I was tired. Soggy from the rain. Hangry for lunch, which had eluded me hours ago.
Praying for patience, I knocked on my patient's door.
She was a ninety-four year old woman who had recently relocated from her lifelong home into the tiny bedroom of an assisted living facility.
She greeted me with a smile as bright as sunshine. My gloomy mood dissolved in the twinkling of her crinkled eyes.
It was love at first sight.
“I heard you're having some knee pain...?”
“Only if I move!” she chuckled. “But I need to get in shape! I've got a birthday in a few weeks and I'll be doing lots of dancin'!”
“Are you planning a big celebration?”
“You bet I am! You can't believe how many friends I have! And they ALL come out and bring LOTS of food and we play music and just have the BEST TIME - every year! And after the party is over, I always go home and cry. Isn't that silly? I can't help it. I think about how much everybody loves me and I can't hold back the tears!”
“I don't think you're silly. I think you're a mighty lucky lady."
“Psssh! Ain't no such thing as luck, sweetie. Blessed is what I am! God has blessed me more than I could ever imagine and you know what?! He just keeps on doing it! Haha!!” She declared with unbridled joy.
Blessed?
She's bald.
She's legally blind.
Her hearing is almost gone.
Her hands are deformed with arthritis.
Her every step brings excruciating pain.
She is a widow who has outlived her children.
Her doctor wants her to stop walking. Become wheelchair-bound.
Yet, there she was... overflowing with gratitude for her blessings and asking me to get her dancing again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It took me a long time to finish my evaluation. I dragged it out as long as I could. I wanted nothing more than to sit at her feet and let the glory of her goodness flow over me for days.
As I reached to hug her goodbye, I thanked her for brightening my day and told her we would have her dancing like Ginger Rogers before her birthday.
She replied, “Oh honey, I'm no Ginger. I haven't worn heels in years!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Y'all, I'm not gonna lie... there aren't enough tricks in my therapy bag to get that sweet, broken lady dancing again. I'm just not that good.
But God is.
God. Is.
And He makes my job so much easier. All I have to do is teach her some quad sets, throw in a few adductor squeezes, fit her with a couple of knee braces, cover her in prayer...
And this. This is the scripture I am claiming for my dubious dancer...
(Also, I want to grow up to be just like her, mmmkay, God?)
