Puzzling a new pain. Really bad pain.
Putting the jigsaw together.
Sleep. A lot.
Japanese grill for 16 including kids.
Finally time with my beloved.
Waiting for spring, in the air and in my heart.
Working it all together is my life these days. This push/pull is hard.
Treasure hunting in thrift stores is fun. Today I just couldn't. Looking through racks takes two hands and my back was hurting so in the spirit of redeeming the time I looked for a puzzle. It's supposed to be good for my brain and my hands. Here I am trying to pick up and place the pieces for a mountain vista and all I can think about is the time we took our kids to a place like this. One of them got in a temper and ran off. When we found him I was cross and frustrated with how our day was 'ruined'. It took a lot of years of practice before I stopped freaking out at every little thing. It's always been hard for me to keep perspective when stuff goes wrong even though I'm confident things will balance out.
Balance has new meaning now. Life tips into the painful and confusing daily, with fatique and sadness close by. Until I got sick I thought I knew how to live well, keeping a happy balance of difficulties and dreams. Now I know I don't know much at all. My balance was always in doing. Now I have to think of other ways and I don't know what they are. I don't know who I am without my doings. Will I be set aside? What about the hopes and dreams that would keep me going on difficult days? Eternal perspective is more real than ever but I still distract myself with mindless wanderings into'what if' and 'why'. Like that day in the mountains I'm cross and frustrated instead of looking at the potential for good things. No balance.
I have spent a lot of time with children lately. Kids are great because they force things that a person may not otherwise choose. Noise,for instance. Who chooses noise? It has populated my life for so long that it belongs there. When I quit teaching I was bereft for a long time. This week reminded me how hildren play and cry and erupt at the worst of times. They are full of life and ambition that just can't be quashed. They insist that their grownups watch, listen and feel life with them. They're very real and it encourages me.
I want to be more child like without the nasty bits like temper fits and chicken pox. Inquiry, excitement and spontaneity make life happy for me. Drawing and coloring, building little plastic brick houses and creating colorful art used to be a part of everyday life. I want to do it all again with my grandchildren. I know, I didn't have to stop but so many other things demanded attention that I couldn't help myself. I'm a little afraid that when I try I won't be able to handle paper or small plastic bricks. Is this where the children start helping me like I helped them so often? How will that work? Will they be impatient as I sometimes was?
We read the book together, my children and I. it was a long time ago and it stayed with me. I found the title thoughtful. The Very Last First Time. Yeah so what does that mean? Starting again, over and over, and then knowing it's the last first time because there is more of the same doing of a thing. I try to think of my life in terms of first times and fresh starts but lately it's harder and harder to do. Today for instance I enjoyed the company of extended family. I tried to think of it as a fun first time but I know it's one of my last times. How is this group going to happen again? Watching the littles play, telling childhood stories, comparing family traits and sharing our history is one of my bests. It's so ...Life. It's one of my first last times.
It feels somehow morbid to talk like this so I don't, but I'd like to verbalize. Won't everyone else get burdened to discomfort? Is talking true truth about expecting to die ok?
I don't get opportunity yet to talk. I mean, really, I'm still trying to live, but I'd like to know about death too. I'm ready to meet my earthly end but the to-do list is still long. There are numerous last good byes as I visit, call or write those I care about. There are I Love Yous to be said in word and deed. There are books to read, sounds to hear and songs to sing. I have projects to finish and children to send into the world (will they be ready, these youngest of mine not quite grown? ). How do I do these first last things? I need help with this.
There has to be the first last time for everything. Right?
Today was glorious. I enjoyed the good food, little children, family ties, and listening to hopes and dreams. It was a good last time. Oh I know I may be wrong. It may not in fact be so but if I think of it this way it helps me to live presently instead of futurely. In the moment I'm there without any thought but joy. That made it a glorious day. That's weird since it used to be starting and hoping and planning that excited me.
Hmm. Random oddness runs through my head at the end of the day and I don't know up from down. It was just a splendid thought full day. Very last first times and very first last times.
The ability to understand things is a great gift. It's also a burden. When I think I should'get'something and I don't it perks and irritates until I do. This morning it occurred to me that this idea of knowing is kind of arrogant. Why do I think I should know everything? How do I qualify? It's impossible yet I still ponder.
That makes me really wonder.
I lived a healthy life. Why did I get sick? Isn't healthy living the answer to long life?
God says all things work together for good. How does my suffering work good?
Sickness and death is part of the curse of sin. He uses the curse to bring about his good things?
We all crave perfection but we don't live in the garden anymore. On earth we will never get there. To get me more into his perfect likeness, he is able, in his sovereignty, to use every part of my life to do it. That means, then, that he uses this disease along with all of my other life experiences. I'm okay with that but I don't get it. How is being sick and dieing useful for my growth? I'm available - no choice there- but I'm afraid. I just can't rest with the lack of knowing.
