As Much As You Can

She had spent her life carefully in service to God and others. Now elderly, she still wanted to enrich the lives of others.

But like the seasons, the body feels spring, summer, autumn and, finally, winter when we choose to spend long hours sleeping, waiting for the next, the final spring. We complain of weakness, frailty and the pain which is always present.

Her doctor suggested a wellness group led by a young woman, where they discussed how to make bodies function more efficiently, to do as much as they could as long as they could.

Pushing the body is not dissimilar to pushing the spirit. Why? The body is a temple, a temporary house.

“Exercise?” she asked their leader and her circle of elderly friends. “Like pushups? or going up and down stairs to get your heart pumping?”

When discomfort is involved, humans often choose the easier path, but not her.

Days later she came to the group, throwing herself on the floor to demonstrate her ability to push her body from the ground, saying, “See? I’ve been practicing!”

A friend had taken her to buy groceries; she stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, holding a heavy case of water bottles.

Let me take it for you, her friend insisted. It is too heavy.

“But I wanted to do it myself. I do not understand what is happening to me.”

The group quieted, silently acknowledging that it becomes easier over time to depend on the kindness of others: to sit rather than stand, to park as close as possible, to remain quiet rather than confront.

“Well, “ her group leader said. “would you consider yourself one who spends much time in prayer?”

A retired nun, she responded, “Of course!”

“Would you say that you are a prayer warrior? Can you not be a warrior in body also? Do you give up praying when you do not get what you want immediately?”
 Silence again.

“So fight. Fight to the end. Run in such a way as to win the prize.”

Another said, “I want to go on this journey with you. I want to be a warrior.”

*********************

The Melancholy creeps in like mists over the fields on a September morning, sighing and heaving regrets as the summer passes. It clenches the spine, freezes the mind, weaponizes the fears. That is not to say God cannot use the Melancholy.

It is to say that it needs to be shaped by a greater hand than human.

******************

When my mother began to fail— a fractured body after a debilitating stroke, I prayed that she would be healed— or at least made better.

I walked at the park day after day, tearfully pleading with Him.

One day, I yielded, “Take her. Release her from this terrible affliction and this body that had become such an insufficient vessel.

One month later my mother’s body was put into the ground.

Brown yields to bright green which yields to riotous pinks and blues and reds to the flame that is Autumn and, then, winter. We can clearly see the sovereign hand that created those seasons to mirror the body’s seasons. Seasons—whether sooner or later—prepare us to accept what is inevitable.

In reality, the ultimate freedom—the true healing is release from this body into the next, the real world.

As we grow close to winter in whatever year of our lives, our bodies use pain to speak, to begin releasing from this sphere to the next which is why it is so difficult to accept a sudden death, especially someone in youth.

Perhaps aging and pain are God’s reminder that the human body is a temporary harbor-a mulberry of sorts—part of a battle in a war that is being fought on a far greater scale than we can see. ***************** Autumn Sky

Acrylic on board/Corel Painter