Another purely selfish note...

"There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse." -Letter's to a Young Poet, Rilke

While sipping a large Dr. Pepper at a Wendy's in the middle of the affluent retiree neighborhood of Royal Palm Beach I realized something. But, before I can get to the lesson, I'm sure I need to start from the beginning or most reading (unless you know me well) will be utterly confused. A bit of background, I was at Wendy's to be cheered up, as my grandmother's solutions to happiness either include a strong interjection of how "it could be worse..." or food...and of course, nothing cheers you up better then a quarter pound of cholesterol swirling and coagulating in your veins....She meant well though.

We had just come from the doctor. My sports surgeon to be exact; a man, who about a month ago armed with only a microscope and some thread conquered my knee. In a hour and a half, he set me up for a three to six month recovery process: three or four holes in the knee cap, a gash on the right side and a dead man's ligament. It was a necessary surgery, but at the worst time...in preparing for life, I was set out to beginning my ceremonial "flying of the coop." I was ready, restless and as I recklessly attempted to jump the nest-God pressed pause. The man's got style, I give him that.
My hopes for this appointment were simple...I wanted to be off my crutches, off my medication and never see the doctor ever again. In my eyes, it was just enough to ask for I mean, for pete's sake it had been a month already. "It looks real good!, Hmmm, good, good!" super surgeon said as he wiggled my knee one way and then the other. In less than 15 minutes, the appointment I had waited two weeks for was over, and the dear doctor had no good news for me. His checklist was short: range of motion=good, quadriceps strength=good, Bending=good, No excruciating pain=good. Lack of social life=good, Did she pay?=good, good. He said "good" one more time for good measure before he made his exit. I don't know if my frustration was more from his lack of any solid answers or my lack of solid questions. Thoughts rushed through my head, as I was certain I'd be ready to go back to living, surely my youth gave me a secret healing serum that suddenly fixed my knee and gave it super strength...(yes, I've been watching too much television)
Nothing of the sort. Nothing, he told me offered any semblance of possibilities to start my life. Nothing, was going to change. I mentally willed myself not to do what I hated that everyone else did: throw a pity party and invite the whole world. I wanted to go home and lock myself in my room in dramatic Emo flair. I wanted to force my leg to function and force life to fast-forward to show me the end. And, I wanted it to be a happy one.
I'd prayed so much for answers recently, I'd realized there's only one:
"Cast your care on Him for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7
In spite of the pain, in spite of being alone, in spite of everything certain and uncertain one thing remains the same...I'm still insured by the man upstairs. This is the only verse that came to mind as I sat looking out the same window in the Wendy's...this is the only truth I can actually reach out for at the moment. It's the only truth I can share right now...the testimony doesn't lie in the experience though, I've learned more about myself, painting, the guitar and life than I have at any other time. In a purely selfish form, I can't feel sorry for myself when life in itself is still a blessing, the fact that I will eventually regain full mobility is still a blessing.
And so, with each trial and tribulation...each day turned night, each physical therapy session and each month passed by without a job, without too many friends and surrounded by my thoughts, worries and fears...I rest in this one truth.

He's got me....You never feel as small as when you look around you, I mean really look around and realize how little our world is, how many people die each day, the pains of old age and the naiveté of youth. A mother picked up her young son and he was really making a fuss in the restaurant; I wondered how often I've appreciated my family for their care in every situation...they were the ones pulling back as I pressed on. And yet, when I got hurt they didn't push me out of the nest. A young couple kissed and held one another close as they ordered a meal, and as much as I am in no rush to rush into love...one day it will be right. The instant something makes you happy doesn't mean that will last...actually, truth be told....it's the sacrifice made of your own happiness for someone else that is the longest flavor of joy.
But, what I want satisfies momentarily, like a simple sugar or chinese food...you're usually hungry in a couple of hours for another quick fix of temporary satisfaction. Whether it be with people, activities, relief from pain...being mentally, emotionally, physically or spiritually handicapped.
And my grandmother, finally walks in....after taking a lifetime in Publix and I hobble out on my crutches...staring down everyone who dares look my way and gawk at my dis-ability.