And so it continues....

this aging thing. And all that comes with it.

Okay. A couple of things.

I noticed my last Substack post was my 100th. That felt rather nice. I patted myself on the back, but in so doing, pulled a muscle slightly in my right shoulder. What the heck is THAT all about?

I did not take it as a sign that we should not feel good about accomplishments. I, instead, chalked it up to my body no longer appreciating being asked to do certain things. I never know what those ‘things’ will be until I’ve done them and then it’s too late.

Losing the flexibility and fluidity of a body that always felt, with no apparent effort on my part, well oiled and strong is a loss I have been experiencing in recent years. I am not a student of yoga and I do not participate in senior strength classes or stretching classes. I believe I have completely missed the window of opportunity to learn Ballroom dancing, something I held out hope for while I waited for Greg to retire. Secretly I still fantasize about singing the blues. I only need to be breathing for that, right? And I know if I would make a practice of easing into my day, stretching my body when I leave my bed, that I’d probably experience fewer of those things that annoy me.

Too many of our friends are saying things like, “Gee, if I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself!” but they wouldn’t have had as much fun. So we live with the aches and pains and ‘catches’ and loss of abilities with a certain amount of Grace. And self forgiveness. And gratitude.

And occasionally we get pissed off or just plain sad that we have to remember to look before we turn, to think about what our next action is and if we are safely rooted to take it. It is no longer a ‘given’ that we can jump out of the back of a truck, or go for a back country hike without serious consequences. For some people it is no longer a ‘given’ that they can get in a car and drive to the store. Or even get out of bed safely and unaided.

I’ve written about this before. The fatigue I sometimes feel, deep in my bones. And I know it’s real. I also know some of it comes from feeling worried too much of the time. There seems to be an almost universal sense of things not being right with the world. And, as though worrying about it will help, many of us are carrying around a sense of dis~ease over it. A grieving we can’t quite put our finger on.

This past Sunday a young friend of mine delivered a sermon at a local Methodist church that spoke so directly to my heart, I wept watching it on the live stream. I realized that I have been ‘praying’ to God and all the guardian angels in my life to keep us safe, to bring rain where there is drought and relief where the temperatures are too high. To tame the raging rivers and replenish the ones drying up. As though, if those things were to happen, then we’d be OK. And my young friend put it so clearly when she said that “We spend a lot of time asking God to preserve the structures, plans, expectations and maps we have created that give us security. But sometimes the ships we depend on have to break apart before we discover that our true hope, our true identity, has never rested in those things at all.”

Storms have a way of stripping away identities we have built for ourselves. A way of exposing our attachment to things ‘staying the same’. But when the landscape of our lives changes so drastically that there is no way back to what once was, to what we thought our future was going to look like, that is when we take stock; standing on unfamiliar ground, untethered, no road map, no idea what is coming next. We take stock of what our truth truly is.

I remember long ago laying alongside a neighbor as she was dying, visiting with her and her daughter, when she suddenly looked up at me and said, “Sean, how does anyone do this without faith?”. Such a curious question coming from a crusty old rancher woman and I remember my answer was, “I don’t know love, but I know they don’t do it with the Grace you’re doing it.” She died later that night. Peacefully. Still crusty, but with a strong sense of wonder. No fear. No worry. Because she believed in something that gave her the ability to stand as though marooned on foreign soil and know she was OK.

There have been times in my life that my faith was strong enough to be able to say to someone who had lost theirs, “It’s Ok, you can borrow some of mine until yours returns.” And there have been times when I was the one who needed the offer of borrowing someone else’s.

I think Sunday was one of those times. I needed my young friend’s reminder that it is not our vessel that’s of primary importance. It’s what we carry in our hearts.

Her words left me feeling a peaceful Grace. An understanding. A foothold. A shift in attitude about what matters.

Thanks for taking a moment to read or listen to this. I appreciate you being here. Until next time…..