Lately, I have had some issues with my hands. They are often asleep and my wrists are often painful at any angle other than straight. It is a chore to write or even type with them right now, and sleeping can be rough - I generally sleep on my stomach because I have both central and obstructive sleep apnea. Two weeks ago, I tried playing racquetball and my hands were numb almost immediately, and I had very little strength in them. My mom has carpal-tunnel syndrome, so perhaps there is a genetic component to the structure of my wrists. As with many Americans, I could also stand to lose some weight, which would help. Even right now, I have to stop after every sentence and shake my hands out to get the feeling back.
Sometimes it feels wrong to even include this in the category of suffering, since it is relatively minor and is probably somewhat self-inflicted. And yet, it is suffering. I can't write like I want to or type or sleep, but become a "slave" to avoiding pain (and damage) to my wrists and hands.
Yet, even this is within God's sovereign plan for my life - a plan to take me where He wants me to be. Perhaps there is an element of discipline to it, but I have a hard time sometimes acknowledging "discipline" and avoiding the self-loathing perfectionistic spiral that seems to come with it for me. I can't figure out exactly what God is doing in my life, and that's not my job anyway. My job is to listen to what I should do next and to lean on His grace to get me there. I need grace and mercy, for sure. A little "healing" would be nice, too - but I trust the Potter's Hand even as he cuts away the scrap clay to mold me into what he wants mew to be. It's not fun, but where else is there to be? I'd rather be in the hands of my loving Father who is doing his work in me for ultimate good than to be pain free away from him ...
