What’s wrong with me? I thought as I climbed a trail along a canyon near my home. My doctor had run dozens of tests, but he still didn’t have a diagnosis. Some days I felt fine. Other days I felt like I had the flu. Today every step I took was like walking through Jell-O.
It got so that I stopped talking about it. What would people make of my on-again, off-again symptoms? Surely they’d think this was all in my head. The whole experience made me feel isolated in a way that I’d never felt before. I just wished someone understood. It would make all the difference.
I labored around another dusty corner. Something stopped me in my tracks. I stood stock-still and stared at a perfect bouquet of firework-red penstemons.
My favorite wildflower! I thought. They grew in a single, full clump, as if arranged by a master florist. Like they were an angelic gift placed here just for me!
Thank you, I prayed. I didn’t yet have all the answers. But I felt stronger. I was never isolated. Someone always understood.
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