Blinding flash of the obvious: Welcome the stigmata...it keeps hands from becoming fists.
It occurs to me that I can call my arthritic hands and feet my stigmata simply as a reminder when I'm mentally carping about the pain that they're doing my spiritual work for me. I have physically never raised a fist at anyone, nor stomped anyone for that matter. Ah, but mentally? A whole 'nother matter.
I am seeing more and more that every judging, "gotcha" snark I think is my raised fist and/or my foot on the face of my nemesis de jour (who is actually my angel in disguise).
It is often a lot harder for me to say me nay (i.e., pray my thank you) than it is to think, worry, fret, stew, curse...and finally condemn...you. When you have not lived up to my high standards for you. Where I am concerned. Where others are concerned, hey, I'm on your side...and comforting.
I'm feeling put upon and my hands are hurting. I suspect that's what invited my memory of the BFO about my fists. God lets nothing go to waste...makes no never mind, arthritis or daffodils, he's on it. That is beyond comforting to me.
Thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment