As I was reflecting on my week and wondering what to write, I noticed my physical recovery was overshadowed by some emotional drama. So naturally, I did something almost stupid today in order to have something to write about.
I need to provide a little context, so bear with me as I try to translate some Christianese. My insomnia keeps me up a lot and frequently wakes me up, but there’s a different kind of awakening I experience much more rarely. I’ve had a number of times in my life when I awoke with a heavy sensation on my chest and a name in my head. Christians recognize this as a call to prayer – I can’t really describe it much better to someone who hasn’t experienced it before. I hear it often among the Christian community that someone was burdened to pray for another during the night. It wasn’t until I thought about typing that out that I realized how strange it must sound to someone who has never had the experience. I was restless Monday night with this experience, and Tuesday I heard some heartbreaking news about the student I was praying for. That kept me up most of the next two nights as well.
Insomnia is part of my life, and I still work hard to take care of my body in spite of it. However, losing sleep like this for three nights was pretty rough on my body. I still managed to get my butt out of bed in the mornings to walk with Cindy, but I was tuckered out after a single lap around the fire station. This is still less than what I was managing early in the summer, but at least I can celebrate that my form has considerably improved. For the final stretch on Wednesday and Thursday mornings, Cindy carried my left stick and I just rested my hand on her arm for balance. She says it’s a head game at this point – my body is capable of walking with a single stick, but my brain freaks out without the input in my hand. That’s pretty exciting news; there’s a tangible improvement in my ability. I do still need my brain to catch up, but stepping away from the stick and just having Cindy next to me is a huge move forward in my recovery. I still have a positive trajectory despite what I consider a sluggish pace at times.
This brings me to this morning’s stupidity. I was frustrated with myself for only managing a single lap around the fire station each morning, so I boldly walked out my door with just my sticks and headed to school – no braces. I was toying with the idea of walking to Hammerstein to see if I could make it; I didn’t have a return plan. I made it to the edge of BFA’s property, regained my senses, turned around and trudged home. Now, this is still a victory because I made it a (for me) considerable distance on my own without the braces. The stupidity comes in that without the braces or anyone with me, I was at a much higher risk for a leg spasm that could take me down. I had a couple sobering almost missteps. I was in the midst of some intense prayer before, during, and after the walk, but reflecting on it later this afternoon, I realized the irony of trying to impress the internet as my audience when I just shared with my students last week that I will fail them if they try to put their faith in me. I do the best I can, and some days that’s having a conversation with a kid who doesn’t know if God exists. Somedays that’s praying over my best friend in Utah who woke up from a nightmare and texted me. Somedays that’s walking to school without my braces. But those all don’t happen everyday.
I’d like there to be clear big improvements to report each week in my physical recovery, but that’s not the place I’m at right now. Instead, I can celebrate the daily laps around the fire station with subtly improving form and the opportunity for conversations and prayer with my precious students. I love them so much. I’m going to try to live my life in a way that serves them well more than trying to live a life that’s interesting to read in weekly blog updates. I’ll keep posting here even when it’s less than interesting about my physical recovery, and I hope that you’ll keep praying with me for God to be glorified in every aspect of my life – physical and otherwise.
