Recovery from my surgery has been pretty ideal. I managed to avoid pain killers all together (I thank my kidney stones for high pain tolerance) and since time off from all obligations is rare for me, I looked at it as a bit of a vacation. But yesterday I got discouraged. The novelty of my swollen belly had worn off and not fitting into my pants became just plain annoying. I had exhausted netflix, caught up on enough sleep for weeks, eaten too much junk food, and was plain bored. And then I hit a bit of a hic-up in my healing. And that made me mad. Mad that my body needed this surgery. Mad that it doesn't always work how I want it to. Mad.

I hate being mad. I went to bed last night with a prayer in my heart that I'd wake up on the right side of the bed. Today is better. I had raspberries on the front porch for breakfast. Took a nice long shower. And put my hands to use. My hands always work how I want them to: quick and clean. I'll be forever grateful for that. For their ability to translate ideas into something physical and visual: a clean room, a painting, homemade curtains. I'm grateful for the hands God gave me.

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