Trusting the enemy

“Do I really want to do this?” I thought, “God still might smite me because I’m a fag.”

These things ran through my mind as my physical therapist buckled the last of the straps for the body harness.  Before me stood a metal frame with wheels, and cables that were to attach to my harness so as to teach me how to walk again.  Already my thigh muscles for my right leg were quivering from the electro-stimulation.  I had been exercised mercilessly so as to not let my legs atrophy.  I was physically ready to start walking; but was I spiritually ready?

I had been on the verge of death and came back.  I had survived, but only by God’s good grace.  I had come home in a wheelchair, unable to do more than shuffle a few feet with a walker, and barely able to put together a coherant sentance.  I had gone back to church for the first time in twenty years and I was still bitter (though I couldn’t tell you why).

The Lord had provided money for my family to live on, food, and Christmas.  But then I found out that I was gay (SSA) and had an addiction to internet porn.  Why had God shown me so much mercy, when he sentenced all gays to hell?

The therapist stood me up and began attaching the cables to my harness.  My right leg was throbbing from the electrical pulses that had it had been subjected to.  I wavered and hung on to the frame.  Was this really going to work?  Would God let me walk again?

The therapist finished hooking me onto the metal cables and stepped in front of the frame.  “Easy now.  Just take it slowly.”

I nodded and lifted my right foot.  It was if I had never done this before.  I moved it in front of me and put all of my weight on it.  I tottered back and forth, still getting used to the idea I had no balance.  I had to catch myself on the frame to steady myself.  Why was I still alive?  I thought God hated all fags.

Moving my left foot was easy, but then it was time to move the right foot again.  The frame was moving forward.  Wouldn’t it have been easier on God if He had just let me die?  Was this some kind of sick, divine joke?  Was He getting His jollies watching me walk like a baby?

My second step with my right had gone with success, and I easily stepped with my left.  I lifed my right and stumbled.   The leg collapsed and I fell forward.  The cables on the frame held, and I did not fall.

“You’re doing good,” said the therapist, “Remember though, it will take time.”

“All I have is time,” I said.  I looked up at the metal frame holding me up and the genius of man that it took to create it.  I looked over at the framed certificate of graduation of my therapist and the amount of education it took to create it.  I was being held up by metal cables that were smelted from minerals that were dug up from the ground by man.  My right leg was already moving trying to restore my balance.  I added, “and God.”

 

 

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