Bliss

There is great beauty in symmetry.

You don’t always get it in life. Many times, things are left open-ended, without conclusion or closure. One random thing progresses after another, without any discernible pattern.

Symmetry makes me feel safe, like there is order in the universe after all. A bookend on either end of an experience seems to give it more definition. I can understand it better in reflection. Reinforcement is a valuable learning tool.

As we prepare for huge changes in the next few weeks, it was comforting to receive that second bookend as a little gift.

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

Exactly one month after Katherine’s AVM rupture, I'd posted the following on her Caringbridge site:

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Yesterday, I left the hospital to walk to a spa named "Bliss." Some of Katherine's incredible friends who know about my spine/fibro/artho pain arranged for me have a massage there. On the way, I started grumbling at God. I told Him there were too many babies who weren't wanted in the first place. I reminded Him of all the abusive or just-average mothers in the world. I brought back to His attention the fact that Katherine is the most head-over-heels in-love mother I've ever seen. I questioned His judgment in depriving James of such a mother at such a critical bonding time.

Just then, I crossed the street into a church parking lot where I saw the sign above. Obviously, God was sending a subtle reminder that, a.) I shouldn't question providence and, b.) Katherine's brain cells are His property. Then, I noticed a line of large river stones strewn through the parking lot and out into the street directly across from "Bliss." (Is any interpretation needed there?)

This morning I found out that the ventrix had been removed from Katherine's brain.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow....even to grumblers like me.

Love, Kim

In trying to refresh my mind about that now-misty time, I went back to May, 2008, in the archives. I discovered that I had introduced the concept of ‘memorial stones’ in a blog just the day before the events described above.

God’s timing gives me chills.

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

“Bliss” spa is in the ultra-elegant “W” Hotel. The “W” exemplifies extreme LA cool. The décor is slick and modern, but with a twist. Mind-boggling flowers and multiple chic furniture groupings grace the generous spaces. Dramatic low lighting and fragrant candles infuse the atmosphere with an exotic Eastern fusion vibe. Entering the lobby feels like entering another dimension. A little bit like paradise.

But the “W” just happens to be less than half a block from the old hospital, our original hotel, and the current apartment in Westwood.

Our introduction to the “W” came as the result of a gift of love. Just prior to her brain injury, Katherine had become involved in a group called “Mothers and Others” at Bel Air Presbyterian. They are an unusually amazing group of young women. (I have mentioned them before. It was they who trailed the halls of the abandoned old UCLA hospital looking for the sole survivors in the Neuro-Rehab unit in order to bring us lunch every day, tiny children thrown in strollers for the lengthy ride.) As if the constant, costly meals weren’t enough, they took up a collection to send me to “Bliss” for a massage. It is not the most economical place in LA for this service. It represented sacrificial love.

Katherine was still in ICU at the time, facing many critical challenges. Leaving the hospital that day for my appointment at “Bliss,” I felt drained and discouraged. The “miracle euphoria” was wearing off. Although we were still surrounded by teams of encouragers, the reality of what lay ahead was extremely sobering. It was starting to sink in…denial was dissipating.

I walked across the street into a church parking lot to take a shortcut to the “W.” I couldn’t shake the questioning going on in my head. In a way, I guess I was asking God if He really knew what He was doing.

At the moment I was thinking those things, I looked up to see the sign right in front of my face. I couldn’t believe it. I just love it when He’s that overt. Sometimes I’m kind of slow with modern parable symbols. But then, when I looked down and saw the big stone at my feet, I was overwhelmed. There was a line of them going through the parking lot, across the next street, right up to the steps leading to Bliss. It reminded me of the trail of crumbs Hansel and Gretl left on the forest floor to find their way back home. I got it that time.

Months later, Katherine was treated to the same experience at Bliss. As my mother and I sat in the pleasant waiting area, the manager came up and started a conversation. She was moved by Katherine’s situation, and very generously gave us gift certicates to come back for a spa pedicure as her guests.

It never worked out for us to go back while Mother was out here. But Katherine, the ultimate Frugalista, never forgot about those gift certificates.

Friday was Katherine and Jay’s 5^th anniversary. They came into LA and we had a little celebration before Jay took Katherine out for a fabulous dinner. The next morning, we went back to Bliss to cash in the gift certificates. She wanted to make sure they were used before we leave Westwood.

