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Posts Tagged ‘wisdom from unexpected places’

Your present circumstances don’t determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start. (Nido Qubein)

 At 4:00 in the morning I watch the clock move to 4:01 with the help of my vanity mirror. It reads backward, of course. But backward seems to fit how I feel. I am awake because my knees throb. However, there is nothing wrong with them. My legs are reasonably strong for a person with such short levers.

My back is creating the chaos. Sure, I’ve known since at least middle age that this no-need-to-duck-for-low-hanging-branches frame is slightly off balance. My right shoulder is closer to my right ear than the left shoulder is to the left. I guess the back got tired of the disharmony and said I’ve had enough. Then it forced my knees and lower legs to pick up the slack. In less flippant terms, x-rays show that I have lumbar stenosis, a narrowing of the spinal canal in the lumbar spine. I make a tent under the blanket with my legs and relax. That eases the pain—somewhat.

I am in no way unique. Many people experience this back condition. All an individual needs to do is live to middle age and beyond. My physical therapist said I am fortunate that I don’t have excessive fat around my middle. That adds additional pressure on the back.

I gave her one of those embarrassed, no-teeth-showing smiles. I can definitely pinch-an-inch, if not more where a belt would be if I had a fashion-model figure.

Unfortunately, due to a blood-clotting disorder I can’t take the standard non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. I’d give my kingdom for some ibuprofen—if I had a kingdom.

If-only leads nowhere, however.

As the numbers on the clock move into 5:00 I think about all the survivors I know: folk who have beat cancer, stroke, and unbelievable abuse issues. They are blessings. The trick is to focus on the inspiration, and not compare struggles. Who accomplished more? Does it matter?

I do a few core-strength exercises in bed: the old tried-and-true pelvic tilt, a slow and easy sway of both bent knees from side to side while pressing my lower back into the mattress. All moves focus on the upper and lower abdomen. A stronger core takes the pressure off of the narrowed area of the spine.

The clock tells me it is after 5:30, which looks like a 0, followed by a backward 3 and a 2. It isn’t too early to get up now and begin the day. And somehow, miraculously, I’m okay to do just that.

Not every message in life makes sense—seen directly or mirrored through the wisdom of someone else. Sometimes I just have to do what I can, with the information available and a positive outlook.

Peace to all wherever you may be along your journeys.

 beauty of the broken

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Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you know you have for sure. (Oprah Winfrey)

Water is a symbol for the unconscious. I may not be in a deep sleep, approaching a great sea, but the Y pool brings its own unexpected gifts. I find myself drawn to people who tell me stories, or share wisdom. Some of the facts in the next paragraph have been altered—for the sake of anonymity. The purpose of this sharing is for enrichment, not gossip.

Two women always smile when I arrive. They live generosity. The father of one of the women is being forced to move to a nursing facility. He is neither ill nor feeble. She stands with him, not with the convenience of other family members. I listen, blessed. The other woman cares for her brother-in-law who has a debilitating illness. This does not keep her from volunteer work among other disabled people. The gentle spirits of these women blend into the pool water, mix with the chlorine somehow, and make me richer.

On another day I bring my granddaughters to the indoor swim lanes. Rebe pauses at the shallow end and picks up a water weight. Her imagination continues on land or in water. She pretends to be an instructor, directing me, her make-believe daughter.

“These are really heavy,” she says. “So be careful.”

“How much do they weigh?” I grin knowing that she has no idea how much is too much.

“To infinity and beyond,” she answers with make-believe authority.

“Such a goal,” I think. A few minutes ago I encouraged my girls to go for their dreams. Actually I have no idea where my five-year-old granddaughter gets her ideas. But in the water today, her eyes tell me she is happy. This is female-bonding day: Grandma, Kate, and Rebe. We have plenty of time left before Mommy and Daddy arrive to bring the girls home.

Nine-year-old Kate continues to swim laps, grateful that there are no adult-swim-time interruptions in the indoor lanes.

And the water responds with caresses as gentle as the strokes we create. I celebrate the sweetness of this “now.”

Sure, life on life’s terms continues. This time in the pool is only a respite. I can only pray for my friends who face injustice. A raging thunderstorm makes the drive home slow, as I calm a frightened kindergartener by telling her to count after she sees lightening. If the boom takes a while, the strike is far away. If the thunder comes quickly it has already passed by—and it hasn’t hit us.

“Okay, girls, hit the garage door opener!” I call as we arrive home.

They don’t need to be asked twice.

The troublesome storm continues a little while longer. But the sun has never left. It returns like a good parent.

sail boat

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And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. (Nelson Mandela)

Kate somersaults across the living room—with a cast on her left hand. “Did you see that, Grandma?”

“I sure did.”

“I’m going to do it even better this time.”

I want to yell, No, we don’t need any more trips to the hospital! But, her movements are confined, and the other kids are in the toy/computer room right now, so she isn’t going to knock anyone over. (Whether toy or computer comes first depends upon whether kid or computer plays the dominant role.) Besides, I am the one who was on the phone when our granddaughter broke her finger diving into the couch. The cast was necessary because the break affects a growth plate. I heard her scream, and then went into shock for a day or two.

She rode through her ordeal like a soldier and flashes her red and blue cast as a badge of honor. In fact, there are no more spaces on it for Grandma to sign her name. A place to fit initials would be difficult to find.

Children’s bones bend and heal easier than a grownup’s bones do. It seems my eight-year-old girl’s spirit is mighty powerful, too. Kate is drawn to children with special needs. She doesn’t see them as different; she sees them as people, like herself, with challenges. Perhaps having a younger cousin with Down syndrome has given her that blessing; perhaps that gift is innate. I don’t know.

I watch Kate perform one more somersault. With a smile. With ease. And I know I’ve learned something important about resilience.

pic from MorningCoach.com

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