Upon taking the cast off, I was x-rayed, and then told my arm was 75-80 percent healed, which means I should use a stress ball with my left hand and not pick up anything heavier than a couple of pounds (ummm…lemme introduce you to my small associate…).
It’s nice to be free from lugging the cast around, but it’s hard to remember that I can’t just leap back to life. After all, my arm looks normal. (Well, somehow the arm hair all got dark (and it’s WINTER, when I’m in long sleeves all the time, just how did that happen?!) and it’s either swollen or skinny, depending on what light you stand in.) So why can’t I just pick up all that junk that has to accompany me on any trip out of my house? What’s that stab when I roll over at night? Who knew arms could get dandruff?
The arm is just the beginning of my limitations, though. How about my hang-up with confession? I should go so much more often than I do – and I know all the reasons why. I just don’t do it. What about my lack of charity? Or the way I’m judging in my head? I’ve got a long way to go, and it’s not just my arm that needs the work!