One of the therapists who paid me a visit last week told Melanie she should have me start folding laundry, as an exercise for my hand coordination. Melanie loved the idea and wrote about it on her Facebook page. All her girlfriends cheered and volunteered to make their wash day laundry piles available.
Everybody just take a number. Except the friend who lives at the beach. We’ll get back to you.
I don’t know that anybody would want a second round from me anyway just now. My left hand acts like it gets Parkinson’s any time I try to actually do some thing with it that requires any precision. On Facebook I joked that my hands were doing “Protestant” folding: each one did what it wanted. I’m aiming to return to “catholic” folding, when my hands will cooperate and work together on the same page, under one set of directions from my head.
As I helplessly watched my left hand wave about and produce exotic new folding patterns to the towels and washcloths, I thought again about the stroke Jesus deals with in his body, the church. The hands and feet so often go wherever they want, ignoring the directions they’ve received from the head. Pick up that wash cloth by the corner? But why? The fingers want to wiggle and dance to their own music for awhile. The other hand holding onto the other corner of the wash cloth can just wait awhile longer. The task won’t be finished as quickly as it could. That would take coordination and subordination to other agendas. More fun to dance.
When I finally finished my folding, I looked at the crooked results I had stacked up. I won’t be hired at any of the Disney resort hotels for my retirement just yet. And whatever Jesus planned to do with his body to extend God’s Kingdom on earth…
That looks like it will take awhile longer as well.