A doctor told me after a knee surgery five years ago that my life now consisted of taking care of body. “It is a full time job,” he told me. I tried to listen, thinking this was advice more that prophecy. Soon I earned the reputation as ‘the ideal patient’.
A few months later, as my husband, Mark and I prayed, he made this petition, “God, please heal Shelley and remove her pain so she can think of someone besides herself.” I jerked my head up and almost laughed at what I assumed was an unintentional insult, and then I realized his prayer was earnest. He meant no judgment, but the fact remained, my life had become totally inverted.
Five years later, I still repeat the same prayer. Remove my pain that I can refocus on ideas of eternal matter and relationships of worth. However, mostly, I muddle about in the self-absorbed and pain-drug-induced musings of my mind. At the same time, I have come to savor and reflect on the nuggets I gathered when I could walk, literally and figuratively.
Oh, I still can walk a little and do, it’s just not a pretty sight anymore. I also know my inabilities will certainly overcome my abilities someday until I walk no more. However, I do not write with warnings to insure one can continue to walk. That is not the goal, if it were; the tree of life would have been left unguarded. (I’ll explain that later.) No, we will all come not to walk. The goal, then, is to gather gems of value as you do walk so that someday, you rest well. This I know.
Through incidents and recent conversations I am moved to write to those of you who still walk. I can’t imagine having the strength or mind to do so with my current limitations. However, yesterday, my son, Ian counseled me to set small goals, but to move on. This is the goal I have set for today. To write a journal for those of you who still walk.