We had a lovely time together, chilling in the ‘relaxing room’ afterwards…scarfing down free food and tea. As we were (very reluctantly) leaving, I noticed that the same kind of river stones I’d seen in the church parking lot a year and a half ago had been used as filler in the flowerbeds at the “W.” Evidently, the truck originally holding them must have taken that same shortcut through the parking lot. I reached down and picked up the most tangible memorial stone I’ve collected yet: (Thanks, W!)

...A fitting second bookend to this time in Westwood. A reminder of how far we’ve come since the first time I visited “Bliss.”

The concept of collecting stones of remembrance is scattered throughout the Old Testament. In each case, they are to be symbolic reminders that God has intervened in the world in some definitive way…whether it’s altering the natural order of things, such as parting raging waters; giving supernatural help in achieving victory over enemies; or by manifesting an appearance of some kind, such as in the making of a covenant. In each case, His message is: Remember this. Carry it with you in your heart. Don’t forget it the next time adversity comes, and you can’t see me or hear my voice. I am with you even then. Remember how I have rescued you in the past. Remember how I have touched you. Remember how I have made a way, when none existed. Hold fast to these memories, for I am the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I will never, never, never leave you or forsake you. Even when the great darkness obscures my face, I am with you still. I will come to you again. And I will act. I will fight against those who fight against you. The victory is already mine.

In this journey of life, we will fight one battle after the next, face one hardship after another. We will be afraid, we will stumble, we will want to turn back. Sometimes we may want to give up, maybe even lie down under a tree and pray for death, as the prophet Elijah did. But God has said that He will help us, rescue us, defend us, and comfort us every time we earnestly turn to him in our fear and despair. We are to carry reminders of how He has in the past.

Carrying those stones uphill will make us stronger.

And the long, hard road leads straight to Bliss.

That is home.

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

bliss

 

–noun

1.	supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment: wedded bliss.

2.	Theology. the joy of heaven.

3.	heaven; paradise: the road to eternal bliss.

4.	Archaic. a cause of great joy or happiness.

…the more understanding and knowledge we have by the gracious leading of the Holy Spirit, the more we shall see and know our failings. And always, the more that we see them, the more naturally we shall long to be completely filled with love and bliss. For we are made for endless joy and bliss, and our natural substance is now blissful in God, has been so since it was made, and shall be so without end.” (14^th showing)

“In the same manner we know that when man fell so deeply and so wretchedly by sin, there was no other help to restore man but through Him who made man. He Who made man for love wills, by the same love, to restore him to his former bliss, and give him even more.” (2nd showing)

For it is God’s will that we hold ourselves in His Comfort with all our might, for bliss is everlasting, while pain is passing and shall be reduced to nothingness for those who shall be saved. Therefore it is not God’s will that we follow the feelings of pain, sorrowing, and mourning on their own account, but that we immediately pass beyond them and hold ourselves in the endless delight that is God. (8^th showing)

(From The Revelation of Divine Love by Dame Julian of Norwich (14th cent.), translated by M.L. del Mastro)

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

(Wedded Bliss.)

Restoration Time

October 16 was James’ 2nd birthday. Following an Arnold family tradition, he had a “family only” party this year. (He'd been blessed with a huge one for his first.) Because Katherine and Amie’s birthdays were less than two weeks apart, we'd instituted an “every-other-year” party schedule during their childhoods. The Mom couldn’t handle two cake-smearing scream-fests in such close proximity.

Katherine decided that this was a good model to follow.

Unfortunately, the day didn’t turn out exactly as planned, because Katherine had an unexpected doctor’s appointment at the time when she wanted to have the party. Instead, we just had cupcakes and presents after a nice dinner that James’ daddy prepared at the apartment in LA. James’ aunties Amie and Grace were the only guests. James was delighted with the Elmo arrangement I’d assembled on the table, but wasn’t sure about the rest of the deal. He burst into tears when we all got in his face to sing “Happy Birthday.”

Following that, he immediately began acting his chronological age.

After supper, Katherine tried to get him to sit on the sofa with her to watch his new birthday movie. He clung to me like his life depended on it. When she pulled him closer to her, he struck out at her. That’s when I noticed the scratch on her neck. "He's very angry at me," Katherine said when I asked her about it.

