The Invisibility of Some Disabilities

Am I awful for envying those whose disabilities are visible? The sorts of folks represented in this picture are the only people who qualify for a seat on a bus in Bergen. I would have to stand. But then again, I would never board a public bus, let alone one so crowded that there were not even enough seats for all the passengers.

While others were jostling along viewing the delights of a beautiful city, I would be thankful to be safe at home, dealing as best I could with my invisible disability.

A thank you to Jill for sharing this photograph on flickr.

Letting Go

Trust Fall
Originally uploaded by Stephen Nelson Photography

Thank you to Stephen Nelson Photography for the picture (which is not of me). Click on the photo to see more of his work.

Once, when it was my turn to do a trust fall, I was surprised by how much it frightened me. It took me a long time, and a lot of encouragement, to finally fall. Being caught was wonderful. I experienced joy by letting go.

As I was exercising one day, trying to touch my fingers to the floor, I realized that I would not stretch the most by working at stretching, but by relaxing and letting gravity take its course. I learned that stretching is maximized by letting go.

In childbirth, I caught myself arching my back in response to the pain of a contraction. I consciously relaxed and then the birth proceeded smoothly, and the pain I was experiencing decreased substantially. I learned that bringing life works best by letting go.

My husband helped me to see that a little bird when held in the hand will struggle to get free, but when allowed to perch on an open palm it may not fly away at all. I learned that love is best shared by letting go.

Experience has taught me that many things that I have worked too hard to accomplish were all the time only a matter of letting go. Trusting is a letting go. Forgiving is a letting go. Repenting is a letting go.

We read 2 Nephi 25:23 and think that the phrase "it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do" is telling us that we must do all we can and then grace will come. Perhaps what it is saying is really the opposite. Perhaps it is saying to us, "Do what you will, after all you can do, it is still grace, and grace alone, that will save you."

We will not be successful by working harder and harder to climb to our Heavenly Father, for He is not reached that way. What we must do is to fall into the waiting arms of Our Savior. We stand on the platform and He patiently waits. Being wrapped in His love comes by letting go.

Walking with Spiders

My husband and I ventured out on an hour-long walk around our community this afternoon. The sky was clear and blue and the temperature neither too warm nor too cool, enhanced by the gentlest of breezes. The outing had all the elements to make it perfect: trees in bud, birdsong, sunshine, and gorgeous mountain views.

But it was ruined for me by spiders.

It seems that spiders were out in unprecedented numbers today. We saw them again and again, and I grew increasingly anxious. Half-way through our walk, we saw a cluster of thirty or forty of them crawling amongst and over each other. While this mass was quite a distance from us, at just that point one crossed our path closely enough so that I could have reached out and touched it, and I squeezed my husband's hand and took some deep breaths just to keep my knees from buckling. The rest of the way home, I twisted a ball of tissue over and over in my palm as I told myself repeatedly: "You can do this. It's really quite safe. You can do this." All I could think about--in spite of the beauty around me--was getting safely into my house (and having a good cry).

I know that such a fear is illogical. I know that the spiders are not really any threat to me. I know, I know, I know. But the fear remains. It ruins lovely walks. It's crazy.

Now, here is what is crazier. It wasn't really spiders that ruined the walk today for me at all. (I saw a few, and simply stepped around them, as I always do.) What made me so anxious and full of fear was not spiders, but people. What really was the source of my dread were the good folks of our community: people alone and groups of people, friendly and disinterested people, rushing and ambling people, dog-walking, playground-romping, young and old people.

I know it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense.

It makes little sense to me, and I'm living it.

(Thanks to this photographer for the spider.)