What was going on? I wiggled my right thumb, pressed the space bar a few times, and wiggled it again. Why did my thumb joint hurt . . . all of a sudden?
My mom's arthritis issues sprang to my mind. She lost the ability to cut apples, peel potatoes, slice bread, and even write well because the joints in her thumbs prohibited her from doing so. My heart sank. Wasn't I a little young for this? Didn't God know I needed my hands to keep house, cook, and write/type? Didn't I deal with enough limitations? And why my right hand?
Another voice echoed in my thoughts, that of a doctor, four years after our car crash. "People who've been victims of trauma develop severe arthritis after ten years." She pointed her finger at me. "You have six years left."
Eight years have passed since then.
The next few weeks, the pain came and went. Some days I could type like normal. Other days I noticed some discomfort, not bad, but enough for me to breathe a prayer asking God to preserve my hand and thumb capabilities.
I drew great comfort from these words. God holds my right hand, the very hand giving me trouble. His presence scatters my fears and offers reassurance.
Humanly speaking, I will pursue a healthy lifestyle, including an anti-inflammatory diet. But every time my thumb acts up, I'm prompted to remember that God promises to hold my right hand with His right hand. He will help me, no matter what the future chapters of my life story hold.
What promises of God have been especially meaningful to you--and why?
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