SRD4 Divine Spam

A dear, dear friend sent me a chain letter email yesterday. I am very fond of this particular friend; I am not fond of chain letters. I never want to be the one to break the chain and I don't want to impose the burden of not breaking the chain on anyone else. But, because of something that happened yesterday, this chain letter struck me differently.

Yesterday was Saturday and my first Shabbat since the second of two surgeries to repair my broken shoulder. It was, to be precise, my third day of rehab following the removal of four very unpleasant pins that held my bone together while it healed. Although I attend Saturday morning services at my synagogue only infrequently, I wanted to attend this particular Shabbat because my husband was participating in the service. He was scheduled to chant from the Torah; an honor and a mitzvah.

I got up in plenty of time to get myself bathed and dressed--a challenging project with my wounded wing. I even managed to put on a little makeup. Upon our arrival at shul, I greeted people and answered the inevitable questions prompted by having my arm in a sling. We settled into a pew and the service began.

Three notes into the opening song I started to cry. Tears streamed down my face and literally pooled in my lap. My husband took my hand, “Are you okay?” he asked with his eyes. I nodded, mopping my face again and blowing my nose. I was grateful the handkerchief in my purse was a substantial, cotton number with plenty of absorption power. Even so it was thoroughly soaked in minutes.

During the past seven, long, painful weeks since my injury I never cried. Every time I was ready to succumb to despair, I’d look in the mirror and insist I pull myself together. It worked. I’d stayed dry-eyed through it all.

Sitting in the chapel, with the worst of my ordeal behind me, I could not stop the waterworks. But despair and pain were not the source of these tears. I cried in awe of the miraculous ability of my body to heal; the calm, kind, competence of the emergency technicians who transported me to the hospital; the skill of the surgeon who repaired my shoulder. I cried in gratitude for the loving, patient support of my friends and family.

Crying never felt so good.

And that is why I decided to send this chain letter to five people.*


Dear loved one:

HaShem - (neither masculine nor feminine & absolutely no plural); the word means, literally, 'The Name,' & it is the way that Jews refer to G-d when not in a Prayer or Torah Reading or Torah citation context.

HaShem determines who walks into your life ... It is up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay & who you refuse to let go.

HaShem, bless all my friends & special family in whatever it is that you know they may be needing this day! And may their lives be full of peace, prosperity & power.

Amen.

Now send it on to 5 other people, including the person (me) who sent it to you. Within minutes you have caused a multitude of people to pray for others.

*I have no expectation you will send the letter to anyone. But feel free if you are so disposed.