I’ve done some stupid things in my time but recently I did the stupidest thing I have ever done. I moved some furniture. Okay, I carried a chair from the basement up to the living room. Actually I have done this before, several years ago. No big deal. I’ve moved a lot of furniture in my lifetime. Ten years moving around in the Air Force was good practice. But that was a long, long time ago.
This time I blew it. On arriving back upstairs in the living room I noticed an ache in my mid-back. A little heat and it will disappear, so I thought. Next day it was excruciating and soon it gathered at my backside and went down my leg. I have spent the last few weeks getting physiotherapy and doing a lot of praying.
But two days ago I realized I had hurt more than myself. I had hurt the Holy Spirit too. I hate it when I do that. I know how much anxiety and despair I have when my own children do things that frighten me, how much more for God to look down and see my sense of pride take over my sense of wisdom. I know He loves me and how awful for me to disregard His tender care and bulldoze my way ahead.
So now I bear the consequences: weeks of physiotherapy and discomfort and now a guilty conscience. I should have asked for help.
The chair now sits in front of the window, a gentle reminder that my strength is not what it once was, but it also reminds me of God’s patience. He has put up with so much through the years. What a tug of war we have often had. My independence has been both a blessing and a curse.
But now I have confessed to you, my readers, and I pray God will help me to be a lot more careful about changing furniture in the living room. On that matter, last week I actually phoned my daughter Robin and asked for help to move a table. Now that’s a first! Maybe I am growing wiser.
