HUG-LESS

 

I tend to have vivid, imaginative dreams. I’m rarely in a wheelchair in my dreams, and both hands seem to function normally. I guess there’s a deep part of me that’s unaware that I can’t walk or use my left hand. For the most part, when I dream, it’s as if I never had a stroke.

Except, I think it was last week. In a dream, I was aware that my left hand didn’t work.

My wife and I can’t have kids. About ten years ago, we tried to adopt through the foster care system. After completing the training, one Friday afternoon, the county dropped off a three-day-old baby girl.

My wife held this little one so affectionately that it took me two days before I finally held the baby for the first time.

Holding her felt like home.

She wasn’t ours, but I held her like she was. I fell in love instantly.

This little life brought so much joy into our lives. Nine months after she came into our lives, we had to give her back. We were heartbroken. For nine months, we hoped she would stay with us.

No more holding this little life that had stolen our hearts. No more rocking her as I sang, “You are so beautiful to me… you’re everything I hoped for…”

Back to vivid dreams.

I think it was last week that I dreamed the baby was back for a short visit. In the dream, she was two years old. She was this beautiful, chunky two-year-old, and all I wanted was to pick her up and sing once again, “You are so beautiful to me…”

But strangely, in this dream, my left hand was paralyzed, just as it is in real life.

During the dream, I hoped for just enough strength in my arm to hold this baby girl one more time, safely. But it was only a short visit, and I woke up before I could hold her.

This dream mirrors a very real daily contention for me.

Since I’ve lost the use of my left side, there are several things I can’t do that affect me on various levels.

I can’t scratch an itch on the left side of my body. Truly, this is a minor inconvenience.

Haven’t we received two hands to understand the world around us? I miss this.

I can’t give anyone a strong, two-armed hug.

This may seem minor, but it’s the one thing I long for.

Every day, I ask God to give me the ability to hug again. I miss it. I remember the moments when a strong hug was needed, and I missed them all.

Any day following my stroke, I always felt that Sarah and I needed a moment to hug and mourn our loss.

The day Sarah came home from her mom’s funeral. I regret not being there for the funeral. I regret not being able to hold her and mourn the loss together.

The moment Sarah came home after graduating college.

If I remember correctly, Sarah was in her second year of college when I had my life-changing stroke. Because of this family emergency, she took a year off of school. After that year off, she came back and finished, all while maintaining an A average.

She graduated while caring for me and losing her mom during that same period.

She walked into our apartment with a gown draped over one arm and her graduation cap in hand.

If only I could have jumped to my feet, met her at the door, and hugged her.

I was so proud.

Having grown up without a dad at home, I’m a bit confused about masculinity. It’s hard to admit that I need hugs. It’s not exactly a “tough guy” thing to admit. I fear admitting this makes me lose man points.

I need hugs.

And I want to give them.

I even have a hug list.

The people I will hug once I can:

Sarah.

My aging parents.

My grandma, who’s close to 90.

My sisters and their kids.

I believe in a God who can heal anyone of anything. So I’m waiting, hoping, and praying that He heals me.

Needing hugs seems insignificant. Don’t others have more pressing or urgent needs?

Yet I prayerfully wait on Jesus to give me back my left side so Sarah can go back to being just my wife and not my caretaker, too.

I pray for the day she can retire from caretaking.

Then I have a hug list to get through.

My hope to hug seems small.

Doesn’t God have greater needs to meet than a guy in a wheelchair who wants out and wishes he could give and receive strong, two-armed hugs again?

In Matthew 8, we get a small glimpse into the heart of God when Jesus heals a man with leprosy.

In the culture of Jesus’ day, this man was untouchable. Anyone who touched him would be considered “unclean.” Kind of like the cooties we worried about growing up.

I can imagine this man hadn’t felt human touch in ages.

Jesus could have healed him with words, easily. But I imagine He saw that this man missed human touch, so Jesus healed him with a touch.

Leprosy was no match for Jesus’ healing power.

I guess the list continues.

Leprosy also bows to Jesus’ power.

I’m hoping to add stroke and paralysis to the list as well.

Is there something you’d like to add to the list?

I just have to accept it:

My need for affection is natural and even God-given.

God created us to be affectionate and to need affection.

I was reading in Psychology Today about how affection is a fundamental biological and psychological need, deeply wired into us. Without it, people can experience loneliness, depression, and even physical decline.

Often, I’m reminded of a short period following my life-changing stroke, while I was in my first rehab hospital and getting used to the new normal.

I remember the one word I used to describe how I felt:

Stuck.

I could no longer navigate through life with my arms and legs. Nothing felt familiar. All I knew was that I was stuck in a body I could no longer control.

I so severely didn’t feel like myself that one evening I told Sarah, crying, “It’s me in here.”

I said a lot of strange things during this period. She was used to it.

I wanted home.

Home—not a location, but a place where I felt like me.

Even with Sarah in the room, I felt alone because I couldn’t get myself to her. I couldn’t follow her. I couldn’t go home with her, no matter how much I wanted to hold her.

I wanted to comfort her.

I couldn’t.

I felt stuck.

One evening, while I was sitting in my wheelchair, Sarah stood behind me. She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder.

HOME!

I found it.

The beautiful thing is that God has never left me—or you—alone.

At my worst, He was there.

Even when I thought about ending my life, God was there, doing you know what?

Holding me.

Psalm 27:10:

“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD will hold me close.”

Isaiah 41:10:

“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”

Isaiah 41:13:

“For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”