Everything....and a blue-eyed four-legged shaman

Somehow, some way all three of my children became atheists. I have always believed in God. I love Jesus. "Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me. Come home." It hurts me that my children don't believe in anything. I don't even think they consider themselves agnostic. I don't know how this happened because I believe in everything.

My eldest sister comes to visit me often. She knits with my son Joe. She is from the DC area and never complains about traffic. She takes me to the Costco. I love her for so many things in addition to this. Easter before last, she played my out of tune piano. She played from the many hymn books we own, daughters of ministers that we are. When I apologized for it being out of tune, she said that in Africa there is one piano for miles. My sister has been to Africa several times, recently returning from a mission trip with beautiful photos of ancient grandfathers caring for too many AIDS orphans. In Africa you play the piano you have and you are grateful to hear it.

My middle son complained about the Jesus singing. I loved sharing the hurt feelings with my sister. She said, " Nicholas, even if you don't believe in God, he believes in you." She meant it and kept singing.

Sometimes I thought I had to believe to make things true. My father was a think-positively guru. And I mean guru. He taught classes. He was a hardliner about thinking yourself well. He was also a big joker. When we said we were ill, he'd respond, "What you got? The dread mgumbe disease?" Sometimes, he would also grab our arm and say, "You feel alright to me."

My father said he would live to be 130. Then he died of a massive stroke at 62. My mother died of leukemia at 47. My father was powerless to think her well either. I am the age she was when she was diagnosed with cancer. My life and health feel fragile. I am overweight. I am tired. I hurt.

In August, I had just started working out. I lost ten pounds. I was doing water aerobics. Inspired to live more intentionally after the loss of my brother-in-law in July, I re-joined my choir, found a wonderful church, and began again to live life in a plan - filled way.

One morning I woke up and my arm was in severe pain. It got worse over the next three days. I tried to think it well, per my father. I tried to wait it out. Then, I went to the ER. This is my pattern. Ignore, throw positive thought, panic. I had a herniated disc.

My piano playing sister came to take care of me. She made my boys scrub the cupboard faces. We drank lattes and ate lots of cheese. We watched many movies. I took the drugs. I followed up with physical therapy and chiropractic.

Physical therapists and chiropractic doctors do not believe in one another. As it turns out, they are both still real. They both can still help you, even at the same time. My physical therapist is the bigger non-believer. I told my physical therapist how I believe in everything.

He loves my stories. He can't wait to check back in on my snippets. He said, "What happened with your son? Did he really do that long list of chores?" He said, "How were the hands of your last group of medical students?"

I had told him that you can just tell about healing hands. I teach third year med students how to give pelvic and breast exams. I have been doing this for almost five years. Some of them have excellent palpation skills. Some of them do not.

My teaching assistant partners and I ask them at the end of the session what kind of doctors they will be. Sometimes they don't know. We jokingly tell some of them that they are "cleared for patient care. " We secretly hope the others become radiologists.

Everything works but not by everyone. My physical therapist has great hands. I told him about my trip to Steamboat and my hot springs treatment. In Steamboat you can swim in the city pool in January because it is fed from the hot springs. Mountains of snow can surround you as you bathe in warm water. Cold rain drizzling on our heads, my friend and I took the hot springs cure.

My friend has a cat. He is strikingly beautiful with squinty bright blue eyes. My friend says, "What dessert does Boy remind you of?" I say, "A toasted marshmallow." She corrects me, "A PERFECTLY toasted marshmallow." I nod. Perfectly toasted marshmallow.

While I am in Steamboat, Boy comes to me and places his paws on my chin. He presses lightly. He walks to one side of my neck and presses. He walks to the other side of my neck and presses again. He curls up tight and purrs his little heart out right next to my hurting neck.

I tell my friend that he is a shaman reincarnated. He repeats "the treatment" several times while I am in Steamboat. I ask her if he has nails because I never felt a hint of nails, unlike with my own cats. Boy still has all of his claws. He just is capable of keeping them in his little padded magic feet. I cannot wait to get home to tell my physical therapist. I am hoping I can make him believe, even in Boy and his remarkable abilities.

The weekend after I returned from Steamboat, I went to a Threshold Choir workshop. Threshold choirs are made of women who sing people through changes, hard times, death. I soaked the songs into my neck. I closed my eyes.

A few weeks later I went to the dedication of the Peace House in Columbus. There were interfaith ministers there. There was drumming and our singing. A woman did a guided meditation where she told us to plant ourselves, feet turning to roots, spreading through the floorboards and the ground below. Then she had us grow branches and leaves and glorious foliage. I felt my neck click up with each stretch. I sat taller. I was a tree.

This week my hip hurt badly. I was afraid of the ignore, positive, panic process which was beginning. I went to the chiropractor and felt better almost instantly. I couldn't believe it. I didn't even believe going in. I thought, this hurts too much. It will never work. It worked anyway. Was it because Dr. Jack believed in me like God believes in my children, even when they don't believe in him?

I said, "That feels a lot better." Dr Jack said, " It's magic. No, it's chiropractic." Dr. Jack is silly. And young, so young he is not sure how professional or down to earth and candid he should be. He is usually reserved.

Recently I told him that I pulled the platypus as my spirit guide card. The platypus says, "Quit complaining. Count your blessings." As soon as I pulled the card, I could not stop complaining. It took me weeks of soaking up the platypus medicine to get back to my blessings.

Dr. Jack loved the idea of the platypus card. He said we should make t-shirts. The front says, "Consider the platypus" and the back says, "Count your blessings." He even had colors picked out, yellow and maroon. I want to make these t-shirts, or at least one for Dr. Jack. For Christmas.

Maybe Dr. Jack is not a Christian. The physical therapist is a Christian. I hope this is not why he doesn't believe in chiropractic or much else besides storytelling. Because I am a Christian and I believe in the storytelling, singing, hot springs, guided meditation, physical therapy, chiropractic, family, faith, and everything. Even a blue-eyed four legged shaman reincarnate. It's my intention to notice these blessings and to consider the platypus.