Although it broke my heart to hear those words coming out of her mouth, in some ways it was a relief to finally get it all out on the table…acknowledge the elephant in the room. “He just doesn’t understand,” I told her.

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

The next morning, I checked my email. A timely devotional from Joni* had arrived:

My Birthday Tree

Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. (Gen. 28:18)

What a beautiful month this is! I remember the trees back on our family farm in Maryland rustling their colorful skirts, ablaze in wild reds and crazy yellows. Of all the oaks, maples, and pines on our farm, one particular tree was my favorite. It was an old, spreading maple growing by the spring house. In October its leaves were resplendent in red, tinged with purple edges. And I know that on my birthday, October 15, this maple would reach its peak of color as it did every year. For this reason, I called it my birthday tree.

Each year my tree marked how far I'd come or what I had or hadn't done. It was my "stone of remembrance." Jacob had a stone of remembrance. He heaped together a pillar of stones to mark the spot where God had pledged in a dream to watch over Jacob and to bless his descendants. The pillar of stones was a visible, concrete reminder that God had touched his life.

That's what birthdays are, too--our private marks in time, our stones of remembrance. I want my birthday, like that maple tree, to be a mark of change in my life. Something to show progress and growth…

God’s timing.

October 15 is the day of my father’s death. October 16 is the day of James’ birth. Brooks and I just returned from his dad's 85th birthday party in Palm Beach...one of the two living greatgrandfathers (named James) for whom our own little James Thompson Wolf is named. It’s strange how many of my closest friends have October birthdays.

Milestones.

The night we celebrated James’ birthday, Katherine happened to introduce that topic into our conversation. James' birthday was somewhat sobering for her. A reminder of all she’s missed.

On the morning of April 21, 2008, James was a well-loved, 6-month-old, breastfed baby. His mommy was a beautiful, vivacious, active, hands-on parent. She had a lovely voice that constantly crooned comforting words to her little one.

A sweet moment is crystallized in my mind: We are sitting on the sofa in the Malibu apartment. Katherine picks her baby up and holds him high over her head. She smiles into his face and sing-songs, “Jamesie Boy, my little love nugget!” He bursts into giggles and drools down into her face. She laughs, too.

Katherine couldn’t stand to be away from that baby. I’ve never seen a mother so dizzily besotted. James was enveloped in a cozy cocoon of warm, happy love.

But then she went away.

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

James has had many “mothers” since then. A village, in fact. Katherine’s close friends Anna and Andy took him into their home and treated him as their own in the early weeks of ICU. Anna was pregnant with their first child at the time. Jay’s sister Sarah came back from Africa to care for him for several months after that. James’ two grandmothers have been the primary care-takers since then, greatly assisted by Jay’s aunt Judy, Katherine’s cousins Michelle and Elizabeth, Jay’s sister Mary Austin and cousin Natalie, and many wonderful friends like Miss Liz, Miss Cindy, and Miss Lacey. James is a lucky little boy to have so much love. His grandmothers are blessed to be able to have such uniquely close bonds with a grandchild. He adores Honey and Mimi, and, of course, we absolutely adore him back.

But.

Neither of us is his mommy.

He just doesn’t really realize that right now.

Frequently, I feel guilty about my relationship with James. It seems as if I’m stealing something from my own child, taking candy away from my own baby. It’s her sugar I’m getting. Her affection I’m borrowing, her kisses I’m stealing.

In LA, I'm sometimes mistaken for James’ mother. Celebs have set an example for late-life child-raising, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. But as flattering as the mistake may be, I make sure that I work the distinction into the conversation as soon as possible. “No, I’m his grandmother,” I emphasize.

As a child, I was in love with both of my grandmothers. Sometimes they were more fun than my poor mother, who had the thankless job of being my primary disciplinarian. But, still, my mama was my mama. It was she to whom I turned first with a boo-boo or a broken heart.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I started singing a little song to James:

"Honey is your GRANDmama, And Mimi is your GRANDmama, But Mommy is your REAL mama!"

I have no idea if he has a clue what any of that means.

It makes me feel sad and angry.

