48. Grow

Lately, I've been thinking about time, and growth. I was looking at the plant on my window sill. When Marie the OT gave it to me back in February at the hospital, it was about 2-3 inches tall. Now it's about 7-8 inches tall. Time has let it grow, but it probably won't get much bigger because I don't intend to re-pot it. This reminds me of people. A child will keep growing until it reaches its physical height limit, then will stop. We are constrained by our pots, our bodies. I was reading 2 Corinthians 15:37-38, and it says this:

"When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body."

Being in physical rehab, it's reassuring to be reminded that God sets the limits of our bodies, but is also the one who makes us grow in the first place. With brain injuries, that throws up all kinds of theological issues. Bodies are limited in ways they weren't designed to be. It's very humbling to know I am growing, in ways others at my centre aren't. And it's hard to say whether God is present in growth or not, because many people recover from terrible injuries without relying on God. We can't ever truly know God's plan. All I do know is, knowledge of God stopped me being afraid.

That's not just bravado, it's that I know "suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" (Romans 5:3-5). That hope felt very real to me. Having God as the most important part of my identity has meant all the other parts of my identity that I have lost, don't seem so bad. Yes, I couldn't talk, couldn't sing, couldn't play guitar, couldn't draw, couldn't read, couldn't run, jump, dance etc, but I knew God loved me despite all that. All those things could be stripped away, and I was still alright with God. My school grades don't matter on bit now! I was utterly physically helpless, but spiritualy, I was untouched. I keep thinking back to what it felt like, lying in intensive care, a bit bemused at how things had turned out for me, that I was still alive. Why was that? Why was it part of God's plan to let me live? I felt triumphant; I was kept alive! I already had felt the joy of God in me for years; now it roared.

For me, a lot of this year has been about taking a back seat, and recovering. It's like someone pressed the pause button on my life, then pressed play for it to resume in slow motion. I feel like the miracle isn't my physical recovery so much as the fact that my mental health has been okay. I've enjoyed myself a lot, met tons of new people, and actually grown in confidence. I can't deny that sometimes I have been very sad, but I have rejected any feelings of self-pity, or rebellion towards God. That would have felt petty, and ugly to me. I do get angry, but at the imperfections of the world, not at my situation. Ignorance and indifference still infuriate me more than my own physical discomfort.

I'm reminded of an EP of 4 songs I put together last year. The songs are actually based on post-anything sadness (job, uni, relationship, time overseas, childhood), and not so much on anything I was feeling at the time. The EP, called 'Songs for Stay-Home Sadness', goes through an emotional journey through purposelessness to end with the resolution to embrace life as it is. It acknowledges that sometimes the boring lulls in our life are often a chance to rest and recuperate. I always want things to happen now, to move straight on to the next thing, to be at the finish line without the hard work first, for something exciting to happen, but then I saw that the drags were actually time to grow. I made the album cover a picture of a plant shoot, as a reminder that something new is always able to grow.