I just read about a minister who got his feelings hurt because he wasn’t invited to a picnic given by a group from his congregation. When someone realized the oversight and called to invite him, he told the caller it was too late. He had already prayed for rain.
Why does that resonate with me? I guess I’m still thinking about the “envy thing”. My life feels stalled and passive while everyone else is moving on with such purpose and bustle that I feel left behind. I imagine and hope that will all change when my treatment is over and my strength returns. Then I can begin planning trips and outings with confidence that I will be able to not just endure but enjoy the activity.
A quick glance at the paper shows dozens of things that I think I would normally enjoy doing but don’t have the energy to pursue. Realistically, however, I confess that it has been a long time since I went to a concert or a play. My inertia must have preceded my treatment with me scarcely realizing it. When did it happen that the major events of my weeks and months were church and brief get togethers with friends to visit or have lunch?
That really isn’t true, is it? I was in Georgia just this January and February visiting our orphanage and spending time with friends. Surely that isn’t boring and does require some level of energy. During my treatment and recovery I have enjoyed visiting with friends and relished normal activities. I’ve laughed and giggled and shared old memories and made new ones. Maybe it’s all in my head that my life has become a long, lazy period with breaks for appointments and treatments and little else.
I haven’t been left behind after all. I’m just stalled a bit. My canoe is tied up at the shore for a while but friends row by and bring me flowers and sweets and shower me with encouragement and love. The river is waiting when I’m ready to row again.
.
I relate, Edythe.
ReplyDeleteThe first time I had a realization about that same was about 2/3 of the way through my tour of duty in Vietnam (I'm a little slow . . .) and recieved letters from friends and relatives who were obviously "moving ahead." It was a little like the onset of fall. I don't anticipate a date. Usually, the "fall realization" happens on my way into town fairly early in the morning and my senses tell me the shadows are a little longer than they've been. The fall into fall has started.
The second, and more startling realization was when I was in Berlin talking to my son and he described his year in Iraq and his subsequent home coming. His description reminded me it had was happened all over again for him.
Of course, as always, I learn from you. I think for many years, my canoe was tied up on shore . . in rocks. There were holes in it and the thing'd sunk. Thanks for a better perspective. I hope I can walk in the light of it.
R.