The God of my understanding has a strange sense of humor. I can’t say I’ve ever liked it much, and last night was no exception.
My better half has never had an affinity for martial arts. It’s just exercise to stay in shape and provides quality time with the kids and me. She’s also never been all that enamored with her career as a massage therapist. She’s extremely gifted at it, as any client of hers will attest to, but it too is exercise. It requires body mechanics that are probably more complex than those needed for good kung fu. In short, her work can be as physically taxing as the family hobby.
For the nine months that she’s been eligible to test for black sash, she’s vacillated on wanting to, while also dealing with minor injuries. There are a number of red sashes perfectly content to stay where they are in rank. They attend class mostly to become better fighters and nothing more. But after watching both me and our boy go through the process, Merle decided to try her hand at acquiring a few of those positive changes the experience gave us. Mostly, she didn’t want to regret not having tried.
Thursday night, at her second test for black sash, the first of six with sparring, she caught her foot against a loose rug in the basement training room while warming up. The resulting injury to her knee left her unable to test… and possibly unable to work.
As she sat in the waiting room of the orthopedist’s office this morning, she was notified by gallery personnel that she sold a second piece of art in as many days, after months of hearing nothing but crickets by way of artistic reception. Sculpting is the other work she does with her hands, the one that feeds the soul, if not the family. It’s the job that brings her joy.
What are we to make of this debilitating injury sandwiched between music to an artist’s ears? God has a strange sense of humor, all right – one that I’m rarely fond of. And yet… I can’t say I’d want to gamble on living without it.