Katherine has been outrageously robbed. Pestilential locusts have come in like the Mongolian Horde and raped, pillaged, and destroyed much that is beautiful and sacred. They have invaded the sweet sanctuary of a mother’s intimacy with her first-born child and knocked over the altar, spilled the wine, and broken the stained glass windows. They have eaten away precious moments that can never be regained, gorged themselves on memories never made.

I think that James’ second birthday had the unfortunate side effect of materializing Katherine’s realization of these thefts and losses. In some ways, it served as a milestone reminding her of missed opportunities, adventures, and intimacies. I can imagine her subconscious screaming, “Where has the time gone? Where have I been? How much did I sleep through? Can we please replay that part with the 9-month-old little boy? The 1-year-old?? Can I watch him learn to crawl…to drink from a cup…say his first word? How is it possible that I missed all that? I didn’t get to do the things I wanted to do for him!”

But.

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten-the great locust and the young locust,the other locusts and the locust swarm…You will have plenty to eat, until you are full,and you will praise the name of the LORD your God,who has worked wonders for you…” (Joel 2:25-26)

God’s got to repay Katherine, Jay, and James for a lot of locust damage.

It’s a good thing they have the assurance policy.

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

James is very confused right now. He does seem angry with his mother. I wonder what’s going on in his subconscious as well. Does he think his mother abandoned him? Does he fully understand that The Before and The After are even the same person? Is he mad at her for changing? For not turning out to be who he thought she was?

It’s normal for kids to hate their parents, occasionally. We may give them good reason. Sometimes we’re not capable of giving them what they need at the time they need it. It might be because they don’t understand our motives…can’t see our hearts. Don’t realize that we’re just flawed human beings doing the best we can. Or perhaps it may be misdirected anger…self-hatred or frustration that can’t be realized. Or simple thwarted self-will. A child may interpret discipline as cruelty.

We have to love our children enough to let them hate us on occasion. We may have to allow them to think we’ve abandoned them when we haven’t.

Sometimes we may feel as if our heavenly Daddy has abandoned us, as well.

But He hasn’t. It’s just that we can’t always see His heart.

We have to try to focus on the Big Picture. In the end, all will be well. Everything will be resolved. We will understand fully, even as we're fully understood. Until then, we struggle through this mortal existence with partial clarity, doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt. We fall, and rise back up; we’re broken, and then mended.

And, hopefully, we give each other grace. Much, much grace.

I believe there will be healing, restoration, and forgiveness. Where there is dismantling, there will be rebuilding; where there is unraveling, there will be reknitting; where there is separation, there will be rebonding.

Because I believe this, I have to trust that all will be well with my daughter and her son one day. I go back to the memorial stone I received on the airplane ride mentioned in “Hope against Hope.” (Archives, 12-14-08) I remember what 'God’s messenger’ told me then. His sister, the mother of a young child, had a very severe stroke, resulting in a coma. The doctors were completely without hope. But there was a miracle. Although the young mother missed much critical time with that child, he grew to be closer to her than any of her others. And the most well-adjusted.

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

A couple of days after his birthday, James decided that he’d really test out this "Terrible Two" thing. He morphed into Sid Vicious. He was awful to Katherine, hitting her, scratching at her, and pushing her away. "James, please don’t be so mean to Mama. It hurts my feelings.” Katherine said to him. When I came over to the sofa to intervene, he ran off. “I’m sorry, BooBoo,” I tried to comfort her. “He’s just acting out. It’ll get better.”

“I know it will, Mom. I can wait,” she assured me.

("But how long’s it gonna take?” I wondered.)

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

Sunday morning, James came up to me and sweetly begged, “Hode ju, Mimi, hode ju!” Although I was putting makeup on at the time, I picked him up and hugged him tight. We looked at ourselves hugging in the mirror. His arms clenched around my neck, he sang, “Mimi is my GRANDmama.”

When I took James in to see his mother, he didn’t fight me or try to run away. I handed him to her in bed. Putting his arms around her neck, he said, “Good munnin', Mama.”

“Do you love me, James?” Katherine asked.

“I wuz you, Mama,” James answered.

Then he smeared a little wet nose matter on her face.

One day, everything’s gonna be alright.

