Wednesday evening, tightening a loose drawer handle, I put down the urge to fix myself

On Wednesday evening, the chest of drawers caught my eye the moment I came through the door. The handle on the top drawer had been wobbling for three weeks. It turned along with the drawer every time I opened it, and I had been pretending not to notice, but today I took out the toolbox before I even took off my coat. Deciding to fix it had taken three weeks by itself.

I tightened the screw with a small screwdriver. It held for a moment, and after the drawer had been opened once, it went loose again. The screw hole seemed to be worn, so the screw had nothing to bite into. On the third try, I put the screwdriver down. I wondered whether I couldn't even fix this one thing, and that thought slid over to me without a sound. For the past few days I had had no energy, and I felt like one more thing that needed to be fixed quickly. I knew that sleeping well, moving around and changing my way of thinking would do it, and I was managing none of them.

Where the fixing is written

Still sitting on the floor, I opened still().

He heals the broken in heart, and binds up their wounds.

Psalm 147:3 (WEB)

"He heals." This time I read the sentence starting from who is doing the verbs. There was nothing in it for the broken in heart to do. No call to make up my mind, no call to cheer up; the healing was written on someone else's side, not on the side of the broken in heart. I think I had assumed that fixing me was my own job. That might hold for a drawer handle, but perhaps not for me. The verse didn't change my mood. Instead, I decided that this evening, fixing myself was not something I had to take on. It felt as if one line had been struck from a to-do list, and when the screwdriver I'd left on the floor rolled half a turn, I didn't pick it up.

The handle stayed loose. I remembered reading somewhere that you can push a toothpick into the screw hole, but I left that for the weekend. I put the screwdriver in the toolbox and closed the lid. I opened the drawer by its edge with two fingers, not by the handle. I took out a change of clothes and pushed the drawer shut, and as I headed for the bathroom, the handle gave one small rattle on the closed drawer. I didn't mind the sound, so before turning on the bathroom light I stood there a moment and listened to it once more.

Today's breath — Put down the screwdriver, put down the urge to fix yourself along with it, and let out one long breath.