I want to live well, even as I'm dieing sooner rather than later. I want to grow and learn and be useful, just like I always have. I want days full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. What is next after wanting? I'm guessing it's still a matter of 'wait and see what God will do'. Wait training. Ha.
I'm very glad to know God loves me. How awful this road without him.
There is so much from this day. Joy and sadness, friends and foe, silence and sound were all there. Conflicting emotions rode on my shoulders competing for attention no matter how I tried to control them. The joy of listening to superb live music with friends was bittersweet because while I enjoy watching I enjoy performing more. The awful telling of why I'm not playing just about ruined it all. It was both incredibly sad and wonderfully joyous.
I've always known that two-sided life. It's mysterious to me how this battle goes always on. Why can't I just be one way? Don't we all like days of only the good thoughts and feelings, along with circumstances to match?
The musician sings the story of life and the stories sung today of loneliness, heartbreak and home were keenly felt. The swirl of emotion drawn from these songs wraps me so tightly I want to scream and run. I'm not sure what that would look like but maybe a song would cover it. Maybe I need to write it.
I gave my violin away today. It wasn't ok.
If my hand ever starts to work again I know where to find it but in the meantime I look forward to hearing it played.
Unless you are a musician you can't know how hard this is. Can anyone explain the attachment? My music is a part of me, like my voice. The tools are few now since even simple chords are near impossible on the guitar or mandolin. I guess that leaves only my voice. So sad,
I'll sing
But I won't play
And wonder why
My body is walking slowly away from me.
I'll only have stories left. Make them into song? We don't have songs without struggle it seems. My yoke is easy, my burden light. You will find rest He says. Rest in or after struggle?
I find myself thinking about songs from my youth. I loved hymns and learned to read music at a young age from studying the hymnal. It's kind of a funny thing. The hymnal and the King James Bible were the only books I owned for most of my childhood. Those songs and great words were my comfort in turbulent times and they are once again. There are shelves full of books and recorded music but I pull out the hymns and a Bible.
Someone played guitar and sang while I was visiting the other day. It was delightful. I would like that every day. It brings me into God's presence and calms me. Wish I could play guitar.
On top of everything else I have a sore tooth. And no way to fix it. There is also a crying doll in our house for dear daughter to comfort for some sort of school project. Neither of us slept. The kitchen is a mess, the floor shows the mud of spring and bathrooms need attention. I can't do anything about any of it.
I don't know if I should push myself more or be ok with someone else taking this stuff on. It's my work but I last about 10 minutes before I crash. Using my hands hurts. Standing hurts. Bending, lifting, reaching all hurts. And fatigue? Through all my worst moments I've never known this. Rest brings no energy. Even eating gives no satisfaction because it's so hard to do. My hands can either hold a book or turn the page, not both. Tying shoelaces, doing up buttons and closing zippers is getting harder every day. I know what little kids feel like as they fumble through new tasks.
Yesterday I was more than a little anxious when I had a hard time with the button on my jeans. And washing my hair? It was hard to do when my fingers stopped working. Now it's hard to hold my arms up so it takes forever to do a good job. My list of abilities is shorter as my disabilities increase. I can still shuffle-walk but I have handicap parking privileges. I can talk/write but I lose words. I can hold a drink only if I can reach it close by with my right hand. You know those big bibs at the care home? Yup, almost.
Today I have a little clarity and humor. It's going to get worse and going along with it is easier. Trying to be the old me is just too hard, physically. Some days, like yesterday, emotionally me is not happening either. Spiritually I'm in and out of God, angry, sad and trusting at the same time. Didn't know that was possible? It's me.
Worries and concerns overwhelm me and battle with truth, making the bad things much too big. At the same time I hear my Father say be still and I remember He is sovereign. He's got it all under control. I don't have to.
This path. ...
I fell asleep crying - that this burden would be removed, that I could be with my beloved, that provision be made - and I cried when I woke. My children were off to school and I missed seeing them. Never happened before. Makes me very sad. I also woke too late to get to help at the thrift store. I can't do much anyways but I want to see everyone there.
So many ends and no beginnings. Very disheartening.
I have no answers
I used to look forward to saturdays. Long, slow breakfast with my beloved, hanging out, family stuff. Now it's often the day that I ponder my condition. Sleeping late holds no extra joy when I'm alone. Breakfast is rarely special, although on those days that one of the kids cooks I'm very pleased. (G is cooking right now. ..). Doing family stuff is hard with adolescent youth. They always want to do their own thing, reasonably enough.
I really want to go home. Patience.