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

“This is what the Lord says: At just the right time, I will respond to you. On the day of salvation I will help you…

Sing for joy, O heavens!
 Rejoice, O earth!
 Burst into song, O mountains!
For the Lord has comforted his people
and will have compassion on them in their suffering…

Can a mother forget her nursing child?
Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! 
See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands…

Soon your descendants will come back, and all who are trying to destroy you will go away. Look around you and see,
for all your children will come back to you. “As surely as I live,” says the Lord “they will be like jewels or bridal ornaments for you to display…

This is what the Sovereign Lord says: “See, I will give a signal to the godless nations. They will carry your little sons back to you in their arms;
they will bring your daughters on their shoulders…”

(Promises of Restoration, excerpted from Isaiah 49)

*Joni Eareckson Tada, www.communications@joniandfriends.org

Hi, Friends,

Just a note to say that I'm able to write again, and hope to post some thoughts by Monday.

In addition to rose-smelling time with James, I forgot my laptop when we went to stay in Pomona last week. (I always forget something!)

I did have some good intercessory prayer time. Having seen it's great efficacy in our own situation, I am trying to be more faithful and consistent in interceding for others. I would particularly like to ask you to join me in praying for the situation mentioned in the first comment on the previous blog. A little 3 1/2 year old boy has been diagnosed with leukemia. How my heart goes out to this family! And my prayers go up for them.

Life is so very fragile. Attending therapy with Katherine at Casa Colina this week, my heart broke for some of the new patients there. I pray that they will be given the gift of HOPE in spite of their seemingly hopeless circumstances. Our own problems seem "light and temporary" in comparison to those.

We are all in the same lifeboat in a stormy sea, as Chesterton says, so let us love one another truly, from the heart.

Find some joy this weekend.

And share it.

Love, Kim

The Cast

In checking out the little counter thing at the bottom, I noticed that there have been more "first-time visitors" than usual. I wonder why that is?

Anyway, it dawned on me that, for someone just stopping by to check things out, it's like starting a novel in the middle of the 20th chapter.

Personally, I hate it when people pepper their conversation with unfamiliar names, assuming that the listener is clairvoyant. "I was talking to Henry the other day, and he said......" (Henry Who? What does Henry have to do with me or this conversation???) I realize that I was guilty of that offense in the "Split Second" post.

Because it is a little pet peeve of mine, I thought it might be a good idea to list the major cast members for any interested new-comers. Literally thousands of people have played a part in this story. Doctors, nurses, pastors, friends, relatives, strangers, and prayer warriors have all had vital roles.

But these are some of the primary players I might (rudely) reference without identification:

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

(Not necessarily in order of appearance)

Katherine Arnold Wolf--the heroine

Jay(aka Jason)--her husband

James--their adorable son

Brooks (“BigB”)--Katherine’s father

Kim (“Mimi”)--Katherine’s mother

Amie--the “Middle Sister”

Grace--the youngest Arnold sister

Dr. Jay (aka “Big J” and “Poppy”)--Jay III’s dad

Mary Ruth (“Honey”)--Jay III’s mother

Sarah--the oldest Wolf daughter

Jeremiah--her husband

Mary Austin--middle Wolf daughter

Alex--youngest Wolf daughter

Johnny--Jay’s 1^st cousin who lives in LA

I do welcome those new to our family's story, and invite you to skim through some of the early posts from 2008 to learn more about how it all started, and how very far we've come since then. It has been an agonizing, but miraculous, journey so far.

And it is very far from over.

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

"Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far has the Lord helped us." (I Samuel 7:12)

Smelling Roses

I have the enfant terrible all by myself in LA for a few days. (Having turned '2' last week, he now officially qualifies as terrible.) Our most precious, adorable little monster refuses to let me spend more than a few minutes on the Mac without getting jealous for my attention.

We are very busy making multiple messes and cleaning them up.

There is little time for anything else. So I've decided not to try.

We're just gonna stop and smell the roses. Walk around Westwood and look for signs of fall.

Just be for a few days. No expectations.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the flowers. I thought it was a good fall mix. (Trader Joe's, of course!)

Love,

Kim

p.s. Oh yes...I will be praying for all of you who have shared needs with me. So many people are going through such pain, trials, and hardships. Sometimes prayer is absolutely the most active thing you can do.

I'll be busy.

A Split Second

Sunday* was a good day.

Our nuclear family was reunited. We attended a wonderful service at BelAir Presbyterian. The sermon was on the parable of the prodigal son, which is my all-time favorite. The music was spectacular. We floated out on a happiness high.

