Healing Day

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Have you ever thought how beautiful a baby you were when you came out of your mother's womb? Not the case for me. I was born a bit underweight in a rural hospital far from the city. On a stormy day. My mother swaddled me tight till my baptism, to hide my tiny and bony body. Not the cuddly child. Not the smoochy bundle of joy. The appearance though was misleading for I cried the top of my lungs. Probably accounts for vocal timbre distinctly recognizable to family and friends. Neighbors, too. Yup, I was perfect inside. All organs functioned well. I was a runner, a swimmer, a soccer and softball enthusiast, a basketball varsity, and could even been a gymnast or a ballet dancer if my thighs weren't plump. Unfortunately, like most people back in the good old days, I helped my self with colas and junk chips. Thus, the pancreas failed. Sigh. Been living with the misgivings for three decades now. The pain, of course, were all endured. How else that I am still alive? Lately though, with the global pandemic that kept me on house arrest for almost a year, I do think the neuropathy is not as severe any longer. Yup, I did discipline the body with proper nourishment and the soul with constant meditation. And today, the liturgy reads that everything our God created was perfect. We managed to get sick, yes, but if we just get to touch the tassel of our Lord's cloak, we will be healed.