When my firstborn made a wobbly surprise tummy to back roll in the crib, I whooped like a pro-football cheerleader. My infant's accomplishment then, my accomplishment now.
Last week I woke one morning, did a slow cat stretch then rolled onto my side for some thought and prayer while waiting for the mood to get up. I do not revisit the beginning syndrome devastation of my body very often. It tends to create future worry for me, unproductive and pointless. But this morning...
I remember how hard it was to get on my side, my body a painful quaking spasmodic mess. Pulling myself up on the headboard post, my neck popped in painful protest, my limited range arm screamed, and I concentrated to slowly get out of bed just to lower myself to the floor to crawl to the bathroom. The urge to stretch would be great, but would trigger full-body spasm to a body 'crack-of-the-whip' jerk.
It was with humbling gratitude I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for the simple luxury of a gentle stretch to roll on my side.
And in celebration, my spirit whooped like a pro-football cheerleader.
Copyright © 2012
