Several people I know, friends and family, are struggling with their arms. Because of chronic illnesses, they can no longer lift more than 10 pounds or even help themselves out of a chair. I grieve for their losses even as I admire their determination to stay in hope.
Arms are something I take for granted. But as I reflected on this blog post, I thought of several memories where arms left an impression.
My dad’s arms radiated his strength. With those arms, thick and muscular, he pulled calves out of their struggling mothers. He hefted hay bales and tossed them onto moving wagons. He swung at baseballs and sent them over the farthest fences.
When his strength diminished, his arms shook as he tried to feed himself. The skin began to sag as muscles atrophied and finally — all movement ceased except the shallow breaths that kept him alive, until even that capability was gone.
Arms of Strength.
The chubby arms of my toddler son reached toward me for hugs or night-time kisses. The first time I saw his face, I held him in my arms and marveled at the finished miracle of a nine-month creation.
Arms of Love.
My son’s arms grew from toddler stage to teenager. As he practiced and excelled at drums, the tendons in his arms rippled, then held trophies he won for his musical prowess.
Arms of Talent.
But my arms have also felt sadness. Last winter, I held my cat, Betsy, for our final goodbye. She trusted my arms, leaned in for what — I believe — she knew was coming. And when the final injection did its work, her dead weight relaxed with the pressure of finality.
Arms of Sorrow.
Scripture reminds us of another pair of arms, “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27 TLB).
And an old hymn repeats the theme. Check it out. “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”
We dream of the day in eternity when we will run into the arms of our loved ones, when our guardian angels remind us their arms were always near.
Arms of Security.
I am grateful for the strength in my arms — to pull weeds from stubborn perennial beds, to carry a pot of soup to the table, to guide my hands toward the computer keyboard, to move across the piano keys.
A day will likely come, if God grants me more years, when I may lose my arm strength, when I’ll have to depend on others for movement and the basics of living.
So for now — for this day — I whisper a prayer of gratitude and determine to stay in hope, no matter what happens to my arms.
©2019 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved
My arms have been busy on the keyboard. Check out my newest book: Write and Share Your Story
RJThesman.net 