I had given my therapists copies of The Journey devotional that carried my commentary on the Gospel of Mark this month. On Monday one of them was kind enough to say they had found one entry on the parables very helpful. I wrote this series two years ago, long before the stroke, long before I knew I would need any help from someone like this therapist. But I was encouraged God had used me.
When I got home I was ready to work on my book project. First I stared at the computer keyboard. It was an ergonomic model split down the middle. I got it 17 or 18 years ago to avoid carpal tunnel trouble with my hands. It still worked but I had worn the letter decals off half he keys. Since I touch type this hadn’t been a problem. Until I had the stroke. My fingers were now so shaky I had to hunt and peck the keys and frequently was hitting the wrong ones since so many of them were blank.
I wobbled to the closet to pull down a newer keyboard I had gotten a few years ago. I managed to swap out the connections. And I remembered why I had put this newer keyboard away.
The “enter” key did not work. That’s the key you need to start a new line or paragraph in a text. It’s the key you need to hit in order to leave a message on Facebook. It is one of the harder keys to work around. To look at this keyboard everything seemed fine. Until you needed to do something with it.
I pried the bad key out and tried to clean the socket. That didn’t work. And that meant I couldn’t do any book writing.
I ordered a new keyboard from Amazon. While I’ve waited for it to be delivered I’ve thought deep spiritual thoughts. They’re practically parables.
I didn’t know how the Lord would use my work to help anyone when I was writing two years ago. I certainly never expected to meet one of those readers in these circumstances.
And all it takes to stop me now is one lousy key on a keyboard that stopped working. The rest of that keyboard worked fine. It just wasn’t 100%. And in order to work I need 100%.
I stare at my face reflected on the monitor screen. I look at a mouth and lips and tongue that I am trying to teach how to speak and swallow again. My two legs fill out my pants like before. There’s no sign of trouble until I try to stand and take a step and remember why I have had to get acquainted with therapists.
I assume Jesus also stares at his body on earth and has similar thoughts. There’s no way to walk this body into his Father’s throne room yet. We need more therapists, more exercises. At first glance everything may seem okay. It’s not.
That “enter” key needs work.