Staying Upright

Posted on February 7, 2011 by Margaret

I’m writing from Florida and am here for a very important celebration, Micah Nathan’s first birthday. Our family lovingly nicknamed him “The Tightly Packed” because he’s chunky and wonderfully squeezable. Despite Micah’s pudge, he learned to walk early at 10 months, both plump arms straight out like a balancing pole. Watching him get around is comedic entertainment.

When a baby is learning to walk, he falls down continually. Eventually, though, he develops a toddle, and his falls happen less often. Still, it doesn’t take much to throw him to the ground. But for Micah and other one year olds, popping up without damage is the usual outcome of a fall.

A school child who falls doesn’t pop up as readily. Tears flow, and there might be a need for a cartoon-enhanced Band-Aid. But he, too, heals quickly and forgets his tumble in a hurry.

By the time we’re adults, falls are nearly non-existent. We’ve become good on our feet and sure of our step. If we do go down, it’s quite a crash, and before we get up, we pause to see if we’re hurt. Often it’s 24 hours later that we “see” what we really did through stiff muscles and fresh bruises.

A little over a year ago, when Nate’s cancer diagnosis was still new, he took a fall, the first of three during the six weeks he had left. At the time, we lacked understanding of how extensive his illness was and weren’t sure what made him lose his balance.

Nelson and Klaus, standing three feet away, were alarmed and jumped to help their father. But Nate brushed it off as nothing, embarrassed by what he labeled “a crazy fluke.” Sadly, he whacked the back of his head on the nearby door frame and got a fluke-induced goose egg, but there was no additional damage. His fall was more traumatic to us than to him.

The other day I took a fall of my own after tripping over a lamp cord. No harm was done, and I was glad no one saw me, but it made me decide I didn’t want to fall again. A broken bone, common at my age, would be less than convenient, and I’m making an effort to walk carefully, not carelessly.

If we live long enough, however, none of us will be walking. Old folk’s homes make good use of wheelchairs, and as the Bible says, aged people are sometimes taken places they don’t want to go. That’s because they can’t walk in the other direction.

When that time comes, our walking will have to be done in another realm, the realm of faith. Scripture tells us it’s best to walk by faith in God rather than by sight. The verse implies we ought to be faith-walking throughout life, not just in old age, depending on God’s guidance rather than on what we see.

When we’re able-bodied, walking through life without many physical falls, it’s easier to fall spiritually and not know it. But when we’re in a bed or wheelchair, faith-walking comes more readily. Maybe that’s the best kept secret of old age.

Meanwhile, I’m seeing “The Tightly Packed” walk well and manage life completely by sight, not faith. But it’s ok for the time being, because when he sees Grandma Midgee, he walks right to her!

“We walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

Hurry up and change.

Posted on October 5, 2010 by Margaret

When I was in 6^th grade, Marjie Simmons was my best friend. One school day we were outside during recess when she said, “Something bad’s gonna happen.”

“What?” I said.

“We have to move.”

I was speechless. Marjie told me she wouldn’t be going to 7^th grade with me, because she’d be living hundreds of miles away. This was devastating. When I told Mom, she kindly sympathized, but Dad said, “What’s all the fuss about? Before long you’ll forget all about her.”

My eleven-year-old heart was broken, because in my mind Marjie would always be #1. The thought of forgetting her was beyond comprehension. Dad’s comment bothered me for a long time, but of course he hadn’t meant any harm. What he did mean was that the sadness of Marjie’s departure wouldn’t last long, since other girlfriends would take her place. Although he hadn’t spoken with much tact, he was right.

I often wonder about Marjie. Where is she now? What has her life been like? Marjie probably moved away from our friendship as fast as I did, because children go through life changes like water through a funnel. They’re not the only ones changing, though. We adults change, too, which is good. The opposite would be sluggishness and eventually stagnation, and no one wants those.

A child’s goals are reachable: learning to walk, tying a bow, writing a name. Later it’s a little more work: conquering a sport, getting a license, buying a car. Once the childhood goals are met, things get downright complicated: choosing a career, finding a mate, conquering a bad habit. And every bit of it is change requiring growth.

Underneath the constant changing ought to be a quest for growth of intangible but lasting value: a desire to help someone in need, love the unlovable, explore a relationship with God.

My sister Mary and I once had a talk about our prayer lives. Comparing ourselves to Mom, who prayed a great deal, we were pathetic. We rode on her coattails for years. But God convicted both of us, and eventually we responded to his prayer invitation.

Then Mom died. We found ourselves wondering who would fill the prayer-void Mom left behind, especially in reference to requests made for our families.

“Maybe that’s us?” I said.

“And we got there just in time,” Mary added.

Although that change was long in coming, it’s one example of adult growth. We all have change-choice options. I should always be asking, “How can I do better? Where can I grow? What does God want me to do?” To follow his lead is to avoid a stall or stagnation.

Marjie Simmons and I quickly grew apart as kids, exactly as Dad had predicted. If we met again, it’s probable we both would have changed radically since our days together in 6^th grade. But all that change might just be good enough to bring us together as brand new friends.

Hmmm. I wonder if I could find Marjie on Facebook…

”We ask God to give you complete knowledge of his will and to give you spiritual wisdom and understanding. Then… you will grow as you learn to know God better and better.” (Colossians 1:9b-10)

FFF

Posted on October 3, 2010 by Margaret

There’s no friend like an old friend, and 45 years of friendship definitely qualifies.

Nine of us college pals are here at the cottage for a few days, 405 years of accumulated friendship and good times. We met at Wheaton College in the mid-sixties and lived in off-campus housing together senior year. That’s when we really became close, sharing all-night study gigs fueled by a brand new product, Diet Rite Cola. Looking back at pictures, you’d think we spent all our time fooling around rather than hunkering down over books.

One day Kathy decided we needed a pet and came home with three goldfish in a bowl. She named them Figgy, Figgy and Foo, and although the fish didn’t last very long, the name stuck. Eleven of us became the Figgy Figgy Foos, or the Figs, or just plain FFF.

In the 43 years since graduation, we’ve been diligent about getting together, meeting every three years for a three day weekend in different homes. The decades have shaped our lives in cities across America and one in Germany. We’ve ended up becoming a missionary, a dean of students, a pastor, an editor, a social worker, a computer consultant and several school teachers. Coming together every three years takes effort… completely worth it.

The longer we live, the more interesting our gatherings become. We’ve taken divergent paths, and when we come together to catch up on three year’s worth of stories, the conversation is rich. Email has made it easier to arrange our reunions, and today we even spent a few minutes huddled over a laptop watching our favorite YouTube video clips, howling with laughter. Wasn’t it just yesterday we learned what the letters PC meant?

And that’s what old people do. They reminisce and say, “It seems like yesterday.”

How can it be that we all went on Medicare this year? Why is it that many are retiring? How come we’re talking around health issues? Can we be that old already?

Tonight, as we got sore stomachs from raucous laughter playing “Catch Phrase,” we had as good a time as in our college days. Age didn’t matter. Longstanding friendship did.

Although having fun has been our consistent theme, we’ve had to get serious, too. Two of our number have already died, both from cancer. And now Nate, too, is gone. Although he wasn’t a Fig, he was an adjunct member just like the other husbands are, and he is missed. We’re well aware time does run out on earthly friendships and want to make the most of the ones we have left.

When the 11 of us left the college campus in 1967, none of us knew how long we’d remain pals. And tonight we concluded that although laughing and being goofy has kept us wanting more, the core reason for Fig-unity is our shared belief in Jesus Christ. He’s the constant, the one who is present at every gathering and most important to us as individuals. He’s the glue that holds us together.