except all I’ve given away.
Not, tossed to the four winds
for others to scrape off the sidewalk,
pluck out of the trees,
or dig out from under.
No, what will be is
what I have left with others.
Given to those
who might enjoy it,
who need it,
who deserve it.
These are my eternity.
Who are these?
Eternal Father, let me see these.
I’m jogging around a small, oval 3-lane track at the gym,
so slowly, well, okay walking,
in the inside lane —
the one nearest the railing where you can look down on
three floors of people beating themselves up
to try to stave off age, time, years of inattention and just plain sluggishness —
and I see a group of young adults with rags,
wiping, wiping, wiping the railing.
No matter that the one in front has just wiped this spot,
they will wipe it again
and move onto the next
handle, next window, next wall, next surface,
at the instruction of the young woman who calls encouragement and instructions.
“Thank goodness I’m not like these,” I think.
They are not thinking that of me,
but perhaps they should be.
Thank you, Lord, for the body I have that does all it can which is more than some and less than others. Help me live in it today in a way that is pleasing to both of us. Amen.
Just practice. You’ll get it.
Some of the most powerful words ever spoken to me.
But I’m an adder.
I add, “if you practice, you’ll get it right.”
When I don’t, I get discouraged.
Because I can’t get it right.
If I did, I could stop practicing, but that is not the way.
So I try again, because trying it, and not just intending it, is how I will get it.
Oh, I could wait until someone else figures it out.
I could watch from my hiding place until it was safe to come out.
And I’d emerge, victorious.
There! I can do it, too!
But there would be no triumph.
I am not a hider, not just a survivor, I’m an engager.
In the engagement, I practice.
I got it.