Showers, Laughter, & Insanity

Living with hyper-tension spastic cerebral palsy has always been a fast track to weird. I realize that’s not proper English, but the disorder isn’t socially proper, either, so I’m making an exception. 

There’s a reason why, when I’m in public, my closest friends and relatives are on alert, watching out for the right side of my body when I’m tired. My palsied right arm and hand can get into anything and anyone within moments, especially when I’m too tired to go above and beyond to control it. 

My friends play the game like champs but there have been days when I can tell I’ve just done something to someone and maybe I really don’t want to know specifics. 

Let me clarify: The right side of my body has limited feeling and it mimics anything my left hand does. For example, as I type this with my left hand, my right hand is sitting happily between my legs hopping up and down like a circus clown because it wants to help and doesn’t know any different. In layman’s terms, it does its own thing and some days, I’m completely unable to tell it to stop or explain what it’s doing. 

Cerebral palsy. You have to laugh or you’ll die from embarrassment. 

Tonight, I ’bout died laughing and no one (Praise Jehovah) was around to actually see it. Showers, to keep it shallow here, are an adventure when I’m tired. If I don’t somehow imprison Righty, it knocks over every container, pushes against every wall and even picks up razors. (I can see it now: Headline- Woman killed by her own self. Not seen as suicide. Story at 11.)

So, anyway, I do what any other daggum independent 20-something with cerebral palsy does: I put the right hand behind my back and there it stays so I can shower in peace. Simple. Right? 

Wrong. 

“Shower,” in my book, is code for “Daydream and fix everything.” Sometimes, I totally lose track of everything – including Righty – because I’m too busy overthinking about something. 

All the sudden, in the middle of my moment of serenity tonight, I feel this tiny hand on my back. Scared me so badly I literally backed into the wall to get away from whoever it was in the shower with me. It then dawned on me, ever so mercifully before I escaped from the shower altogether. 

The hand on my back was my hand. Yep. That just happened, y’all. Insanity comes in stages, right? 

Advertisements

When Vanity Speaks

I growled at my reflection this morning (not a normal practice). “You have got to be kidding me!” I mumbled as I rolled my eyes. It was one red, slightly swollen pimple. On a 26-year-old. Skin allergies to my favorite stress food don’t take day off. As I quickly recounted my last three days of existence, I rolled my eyes even harder (is it possible to do that?).

One piece. Of chocolate. Uno. Singular. ONE! That’s what caused the stupid blemish on my face. Three days ago, I might add. As I glared at my reflection, I sarcastically confessed my “sin” of endulging in chocolate with with slight hopes that my action would make it disappear. No such luck. Apparently, the idea that acne disappears after you’re done growing up (at 5′ .5″, that’s a relative statement), doesn’t count for me. 

As I slipped into my comfy shorts, I sighed unhappily realizing that, though I’ve lost weight, I’ve gained muscle. All that means, for you patient men reading this, is the number isn’t shrinking as fast as I want it to (yesterday?). It’s just a number, but it’s a number that verifies I like eating, I’m comfortable in my body and… Well… I am well aware that my hips don’t react well to my addiction to salt and chips.

Because I spent my adolescent years drastically ill, my body didn’t have time to worry about weight or skin allergies. Eating chocolate meant I could wake up without drinking coffee — which often caused seizures. Eating chips meant my 85 pound frame might rise to a slightly more acceptable weight of 87; which I promptly worked off by having four or five more seizures. 

I may have looked model thin and not had to wrestle with the finer points of vanity, but it wasn’t worth it.

We often forget that blemishes, frustrations and the stupid things that distract us from God are there to prove we’ve lived. For God-honoring Christians, they’re also there to remind us that even in the mundane, we need God. 

It’s a stupid example, really. But this morning I was reminded that enjoying life often leaves its trace. May we learn to glory in the fact that the Creator has given us the ability to live. Maybe someday, we’ll learn to treasure the markings of life because the truth is, living fully is something not given to everyone. 

He Said Wait?


I don’t always know how to be a human being. Secretly, sometimes I wonder if God rewired me to be a human doing. Doing is so much easier than being. Being takes work. Doing takes… well, it’s just easier. 

In a world of technology, social media, and everything at my finger tips the instant I need it, my quandary doesn’t seem horrendous. 

My success as a writer requires spontaneous writing; which sometimes happens at 3a.m. when the rest of the world is asleep. My presence in the world of communication means staying up on the latest social medias, knowing how to network with writers I barely know and just… Constantly doing something. 

I’m your typical, unmarried millennial in the communication world. I sleep with my iPad and my iPhone nearby. The second my phone alarm goes off in the morning (‘cuz alarm clocks are just too last decade practical), I’m alerted to people half way across the world either asking me to join them in prayer or asking me to consider partnering in some new communication thing. My generation has reinvented the word instantaneous.

Telling myself to wait… Or that my tasks can wait… Feels impossible. 

Instead of telling my task-oriented mind to wait I end up telling God to wait. Actually, no I don’t. I don’t take the time to tell God to wait. I just assume He gets that I have things to do and don’t have time to address Him right now. I’m a human doing, gosh darn it. I don’t have time to do what it takes to be a human being. 

Some of these tasks are things He himself gave me to do, so that means it’s okay to focus on godly things first thing in the morning rather than on God himself… Right? Maybe? No? 

I’m learning that serving the Lord sometimes means putting things on hold just to be with the Lord. He is, after all, the God Supreme over everything. When I decide to actually exist by being with Him rather than doing for Him, He can manage – without me – the things I put on hold. 

It’s okay to wait. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to rest. It’s even okay to simply enjoy the Lord by sitting still with Him for a few moments before doing things for Him.