I sat on the hard plastic chair in the waiting room, ready to be called back for my physical therapy appointment. In these weeks after surgery, I noticed that my ‘best’ days were my physical therapy (PT) days. Sure, their magic methods and exercises offered relief, but there was more to it than that.
During my second week of therapy, I got a hint of what that was. When my PT asked how I was, my automatic, didn’t-even-think-about-it reply was, “I don’t know—maybe you can tell me.”
I was anxious. The list of unknowns stretched long: Was I meeting the milestones? Was I doing the exercises right? Was it healing correctly?
Apparently I needed reassurance and validation and approval, and since PT days were my best days, it was clear that my physical therapist was filling that need. When we’ve given ourselves into the care of medical experts, that’s appropriate—and needed. But this conversation revealed that, on my days at home, when the PTs and doctors weren’t around, I was missing something.
The year before my surgery, through the pain and disappointment and frustration, the Holy Spirit whispered encouragements and teachings and comfort and direction. He sustained me through that season. He grew me. He promised to heal me.
But now that I was healing, was I still seeking Him with the same urgency? Because here I was, rocking out my physical therapy days, yet allowing anxiety to creep in on the days I didn’t have appointments. All while Jesus was there, right next to me, on every one of those days.
As I continue to heal, I never want to forget that He is still there, for every part of the journey—the pain and the healing; the wounding and the recovery; the broken and the restoration.
Lord, as I learn to walk more steadily on my own, let it still be with You. Let Yours be the words that sustain and heal me—through every season I find myself in. Amen