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“This computer is not merely a functional replacement for something that is broken. It is a tremendous gift of grace. "

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A gift was delivered to me yesterday morning. I had wished that someone's used computer would come my way, but I almost had given up hope.  Right when I needed it most, a newly found friend, a high school classmate of forty-some years ago, cared more than I realized about my slow descent into deepening depression after my mother's sturdy, but very old computer died.

After reading my Facebook request for "a used computer airlifted into my apartment by a giant stork," he asked if a computer sent by a giant dork would do! This made me smile and laugh. He had actually obtained permission from his boss to send an old computer to me. Such unexpected kindness lifted away the increasing sense of isolation.

He did not tell me it would be a laptop. He did not tell me he would include desktop wallpaper with beautiful butterflies on it. He did not tell me it would come to me this soon.

When the doorbell rang at 10:30 yesterday morning, I was still sound asleep. I managed to stumble out of bed and get the door just as the FedEx man was about to get back into his truck. Though I never feel well for the first few hours after I awaken (a Chronic Fatigue Syndrome annoyance), I managed to open the box and begin to set up this computer in a semi-dream state. After two hours, with a pounding headache, I remembered that this diabetic body was demanding food!

In the past few days, I have experienced a sense of movement, just as I would near the waves of the ocean. I purchased some new clothes at a phenomenal sale, and purposely chose a completely different look for myself. It is not just that I have lost weight. It is that my sense of myself has changed.

I have decided to "surf the waves" of my own creativity.

And this computer is a part of that movement. It is not merely a functional replacement for something that is broken. It is a tremendous gift of grace. Because it is a laptop, I will be able to write even more freely than I could before, as illness has brought about the necessity for a tremendous amount of bed rest and/or reclining.

However, I am learning how to move within this limitation. It has taken me a long time to do so.

I have been seriously ill, to the point of not being able to maintain any full- or part-time work, for almost nineteen years. Seven times between 1991 and 2000, I tried to return to a previous profession or train for something new.  Each time I would collapse after a short time on the job, have to resign, and return to total bedrest for months.

By the year 2000, when I realized I was having difficulty standing up for very long, I began to know that my expectations for life had to change. If my physical movement would be limited, then I had to increase the free movement of my creativity, mind, music, relationships, and spirituality. It took me until sometime in 2008 to come to terms with acceptance of this situation.

Of course, I still hope for improvement, new treatments, renewed strength, and unexpected healings. In the meantime, however, I have decided to "surf the waves" of my own creativity. I am determined to find as many activities as possible that I can do while reclining. So far, this has included knitting very thick, colorful scarves (that I call "Rochester" scarves, for our cold, damp winters); working on the lyrics and music of songwriting; working on the writing of a book on my experience of homelessness for five and a half months in 2001-2002; and building (and rebuilding) a large network of friends and family.

So, in the middle of this night, when I would normally be sleeping, I am "surfing the night". I am hyped up by new possibilities. I am smiling for the first time in quite a while. I feel the beating of my heart and the freeform dancing of hope.

Mary Lou Worster Anderson is an ordained Presbyterian minister and a teacher certified in reading, music, and elementary classroom.  Her professional career in parish ministry ended abruptly after surgery in November, 1990 set off long-term disabling illnesses.  For the past ten years, she has focused her energy on her original loves of singing, songwriting and writing.  Mary Lou lives in Rochester, NY, and has two young adult children, Jesse and Rebecca, whom she greatly loves.

If you enjoyed this essay, please visit Mary Lou's blog.