great story
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- Posts: 1393
- Joined: Sun Jun 01, 2003 8:27 pm
- Injury Description, Date, extent, surgical intervention etc: MVA in 2001, nerve graph in 2002, Median Nerve Transfer in 2004 and an unsuccessful Gracillis Muscle Transfer in 2006. I am living life and loving it! Feel free to contact me :)
- Location: Grosse Pointe Woods, MI
- Contact:
great story
I recieved this in an email today from a good friend of mine and then thought I should share it here, whatever you religious beliefs are please enjoy this.....
I HOPE YOU DANCE
Not too long ago I had "one of those days." I was feeling pressure from the
holidays. I had company arriving in a couple days and the toilet was
clogged. I went to the bank, and the trainee teller processing my deposit
had to start over three times. I swung by the supermarket to pick up a few
things and the lines were serpentine.
By the time I got home, I was frazzled and sweaty and in a hurry to get
something on the table for dinner. Deciding on Campbell's Cream of Mushroom
soup, I grabbed a can opener, cranked open the can, then remembered I had
forgotten to buy milk at the store. Nix the soup idea. Setting the can
aside, I went to plan B, which was leftover baked beans. I grabbed a
Tupperware container from the fridge, popped the seal, took a look and
groaned. My husband isn't a picky eater, but even HE won't eat baked beans
that lo! ok like caterpillars. Really frustrated now, I decided on a menu
that promised to be as foolproof as it is nutrition free:
Hot dogs and potato chips. Retrieving a brand new bag of chips from the
cupboard, I grabbed the cellophane and gave a hearty pull. The bag didn't
open. I tried again. Nothing happened. I took a breath, doubled my muscle,
and gave the bag a hearty wrestle. With a loud pop, the cellophane suddenly
gave way, ripping wide from top to bottom. Chips flew sky high. I was left
holding the bag, and it was empty.
It was the final straw. I let out a blood-curdling scream. "I CAN'T TAKE IT
ANYMORE!!!!" My husband heard my unorthodox cry for help. Within minutes he
was standing at the doorway to the kitchen, where he surveyed the damage: an
opened can of soup, melting groceries, moldy baked beans, and one quivering
wife standing ankle deep in potato chips.
My husband did the most helpful thing he could think of at the moment. He
took a flying leap, landing flat-footed in the pile of chips. And then he
began to stomp and dance and twirl, grinding those chips into my linoleum in
the process! I stared. I fumed. Pretty soon I was working to stifle a smile.
Eventually I had to laugh. And finally I decided to join him. I, too, took a
leap onto the chips. And then I danced.
Now I'll be the first to admit that my husband's response wasn't the one I
was looking for. But the truth is, it was exactly what I needed. I didn't
need a clean-up crew as much as I needed an attitude adjustment, and the
laughter from that rather funky moment provided just that.
So now I have a question for you, and it's simply this: Has God ever stomped
on your chips? I know that, in my life, there have been plenty of times when
I've gotten myself into frustrating situations and I've cried out for help,
all the while hoping God would show up with a celestial broom and clean up
the mess I've made of things.
What often happens instead is that God dances on my chips, answering my
prayer in a completely different manner than I had expected, but in the
manner that is best for me after all. Sometimes I can see right away that
God's response was the best one. Sometimes I have to wait weeks or months
before I begin to understand how and why God answered a particular prayer
the way he did. There are even some situations that, years later, I'm still
trying to understand. I figure God will fill me in sooner or later, either
this side of Heaven or beyond.
Do I trust Him? Even when He's answering my prayers in a way that is
completely different from my expectations, even when He's dancing and
stomping instead of sweeping and mopping -- can I embrace what He's
offering?
Can I let His joy adjust my attitude? Am I going to stand on the sidelines
and sulk, or am I willing to learn the steps of the dance He's dancing' with
my needs in mind?
I'll be honest with you: Sometimes I sulk. Sometimes I dance. I'm working on
doing more of the latter than the former. I guess the older I get the more I
realize that He really does know what He's doing. He loves me and I can
trust Him.
I HOPE YOU DANCE
Not too long ago I had "one of those days." I was feeling pressure from the
holidays. I had company arriving in a couple days and the toilet was
clogged. I went to the bank, and the trainee teller processing my deposit
had to start over three times. I swung by the supermarket to pick up a few
things and the lines were serpentine.
