Just because there is death, doesn’t mean it’s dead. I have been repeating this sentence to myself for the past week in hopes of trying to absorb the truth in these words. For almost a year now, I have experienced a loss of grip in my left hand, decreased strength, and tingly sensations. I have gone through all of the appropriate avenues, which finally led to a nerve conduction study. My heart caught in my chest as the doctor told me that I had severe nerve damage in my hand. For 20+ years, my left hand had not been receiving the proper nerve impulses and as a result had muscle that was not able to thrive. A major nerve in my elbow was constricted, causing what the doctor called, muscle death, in my hand.
Muscle. Death. Those two words kept floating through my mind. I listened as the doctor explained that eventually, over many years, if I did nothing to fix the problem, my hand would likely become a shriveled, deformed claw. Immediately images of witches with warts on their noses and creepy, shriveled hands flooded my brain. I shivered and shook off the horrid thought. The doctor explained the different directions I could take to have my hand fixed and assured me that the surgery would stop the nerve damage. He did not promise that my dead muscles would regrow, but he did assure me that they would not worsen
At first, I was mad. I was angry and frustrated with God. How could he let something like this happen to my hands? I am a writer. I pour my heart and soul out on paper in order to encourage and uplift; why would he take that away from me?
After a few days of pouting and walking around with a pooched-out lip, I realized that there was no reason to be angry at God; actually I needed to thank him. The pain and symptoms finally got big enough for me to recognize and had they not become so evident, the damage would have continued. If anything, God allowed the problem to come into the light so that I could continue to offer up my hands in service and do my best to share this gift with others. He wasn’t sabotaging my hands, he was helping me heal the dead parts so that I could use them to bring life.
Just because my hand has some muscle death does not mean that my whole hand is dead, it just means that I have a dead part that is in need of being revived. Stop for a second and examine your own life. Do you have any dead parts that need to be revived? Neglected dreams? Forgotten passions? Unmet goals? Deserted ideas? Those dead parts can have life again; they can be revived. Offer up those dead and forgotten places. Bring those old hurts into the light. It’s about time to loosen the constriction and allow life to flow into those dead places once again.
Just because there is death, doesn’t mean you’re dead. If you have breath in your lungs, then you have life to offer others. Revive those dead parts. Live again.