An Owner's Manual

     Many parents say that the hospital did not send their babies home with an owner's manual.  I am not a parent.  Yet, when my body led me from work to long-term disability, I understood those parents' words.
     During the next year, I made up rules as I went along.  I thought that was my new way of living.
     Then, as the financial analysts say, another correction took place.  My body needed more than ankle surgery, two four-footed canes, and one hemi-walker afforded me.
     "I am not one of THOSE people, who needs to depend on a scooter. Certainly, I am not one of those people, who needs an ELECTRIC WHEELCHAIR to get around!"   So was my retort.
     I paid my body's ransom.  I cushioned my pride--my paralyzing fear--with time and patience.  I gave my pride time to quiet her bravado.  I gave my pride her time and quiet--to listen.  I gave my body patience to cry her pain.  I lent my body my ear to be heard.  I surrendered my paralyzing fear.  My surrender came ever so slowly, and only with great patience.  Surrender may not be rushed.  Surrender calls for faith-filled integrity.  Any less is to be a victim. I sat in pain with my fear--literally.
    Only with time, patience, and surrender have I arrived at action's door.  My body does not serve me, but, my mind awaits her full service to offer.
     So, with the vehicles to that service rolled out before me, I took the keys and went for a test drive.  Convinced a scooter was the lesser of two evils, I took my test drive.  With Minnesota Nice firmly implanted in me, I felt compelled--though begrudgingly--to accept the offer to test drive an electric wheelchair--an ELECTRIC WHEELCHAIR.  I fought her stick of joy.  Yet, Joystick turned inward to meet my need.  I well may yield toward Joystick, and shake her hand.
      I thought I had no owner's manual for this new life I am being called to live.  Then....the question, "How do I pay my body's ransom," was given to me.  The decision to make put an owner's manual in my lap--literally.
      Now I am poring over owner's manuals, praying, "Cushion my pride.  Tame my fears.  Guide me toward this new way of living."