Ready To Run

The radiant sun shone proudly, looking pleased with itself for bringing such pleasure to us Oregonians below, deprived of its cheery presence for so many sodden winter months. My sister and I were enjoying the shops in Hood River, the change of scenery, and the simple delights of touristing. Exiting a store, I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and an intense wave of pain took my body hostage. For the weekend, I had placed my back pain on the shelf, daring it to disrupt my brief respite. Shuffling to a nearby bunch, most likely strategically placed for the elderly, I gratefully took a seat on the varnished wooden slats and watched my sister's back as she headed toward our rental home, in search of rescue. Meanwhile, I dusted off my sunglasses preparing to steal some joy, to reap the benefits of the grinning sun.Taking a deep breath I leaned back, trying to get comfortable, trying to accept the reality of my current limitations. Interrupting my reflection, a man asked if he could sit down on the bench. "Certainly," I said. A throng of teen-aged girls passed by, dressed in tank tops, flip-flops and shorts that said, I am wearing these just because I can. "Getting old stinks," the man beside me announced. Swiveling my head his way, I took a look at this old person. He had long jet-black hair tied in a pony-tail, a dark-colored scarf knotted in the back covered his head and he wore leather pants, the kind bikers wear. His sunglasses looked very expensive. He appeared in his early fifties. Unsure of how to answer, my defensive inner voice shouted, I ran a marathon! I work out and pump weights! I have three brand new grand babies! I nodded my head in silence."I had my knee replaced," he said, rubbing the offending limb." Stepping closer into my sanctuary, he continued, "And I had my hip replaced, both surgeries were done within nine months of each other." I winced. My hand reflectively moved towards my back. Breathe, breathe, you are not old! "I hate bikers! They make so much noise." His tone reflected a definite angst. Surreptitiously, I glanced at his pants. Deciding not to be rude, I queried this gentleman about his profession, his interests. After sharing his vocational pursuits, he told me in an emphatic tone that he liked older women, that younger women just don't have it together. "Uh-huh," I answered. Jesus told me not to be scared, but I rummaged into my purse, retrieved my cell phone and quickly punched in my husbands number. "Calling my husband," I said, maybe a little too loud. Flipping my phone shut, I mentally calculated the distance to our rental home. A resigned sigh escaped into the spring atmosphere and I couldn't help but notice more young girls stroll by, texting, chatting, giggling. Definitely not sitting. "I was a professional athlete. A windsurfer. Until a bad injury. Then it was all over," he said."I took 562 pain pills." He tapped his open left palm for emphasis. An image of my carefully halved one white  Vicodin nestled among my colorful vitamins popped into mind. Gesturing across the street, toward a pizza restaurant, he voiced,"I made that sign over there, all by myself. I'm a one man operation." I assured him it was great and he must be proud. My husband called my cell phone, signaling his impending arrival, and like a child lining up at the door for recess, eager and antsy, I stood, turned toward the man and thanked him for chatting. My mind raced to the car, yet my body shuffled, lest a tidal wave of pain wash over me again. Later that evening while resting, I thanked God for my metal-free body, for the sunshine, even for the stranger. I think that my God is getting oh so creative in helping me pass the time, filling the void, and offering unique surprises during this season. Even though my heart is ready to run, to race  after my new grandchildren, my God is telling me, rest, rest, I'll surprise you along the way, but don't ever give up, ever. You will run again, it might look a little different, but remember how wide my arms can stretch.

Back-Up Plan

One night, long, long, ago, when I was a little girl, I remember feigning a deep sleep in the back seat of our family station wagon. We had just pulled up into our driveway after an evening spent at the drive-in theatre. Traces of  grape Kool-Aid branded my upper lip. Kernels of popcorn littered the floor-mats. The stars in the inky sky, clusters of bright seeing eyes, must have laughed at the game I played. The car door opened and tendrils of summer air tickled my nose as  my dad angled himself into a good position to lift my small form. With my body limp as a rag-doll, he carried me safely into our house. I never knew if he realized I was wide awake, or if his own fatigue warned him not to mess with an eight-year old girl. However, this is what I do recall. The yearning inside of me for a daddy to hold me closely, especially when I felt exhausted, caused me to fake a slumber, to shut my eyes tight and allow him to lift me up into capable, reliable, strong arms. Arms much wider than my own. During this past month, in my season of back pain, of uncertainty and weakness, I found myself once again longing for escape, for deliverance from the constant hurt. I think we all have that little child inside, especially when our bodies ache, and we become exhausted from our own efforts to ease the pain. I have become well acquainted with the pharmacist at Walgreen's, and all of my whining now falls on deaf ears. It's times like these, when the unknown appears heavy like cement, that I am forced to acknowledge a simple truth. Since my own efforts often lead to frustration, emotional fatigue, and more pain, I need to return once again to those potent arms which hold a power far greater than all of my wayward, fretful thoughts, the fear, the dreaded muscle relaxers. Henri Nouwen says in The Prodigal Son, "Jesus, the Son of God, is the man of sorrows, but also the man of complete joy. We catch a glimpse of this when we realize that in the midst of his suffering Jesus is never separated from his father. His union with God is never broken even when he "feels" abandoned by God." I like that. I am not alone in the crisis, I can rely on someone else to help me, and in return I receive the gift of joy. I imagine by now Jesus is smiling, nodding that wise head, saying to me once again, oh daughter, I don't need to be your back-up plan. I've got your back.