Freedom Of Limits

 "Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame. If you draw a giraffe, you must draw him with a long neck. If in your bold creative way you hold yourself free to draw a giraffe with a short neck, you will really find that you are not free to draw a giraffe.” G. K. Chesterton

In part the hope was that the surgery, cutting my back open, would heal the right foot. It had been getting progressively more useless prior to the surgery. There was a slight healing, but a full healing, they said, could take a year…or more. Or never.  For the next day, or year or however long I live God has ordained this limitation of my strength and of my healing. Weak as I was before, there has been some increase of strength. Strong as I could be, it appears a significant weakness will remain in my foot. The human body as designed is bound by weakness. Theologians (h/t David O. Taylor) make the point that Christ Himself came to us in a limited body.

In Atul Gawande’s book; Being Mortal he says that the end is ‘just the accumulated crumbling of one’s body systems.” At one point he asks a well published gerontologist if we have discerned any particular, reproducible pathway to aging. “No,’ he said, ‘We just fall apart.”  

Wrestling with this framework I can see two sides, one depressing and one positive. The downer is that the body will wear out, break down, fall apart. The upside is that In this clay frame, in this finitude there is freedom. A freedom to lean into God, to love one another and to celebrate what we have.

Photo by meriç tuna on Unsplash

Rejoice In Them All

 “Seems to me, other than all things eternal, the only promised things in scripture are suffering and presence.” Our dogs were gentle and patient to no end. When they got in a fight though…You could lose an arm or a leg trying to break it up. Bruno, the younger Samoyed would step out of the round gladly but Sam was in it for dominance and blood. There was no letting go. This quote from E. Brown has had its’ teeth in me the same way.

Is it that black and white? My initial visceral reaction was to dismiss it as too simplistic. What about joy? What about peace? No, they don’t occur in a vacuum. They are a result of presence. This concept of presence persisted. His presence means we have immediate access to the ear of God; for worship and for lament. “A time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth.”

“In this world you will have trouble and suffering.” Jesus guarantees it. That quote comes at the end of a stream of scripture assuring deep-in-the-soul peace to His followers. That peace comes in the person of the Holy Spirit as a result of Christ’s overcoming the world.

So what’s niggling at me? Is it the Hound of Heaven (a nickname for the Holy Spirit) stirring me? Here it is. What about love? Or that perfect wine and cheese pairing you had last weekend? The music group that brought you to tears yesterday; what about that?

My answer has to do with the Ecclesiastes and Chestertonian mindset I’ve been soaking in this last year. “We want a fiercer delight and a fiercer discontent. We have to feel the universe at once an ogre’s castle, to be stormed, and yet as our own cottage, to which we can return at evening…. We should not be affected by the fact that there are more dragons than princesses.” Delight in the fruit of your labor, worship God the creator, enjoy the friends of your youth. Even in seasons of deep suffering these may lighten the load. “Indeed, if a man should live many years, let him rejoice in them all, and let him remember the days of darkness, for they will be many.”

        Photo by Kateryna Hliznitsova on Unsplash

The Next Step Out Of Anxiety

“Sunrise is a never-ending glory; getting out of bed is a never-ending nuisance.” Chesterton.

I fill the old Procter-Silex grinder with coffee beans. Snapping on the lid I press the lever to grind. The lever falls off. I slide it back into place. It is, after all, twelve years old. The ritual is much older than that. Not my first grinder. Listening I press down until the sound is smooth, steady; like a racing engine, less like an old car when it back-fires. I pour the dark, earth like grind into the coffee maker and add water. The last thing I do before bed. A daily ritual, a nightly expectancy of new morning mercies.

There was a season in which ritual kept me tethered. I had bet on my marriage vows and lost. Character flaws, exposed, insurmountable. Doubt and anxiety were pervasive. I was paralyzed mentally. One thing I clung to was this principal from Elisabeth Eliott, “Do the next thing.” Going to work was a relief. Lawyers, counselling and dealings with the  (ex) wife aggravating and difficult. Pray, breathe, do the next thing. Coffee ritual at the end of the day. In the morning dark drive down the hill; hot coffee in that green unbreakable mug. 

Grinding through a better season now. I grind coffee for two. Footholds feel solid. Anxiety comes but doesn’t cripple. Work is hard. Days off celebratory and restful. Not the ideal---but good. 

My nighttime ritual keeps me connected to big picture life. The expectant morning, the labor of living, the thrill of taste, the feel of heat. The coming day holds possibilities; surprises. Bad and good.  Reaching for the grinder tonight means rising from the bed tomorrow. Waiting for the promise of new mercies.