Afterwards, we tried a new (for us) place in Brentwood for brunch. It was bright, chic, and elegant. The food was fabulous. We were joined by good friends Melissa and Hayley, and by Jay’s cousin, Johnny, who was just back from shooting a movie in Canada. It was a sweet time, full of convivial conversation and loud laughter. We had much to celebrate…Katherine’s recent progress…Grace and Hayley’s pledging of their favorite sorority at Pepperdine that week…Johnny’s upcoming movies and new contracts.

James entertained himself (and us) by putting bread, goldfish, Thomas the Train, and his juice box into glasses of water and on the floor. The wait staff was amused, not irritated. We lingered as long as we could, reluctant to go our separate ways.

We lingered even longer in the parking lot. Johnny made James laugh maniacally by turning him upside down and whooshing him around. Amie was cracking one-liners. Plans were being discussed, goodbyes and phone numbers being exchanged.

Everyone and no one was in charge of James.

I looked up to see him running across the parking lot to Jay’s car, where Brooks was helping him get Katherine settled in. At the same moment, I saw the rear lights of a van go on, in preparation for backing out.

A sharp panic rose up in my chest and burst out into a loud, hoarse scream. “Wait!” I yelled, to the car, to James, to God, to the moment. “WAAAAAIIIIITTTT!!!!” Then I started screaming my husband’s name.

As I screamed, I started running. In my little church dress and shoes, I burst forward like a horse out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. Later, my family told me that they didn’t know it was physically possible for me to run that fast. I don’t really remember it. It was one of those slo-mo 15 seconds.

All I saw was a little boy toddling toward danger. The light of our lives oblivious to the risk to his.

And all I know is that I was going to get behind that van before he did, whether I had to fly or crawl.

I can barely write about it without feeling as if I’m going to throw up.

I guess the people in the van either saw or heard the lunatic charging up behind them. After scooping James up into my arms, I ran to Katherine and Jay's car like it was our team's goalpost with 3 seconds left in the game. I cried a little as they buckled him into his car seat. I couldn't breathe.

For the rest of the day, I was so shaken that I felt sick. I took some Advil and lay down with a pillow on my face when we got back to the apartment. When the 'happiness high' bubble burst, it left behind a dispersion of gray fog.

I think it was because I know something now, more than I've ever known it before:

It just as easily could have happened as not.

I think of the horror of what the Steven Curtis Chapman family has endured.* I’m sure that day probably started out as an ordinary day.

Those kinds of days usually do.

And then, in a split second, everything changes forever.

Cherish every little average moment...before it splits.

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

p.s. To ease Katherine's anxiety on the way home from the parking lot scene, Jay sang an old favorite from their childhoods: Amy Grant's "Angels Watching Over Me." It serves as a good reminder for all of us.

They do.

*9-27-09

*www.christianitytoday.com/music/news/2008/sccfamily.html

Flexibility

This summer, I “celebrated” a fairly major birthday. I received a card from a local department store inviting me to enjoy my Senior discount. The checkout guy at Earthfare gave me one without my even asking for it.

Gee, thanks, for that insulting 10% savings on the tofu.

In some ways, it seems like a big joke. The surface may have changed, but there’s still a 17-year-old girl inside, on her way to a Led Zeppelin concert in a GTO. A skinny child-bride playing house. A young mother with Eighties Big Hair and a string of darling little daughters in matching outfits trailing behind her.

In other ways, I feel about 105.

Strange how life creeps and flies at the same time.

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

My husband surprised me with the gift of sessions with a personal trainer in LA. I’m supposed to be continuing with a physical therapy/exercise program on my own, but, unfortunately, I face significant challenges in the self-discipline department. He thought I could use a little push in the right direction.

My trainer is a beautiful young woman from the Ukraine named Anastasia. I’ve always loved the name. It means “Resurrection” in Russian. She is trying to help me resurrect this tired, achy old body of mine. Sometimes I call her “Anastasia Grozhnaya,” “Anastasia the Terrible,” because she forces me out of my comfort zone. (i.e. “no pain or sweating.”)

It seems not so very long ago that I could plop myself down on the floor, throw my legs out at 180 degree angles, and press my chest to the floor. As long as I did that every once in a blue moon, it remained easy to do. Now it feels like being torn apart on The Rack.

