Tales from a Mid-Lifer

“…..You can be saved by returning to me.
You can have rest.
You can be strong by being quiet and by trusting me….” Isaiah 30:15 GWT

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
    in quietness and trust is your strength…” Isaiah 30:15 NIV

The weeks leading up to our London trip, I warned my family that I might need to cancel. Beginning in late August, I was laid up with back and neck issues unlike I had previously experienced.

Despite a long-ago, serious back injury, I have always lived a highly active life. Regular exercise is a must to ensure minimal discomfort. By God’s grace, you would never guess I manage an ongoing back issue. 

Maybe it was the move, or the physical stress of months of sorting and boxing. When we finally finished all the big stuff, I felt the need to have a good workout. I used heavy leg weights at the gym and did a few other things I hadn’t in ages. That foolish decision is what likely pushed my body over the edge, leaving me on the couch for two weeks, followed by a lengthy period of time before I was fully upright.

By day two, I realized the couch and bed would be my closest companions for the near future. In the past, a wrong move led to a hunched over hobble for a couple of days. The pain was different this time. I couldn’t walk for longer than shuffling to the bathroom and getting to the kitchen. Sitting was out of the question, the instantaneous, radiating pain reminding me of the widespread inflammation. The smallest movement proved once again that every single element of our being really is “connected”.

Laying on the couch, I memorized the ceiling. Pain was too great early on for turning my head toward the TV. I couldn’t concentrate on an Audible book. Holding my Bible or devotional was a hard no. “Well, it’s just You and me, Lord,” I announced out loud in my empty living room. I could almost hear Him say, “it always just comes down to you and Me”.

By day three flat on my back, tears streamed down from the inactivity and loneliness. The time initially felt empty and void of meaning until my prayers traveled into deeper layers. By mid-day, the time became sacred. The particulars of the kids’ lives, relationships, work…friends…were saturated in thoughtful prayer. Bigger picture petitions were offered. Though this time I wondered if surgery was imminent, I knew I’d get back up one way or another. This rest was just going to run longer. God pressed upon me those souls laying on their sofas, possibly never recovering from what afflicted them. They needed prayer. I needed increased gratitude.

Every second wasn’t filled with prayer but silence. God planted unique seeds. My thought life changed. I gained new perspective. Though my usually-active body still grieved the inability to move freely, the remainder of those days delivered a much-needed rest, growth, contemplation, and so much more.

The time wasn’t only sacred, but I realized it was ordained.

There is zero chance I would engage in days-long rest, silence and intense prayer – and certainly not fourteen in a row – if not laid out.

In recent months, our daughter had moved in briefly when she relocated back to NY and then out again, closer to the office. We sold our family home, constantly talked about what was “next”…relocate south? Stay local? Where will the kids eventually move? Our son became engaged. Though the again-empty-nest slowed my days a bit, my weary mind was less than peaceful. The silence became welcome. 

At 57, things don’t bounce back quite as fast, and small setbacks take longer to heal. After the two weeks, it was a painfully slow re-admittance to normal. Little things like sitting in a chair for five minutes and getting up off it without wincing and groans, elicited out-loud praises to the Lord. Tears of gratitude quietly hit the comforter when I could finally make my bed.

I forced myself one afternoon to attempt a trip to Wegmans and immediately pulled over so my daughter could drive. The mere pressing a gas petal sent my pain reeling. There was no “mind over circumstance” option for nearly a month.

As I approached the one-month mark, things had improved enough that double doses of steroids would get me through international flights, though I prepared my daughters that a day of rest in a hotel room would absolutely not equal them staying behind. Turned out, I was fully able – in Him – to live and move and have my being (Acts 17:28). To have seen me weeks earlier, then in the treasured moments in London with my girls…now, later staring at the photographs…it was nothing short of miraculous.

Despite a return to almost-normal activity, silence remains a vital part of my most important communication.