By the time I got home, I was frazzled and sweaty and in a hurry to get
something on the table for dinner. Deciding on Campbell's Cream of Mushroom
soup, I grabbed a can opener, cranked open the can, then remembered I had
forgotten to buy milk at the store. Nix the soup idea. Setting the can
aside, I went to plan B, which was leftover baked beans. I grabbed a
Tupperware container from the fridge, popped the seal, took a look and
groaned. My husband isn't a picky eater, but even HE won't eat baked beans
that lo! ok like caterpillars. Really frustrated now, I decided on a menu
that promised to be as foolproof as it is nutrition free:
Hot dogs and potato chips. Retrieving a brand new bag of chips from the
cupboard, I grabbed the cellophane and gave a hearty pull. The bag didn't
open. I tried again. Nothing happened. I took a breath, doubled my muscle,
and gave the bag a hearty wrestle. With a loud pop, the cellophane suddenly
gave way, ripping wide from top to bottom. Chips flew sky high. I was left
holding the bag, and it was empty.
It was the final straw. I let out a blood-curdling scream. "I CAN'T TAKE IT
ANYMORE!!!!" My husband heard my unorthodox cry for help. Within minutes he
was standing at the doorway to the kitchen, where he surveyed the damage: an
opened can of soup, melting groceries, moldy baked beans, and one quivering
wife standing ankle deep in potato chips.
My husband did the most helpful thing he could think of at the moment. He
took a flying leap, landing flat-footed in the pile of chips. And then he
began to stomp and dance and twirl, grinding those chips into my linoleum in
the process! I stared. I fumed. Pretty soon I was working to stifle a smile.
Eventually I had to laugh. And finally I decided to join him. I, too, took a
leap onto the chips. And then I danced.
Now I'll be the first to admit that my husband's response wasn't the one I
was looking for. But the truth is, it was exactly what I needed. I didn't
need a clean-up crew as much as I needed an attitude adjustment, and the
laughter from that rather funky moment provided just that.
So now I have a question for you, and it's simply this: Has God ever stomped
on your chips? I know that, in my life, there have been plenty of times when
I've gotten myself into frustrating situations and I've cried out for help,
all the while hoping God would show up with a celestial broom and clean up
the mess I've made of things.
What often happens instead is that God dances on my chips, answering my
prayer in a completely different manner than I had expected, but in the
manner that is best for me after all. Sometimes I can see right away that
God's response was the best one. Sometimes I have to wait weeks or months
before I begin to understand how and why God answered a particular prayer
the way he did. There are even some situations that, years later, I'm still
trying to understand. I figure God will fill me in sooner or later, either
this side of Heaven or beyond.
Do I trust Him? Even when He's answering my prayers in a way that is
completely different from my expectations, even when He's dancing and
stomping instead of sweeping and mopping -- can I embrace what He's
offering?
Can I let His joy adjust my attitude? Am I going to stand on the sidelines
and sulk, or am I willing to learn the steps of the dance He's dancing' with
my needs in mind?
I'll be honest with you: Sometimes I sulk. Sometimes I dance. I'm working on
doing more of the latter than the former. I guess the older I get the more I
realize that He really does know what He's doing. He loves me and I can
trust Him.
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- Posts: 746
- Joined: Wed Sep 10, 2003 4:58 pm
Re: great story
Wow, Court,
This was wonderful. I am going to share this with my friends.
Thanks so much for sharing. We do need to dance more. To remember that life goes on and when it looks like things can't get any worst, it really does get better. Laughter is the best medicine and now I am going to add dancing to that.
Love to you,
Karen, yourWCM
This was wonderful. I am going to share this with my friends.
Thanks so much for sharing. We do need to dance more. To remember that life goes on and when it looks like things can't get any worst, it really does get better. Laughter is the best medicine and now I am going to add dancing to that.
Love to you,
Karen, yourWCM
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- Posts: 12
- Joined: Tue Dec 14, 2004 12:24 pm
- Injury Description, Date, extent, surgical intervention etc: My son Franco (now 17) suffers from left OBPI. He has undergone 3 operations already and though his recovery has been quite good, the injury still shows itself.
I have a support group in my country called Paralisis Braquial Obstetrica -PBO Argentina. You can find us in Facebook.
At the moment I´m really working hard to pass a law to guarantee parents are informed of this injury when the babies are born. Unfortunately in my country we are not informed about these injuries. - Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina
Re: great story
Courtney,
My name is Patricia and I live in Argentine. I read your story in a cyber cafe and it made me cry. I have been through so many things these last years that I have forgotten how to dance. It has been inspiring reading this.
Patricia
My name is Patricia and I live in Argentine. I read your story in a cyber cafe and it made me cry. I have been through so many things these last years that I have forgotten how to dance. It has been inspiring reading this.
Patricia