A Hand Up
In the true fashion of lessons born of pain, my May 12 motorscooter crash has left me with an ever-widening appreciation for the gift of life and a clearer perspective on what to do with it.
It certainly could have been worse. I had only one area of injury, which totally incapacitated my right hand. Yes, I'm right-handed, and recovery was not a given. In those first discouraging days, I frequently found myself returning to the House of Fear. Several years ago, on awakening to the fact that I am not omniscient, I ceased to make specific prayer requests, so I didn't exactly ask for my hand to be healed. In a time of meditative silence, these words were given to me: "Lord, use my hand. Whether or not it works for me, please make it useful to someone." In the flood of healing tears that followed, I knew this was to be my lifelong prayer, and from that moment on, I've had no fear about my hand. That's not to say I haven't experienced flashes of frustration, but there is an underlying peace in the knowledge that whatever happens, all is well.
And, as it happens, the hand will soon be fully functional again, one of the many things for which I am inexpressibly grateful. I have been extremely fortunate in receiving some of the best medical care available in the whole country, and I wrote this sonnet to honor those who have helped me.
It certainly could have been worse. I had only one area of injury, which totally incapacitated my right hand. Yes, I'm right-handed, and recovery was not a given. In those first discouraging days, I frequently found myself returning to the House of Fear. Several years ago, on awakening to the fact that I am not omniscient, I ceased to make specific prayer requests, so I didn't exactly ask for my hand to be healed. In a time of meditative silence, these words were given to me: "Lord, use my hand. Whether or not it works for me, please make it useful to someone." In the flood of healing tears that followed, I knew this was to be my lifelong prayer, and from that moment on, I've had no fear about my hand. That's not to say I haven't experienced flashes of frustration, but there is an underlying peace in the knowledge that whatever happens, all is well.
And, as it happens, the hand will soon be fully functional again, one of the many things for which I am inexpressibly grateful. I have been extremely fortunate in receiving some of the best medical care available in the whole country, and I wrote this sonnet to honor those who have helped me.
A Hand UpA cattle trailer stops, my scooter swerves ...
but not enough. Within a blink, my wrist
is shattered, zapping tendons, muscles, nerves
and vital ligaments. They're sorely missed.
A hundred years ago, there would have been
two choices: cut it off or let it dangle,
a shriveled, lifeless paw. Now, skillful men
and women have the know-how to untangle
a royal mess. Through microsurgery,
the bones are reconstructed. Months and days
of exercise, massage and therapy
work wonders, proving optimism pays.
They gave a hand. I'll raise it as a sign
of readiness to serve. It's God's, not mine.
Mary Boren, 2009
Comment
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Comment by Mary Boren on October 17, 2009 at 10:58am - Thank you, Linda and Karen, for your prayers and unfailing words of wisdom and encouragement ever since I've known you. I love you.
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Comment by Karen Tudor on October 14, 2009 at 9:25am - Thank you for sharing your insight, your healing and your spirit with us all in this powerful way, Mary. It reminds me that as Paul says, "you are not your own" -- none of us are! May we each dedicate ourselves to be put to good use! Thank you, Mary!
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Comment by Linda Parker on October 13, 2009 at 10:05pm -
Dear Mary,
Seems it is more than just a hand that is healing. What a powerful message in your writing!
Thank you for sharing your journey with us.
Love, Linda
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