“But one day when you are old others will tie you up and escort you where you would not choose to go”—Jesus speaking to Peter in the 21st chapter of John. I have yet to be tied up, but once again, life is teaching me another lesson in humility. The root word for humility is “humus” (not the dip) but “of the earth”. In other words, to be brought down to the very essence of truth/reality. I remember when the American Disability Act was passed in 1990, I was 41 and I thought “Good for them”.
Soon I began to notice ramps and rails. I got irritated when their construction got in my very important way. Never mind I had spent six years of my life working with, and advocating for, people who through no fault of their own found themselves with all sorts of challenges. I had once climbed the Eiffel Tower in slip-ons in minutes, and ran the White Rock Marathon, where I finished 1556 out of 3500+ runners. I was invincible!!!
Well, 34 years later I look for the ramps and rails. Through both the reality of genetics, poor habits, and the ravages of “long Covid” I find myself in a state of vulnerability. I have a cane that I named Virgil. I am slow… very slow, and I have learned to ask for help. I have noticed that a guy with a cane gets many doors opened for him. When I am slowly rising from a chair some folks are eager to offer “can I help”? Sometimes I have even said “sure”.
My grandmother Opal used to say from her wheelchair, “If I had to choose between being in a wheelchair or losing my marbles I would take keeping my marbles”. I do not want to have to pick, I want both!!! I remember playing a simulation game at church camp where we were given a disability, like blindness or the inability to walk. We took turns helping each other and walking around with blindfolds, etc. Well, I am no longer role playing, this is real and I don’t see it getting better.
To get to the recreation pool here in this Wyndham, I get to choose between going up 10 steep stairs or a ramp that goes on forever. I choose the ramp. Then I take the elevator to the pool which is the basement.
I write this not to ask for your sympathy, but rather as more of a confession with a sense of gratitude.
I suspect that when Peter remembered what Jesus told him the day was coming when he could no longer depend on his youthful strength, he couldn’t imagine that it would come to pass. It’s really not a bad thing to learn to accept help… and it sure is a gift to still be able to hold a door open, if even with my cane—“Thanks Virgil”.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 