September 29, 2014

I fell on the sidewalk going into church yesterday. It wasn't a bad fall and only a few folks saw me. But it shook me to my core. Is my walking deteriorating? Has God abandoned me? Have I deluded myself all these months/years believing that healing is possible?
I came directly home and cried intermittently during the day and evening. I fantasized the worst evolving. I felt naive. I despaired. And then I distracted myself.
In the evening, after not thinking much of the afternoon, I realized that the fall was significant because I was at church not because of my walking. At church--where folks support me and seem to appreciate me. At church where I have found a family when I wasn't looking for one. At church where I've been given opportunity after opportunity to practice my craft, to speak, to do workshops. At church where the doors/arms are always open to me. This is the first time in my life when I have felt such acceptance. This church is my first experience of being part of a group.
I had become accustomed to walking on the outside of any circle, not hoping to be included because I knew I wouldn't be. I had lost hope of deep connection which I've desired more than anything. I have never known what it is to belong.
And, so, my fall was about recognizing the first real family I've had this lifetime--at the church. The fact is my walking is improving and my right foot feels more like a right foot than it has in years. I am healing physically as I have prayed for. I didn't pray for healing in my heart but apparently Spirit insists upon that, also. Healing on all levels.
My back is straighter and lifting my foot is easier. It happened after meditation today. The physical therapy exercises have been great but meditation is miraculous. In a second, doors inside me open and my body wakes up.
Today in meditation I felt like I was a definite and needed part of the flow that carries us all. It was the first time I had experienced that, and a powerful experience it was for all of us. The other attendees acknowledged it, also. I have a place in the world and I'm needed and wanted. I've never felt that. I've not felt the joy and peace that comes with knowing I belong.
That day in April when I encountered Brett in the waiting  room after the brain MRI, he suggested that I journal. He asked if I were going to tell the church group about my diagnosis. I thought about it and decided no. My rationale for my customary withdrawal: I wanted to heal myself first so that the brain MRI next spring would be more normal. Then I would announce what I had done.
Falling at church tells me to include my family in my healing now. I don't have to be secretive and I'm not alone. I can ask for their support and their prayers during this healing time. I can trust them. They love me.

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