Trying to become a farmer is forcing me to do things I never would’ve dreamed of doing. Tomorrow, for example, I’m going to become certified as a Pilates instructor. This is new territory to me. I have never considered myself to be athletic and I have never played a sport in my whole life. However, I really want to be a farmer, and to do that without hurting myself, I need to get stronger.
My health could easily stop me from farming. Four years ago, when my son was just a baby, I got repetitive stress injuries in my arms from working as a writer, and they got so bad that by the time my son was two, I could not do much with my arms at all. It is almost impossible to go anywhere with a two-year-old without using one’s arms. On two separate occasions, when I was away from home, I walked up to strangers and asked them to carry my child for me. If I had not done that, I would’ve been stranded. I did not go out much. Staying at home was no picnic either because I could not do the dishes. Some days I could not pick the clutter off the floor. I learned how to sing.
Several doctors told me that I was not a good candidate for surgery, and I did not feel like pushing the issue, so I worked with an osteopath, learned Alexander technique, and slowly got better. I have still not recovered enough to type, so I write my blog with voice recognition software, which is temperamental. It is working now, but yesterday, when I was working on another piece, I had to spell out every word, waiting patiently for each letter to appear on the screen before saying another one.
If typing is still beyond me, at least I have been able to lift heavy things again. At the end of last summer, I loaded up all our chickens in crates, hoisted those heavy crates into our pickup, and took them to the processors. My arms held up! My husband, bless his heart, made smaller wooden crates than his plan suggested because he wanted to make them easier for me to carry. Even the small ones were very heavy when they were filled with chickens, though. My wrists were a little sore after that work, which told me that I am not so far away from injuring myself again and putting our dreams of farming in danger.
Pilates is supposed to help prevent injuries. With that in mind, I picked up VHS tape of Pilates for Dummies at the thrift store, and I started doing the exercises. Then, last fall, when I was offering a prenatal class at the YMCA, the Pilates teacher whose class followed mine had sick children two weeks in a row. She asked if I might be able to cover her class. Some part of me griped, “You’ve got to be kidding! You’re going to make a fool out of yourself!” but I decided I could not afford to listen to that. I taught the classes, and I think they went really well. Last month, the senior center needed a Pilates teacher, so I started teaching there as well. As I think about getting certified as a teacher tomorrow, that same part of me is cringing and complaining again, but I’m not going to listen to it. I think the day will go fine, and if it doesn’t, I will try again.
Doing things that I had never imagined doing makes me feel closer to God. I hope this is because I am acting out of faith, but I can’t even be certain of that. I feel certain however, that the right thing for me to do in this situation is to pray. I am praying for guidance that I can understand. I am praying for a willingness to change. I am praying that I will not limit myself by deciding what I can and cannot do. I am praying for humility. I am praying for good health.
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