.  That I had become a burden, when all I really wanted to do was bear others’ burdens.  But I began to realize that by humbly accepting their selfless service, I was given an amazing gift.  God used them to remind me that I don’t have to DO anything to validate my existence.  He taught me that I am valuable, just because I am here. I don’t have to apologize for my existence, or try to make up for my inadequacies or weakness.  I am worthy of love because He says so.  So I can let go of my pride, and allow people to help me without shame.  I can simply be thankful for so many who have cared enough to send an encouraging word or pray for me, or make me get-well cards.  And I can only hope and pray that God can use me to still be a blessing to others, in ways that I can only do here in this path of humility.