No matter how often I stretch, it seems as if I have to start all over from Ground Zero the next time. I’m stiffer than I’ve ever been. Anastasia has to help me. When we finish the workout, she ‘stretches me out.’ Sometimes she’ll put her knee into my back and pull my arms backwards until I think they’re coming out of the sockets. Or hold my hip up at an uncomfortable angle until it trembles. I tease her that it’s KGB torture.

But it helps me. When we’re finished, my pain level is diminished. I feel energized and flexible. Less brittle and fragile.

More alive.

I realize that if I am not stretched out, these old myalgic muscles will become increasingly rigid.

(I’m on the downhill slope toward rigor mortis now.)

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

In the years just prior to the cataclysm of April, 2008, I had become increasingly set in my ways...inflexible, unable to accept change or go with the flow. As health problems mounted, I clung to established coping mechanisms. My world was becoming increasingly smaller and smaller; more and more limited.

I absorbed negative predictions into my psyche and spirit and acted out of them. For instance, I was told by three different health–care professionals that I would probably never have another pain-free day, but that “we would learn to cope with it.”

My “I can’t…” list grew longer and longer. I grieved over the many things I thought I’d never be able to do again.

I’m doing most of those things now.

I’m also doing many things I’ve never done before. (Not to mention many things I hoped never to have to do.)

Everything about life is a stretch right now. An impossibly big stretch.

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

At a time of life when many of my contemporaries are entering into the blissful part of empty-nesting (developing new hobbies, traveling, socializing, taking care of themselves more), I have entered into quite a different world.

I don’t get to do what I think I want to do as often as I’m used to doing so.

I spend much more time doing things I’m not good at, and don’t particularly enjoy doing. Things such as cooking, cleaning, laundry…..even (gasp) ironing on occasion. Pushing, pulling, bending, reaching, running after a toddler…..sometimes, almost literally back-breaking work for me. Relativity again…it might be bare exertion for you.

But it’s a big deal for me. Sorry to sound like a spoiled brat, but it is what it is. I grew up in a home with household help. The first thing I did with my very first paycheck was to hire help. I (sacrificially) went without a single new item of clothing for well over a year, but at least we had clean toilets. I considered this to be good stewardship. I hired someone to help me do the things I don’t do well, so that I could invest more time doing those few things that I can do well.

For more than 20 years, our family has been blessed by a 6^th member named Diane. She is the only one who knows whose socks go in which drawer. She is the brains of the household. Diane knows how to do things I don’t know how to do. She knows all of our dirty laundry, inside and out. She is an angel.

She is also my friend. But Diane doesn’t come to California with me.

It’s a stretch.

A few years ago, I developed significant sIeep/breathing issues. Because of that, I had to go through elaborate sleep rituals every night. Conditions had to be perfect in order to achieve Phase 4. Now I feel kind of like that ‘free-spirit’ college friend who always carried a toothbrush in her purse because she never knew where she might wake up. Like her, I’m all over the place these days. Occasionally, I wake up in our rickety old canopy bed in Athens, surrounded by pillows that need replacing and impossibly soft, but threadbare, sheets. Sometimes I wake up way too early in my apartment in LA, roused by the hellish howling of my neighbors’ dogs. Other mornings, I might awaken to discover a little boy draped over my head, soggy diaper in my face. There are some days when I wake up to an apartment (that looks like a frat house the morning after a party) full of people, and tiptoe around trying to make coffee without waking up whoever’s on the couch. I might be sleeping on a college dorm-style mattress in Pomona with a cute college-aged roommate, trying not to scare her with my nightly apnea gasps...or I could be in the spare bed in James’ room, trying to lie still as a mouse. Sometimes I even wake up on the couch. Occasionally, it feels a bit like being at camp or on a mission trip.

It’s a stretch.

Life is unpredictable now. Katherine has always been a big planner. We get the calendars out and try to make schedules, in an effort to force some order out of chaos. But our plans are constantly changing. Often, we are the mercy of other people’s plans and schedules. The unexpected is the norm. Frequently, I think of things I’d like to do, but half the time it doesn’t happen. Interruptions and ‘surprises’ intervene. I don’t get my own way.

