At therapy today, I shook the hand of a dead man...

I'm undergoing hand therapy after finger and wrist surgery. There are days when I feel sorry for myself for always getting banged up or broken. There are so many things that I can not do anymore because of all of my injuries. I try to stay positive and tell myself that there must be a reason God has allowed me to go through all the things that have hurt me, but I'd be lying if I told you that I don't ever get down...that I don't ever cry.

When I am feeling that way, I try to stay home. Away from friends, family...any peering eyes that can detect my weakness. I don't want to be discouraged, but sometimes...I am.

Imagine my shame then when a man comes in to therapy with a brilliant smile on his face and a dead man's hands on the end of his arms. He is the recipient of a double hand transplant and he is the most amazing person I have ever met. After being severely burned and nearly dying, he lost the use of his hands and chose to undergo a risky transplant, never done before.

He gives God the glory for saving his life and for giving him his new hands. As he holds a hand out for me to shake, I look up into his eyes and take his hand into mine. I've told him what an inspiration he is to me, but as I feel his fingers close around my own, a tightness forms in my chest. My throat burns as I choke back tears and return his smile when he says, "Man! It feels good to do that."

I have learned that to give God the praise in every little thing that I CAN do, is all He wants me from me today.