It's one of those mornings where my nerves
are desperately crying out for a surge protector,
but they can't get one because it's been stolen.
So I lie in bed and hope that I won't short circuit,
but I'm on the brink and I can't get out of bed.
Little by little, I hear the Lord's whispers,
because he promised to never leave me,
and I believe him, but he stays
whether I believe it or not.
"You can stand up," he says
"No I can't," I answer honestly.
"Yes, I am infinitely patient and I will teach
you to remember what it's like to put
one leg in front of the other."
"Okay. I'm up. No, I can't. Bed! Bed! Bed!
I'm still on fire!" I reach for the covers.
"Walk to the bathroom," the Lord says not unkindly.
As I watch my feet walk toward the bathroom,
I believe in miracles again.
The Lord coaches me through shampoo and
conditioner, soap and towels--
all the things I have always known how to use
but can't seem to lift when my head, stomach, and even toes
have officially landed in electrical overload.
He reminds me to eat because food seems
less important to me when all I hear
is a scream in my head.
But he has a clear mind, so I obey.
With a full stomach, I let him
lead me to the car
or sit on the bus with me and hold my hand,
and walk me through the turn style at work.
When I feel the blackout overpowering
my barely functioning joints, muscles, and nerves,
I can sense his strong hands
gently rubbing my shoulders
so that the explosive energy does not kill me,
but pushes me through the day.
When I tell him that all I have left is strength for one moment,
he says that's enough.
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