An only child for the first 6 years of my life, I have always been someone who frequently needs ‘alone time’ to stay within the bounds of sanity. Now, there are times when that is an impossibility. Frequently, both space and peace remain elusive.

Everything seems a little crazy, upside-down, discombobulated. I’m getting mail from the AARP while trying to remember how to swing on the jungle gym…watching “Thomas the Train” instead of the evening news.

The constant traveling adds to a sense of disorder and confusion. It has gotten no easier with experience. Things are continually getting lost in transit. The time changes are wearing. By the time I get used to a new zone, it’s time to switch back. I’m getting tired. I’m not as young as I used to be.

It’s a stretch.

But I’ve learned a lot about stretching lately:

The less you do it, the harder it becomes.

As we ‘mature’ in the physical sense, it’s easy to develop rigidity in other areas as well. Our minds and hearts can become as rigid as our stiffening muscles and as unbending as our stiffening spines. When this happens, we become used to doing things a certain way…MY way. We resist change of any kind. We close our minds to new ideas, harden our hearts to fresh loves. Habits become idols. We become inflexible and unyielding.

Rigidity of thought, attitude, and action may lead to becoming what the Old Testament refers to as “stiff-necked people.”

“They have been quick to turn away from what I commanded them and have made themselves an idol cast in the shape of a calf. They have bowed down to it and sacrificed to it and have said, 'These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt.' "I have seen these people," the LORD said to Moses, "and they are a stiff-necked people. (Exodus 32:8-9)

Centuries later, the apostle Peter used the term again: "You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your fathers: You always resist the Holy Spirit!” (Acts 7:51)

God forbid that my neck become any stiffer than it already is!

I think the key to the prevention of that is in the verse from Acts. I have to stop resisting. I need to learn to stop fighting against the inevitable or cursing the unpreventable.

Although things often lose their meaning when they become rote, sometimes it’s good to take a look at the old Serenity Prayer with a fresh eye. The ability “…to accept the things I cannot change…” is a great gift.

I hope and pray that, with old age, will come wisdom. I want to be a wise old woman (who still likes to dance.) I want to become more mature in my faith as I “mature” in every other way.

I’ve come up with a new definition of what that means:

MATURITY: “Being okay with not getting your own way.”

Lord, please save me from 50-something-year-olds who haven’t learned this yet. (Including myself.)

Part of the maturation process involves laying down my rights and my own selfish desires. Many of the eastern religions define happiness as “the absence of desire.” There is truth in that. We are unhappy because of thwarted “wants,” whether they be things, relationships, or occurrences. I have been happiest in life at those times when I’ve felt that there was absolutely nothing more to want…such as after the birth of my first child. That feeling of complete fullness is rare on earth. The Christian translation of the eastern philosophy might be, “Let my desires become the same as Yours.”

If I want to mature, I have to allow God to stretch me spiritually, just as I allow Anastasia to stretch me physically. Both processes are sometimes painful. But the alternatives are worse. I made up a little litany to remind myself whenever I start to resist: “Stretch or ache; bend or break.” I know the stretching process will involve doing things I just really don’t want to do…but it is necessary if I truly want to become more pliant and supple, more open and free.

Recently, I took a yoga class in LA. As we were doing the last deep relaxation exercises, the instructor softly spoke these words:

"Men are born soft and supple; dead, they are stiff and hard. Plants are born tender and pliant; dead, they are brittle and dry. Thus whoever is stiff and inflexible is a disciple of death. Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life. The hard ...and stiff will be broken. The soft and supple will prevail." ~ (Lao-tzu)

I am a disciple of life….of Life Himself.

The next time He asks me to stretch, I’m going to try to remember some things I’ve learned through the occasional yoga class. I know the most important thing is to breathe.

I will remind myself to breathe much more slowly and deeply.

This will be my mantra:

Breathe out fear, breathe in faith; breathe out anxiety, breathe in peace; breathe out sadness, breathe in joy; breathe out exhaustion, breathe in vitality; breathe out sin, breathe in forgiveness; breathe out self, breathe in God.

Breathe in LIFE.

I wish I’d known these things when I was younger.

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p.s. Thank you to those who prayed for my 'flexibility' with the Mac. In some ways, it’s been a stretch. But I think we’re learning to like each other. (I was kidding when I said "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." That's what it's all about. God can even make an old leopard spotless!)