It’s nearly seven a.m., a bit late for me, and I am clock watching. My physical therapist is supposed to be here at 9 a.m., or is it 10 a.m? My thinking remains a bit murky since my surgery. What amazes me is how I look forward to his visits. Regretfully, he doesn’t look like the one in the pic. In the period, BS, before surgery (got you didn’t I), I had a therapist phobia. These are the guys who, in my mind, had bulky muscles and a nasty disposition inherited from their Nazi forefathers. In short, this type scared the heck out of me. They could inflict physical pain by requiring actual movement of my muscles or manipulation of my limbs. Now I see them, as least Mica, my therapist, as loving but tough people.
Obviously, this says more about me than it does about therapists. It’s tough to admit that I have been a fearful person and, to a much lesser degree, remain a fearful person today. I have often taught others to fear not. God is teaching me to actually fear not.
Of course, I was blessed with a far easier rehab experience than some of my best friends suffered through. God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. It turns out I could handle a lot less than some others. When you next see me in person you will not be shocked. Therapy hasn’t yet changed me into a more fit person, just a more joyful person. For now that’s plenty miracle enough for me.
I must go change into my “work out garb.’ Bet you never thought you’d hear that from me.
Ain’t God Good? Can I get an Amen?
Be blessed.
Nick
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