A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
The medicine go down-wown
The medicine go down
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
In a most delightful way
As I reflect on the past four years, I realize that my grumbling, complaining, and feeling sorry for myself taught me something so simple:
It is easy to list some of the simple things for which I am grateful:
- God’s promises of healing
- A simple smile
- The words “I love you”
- My husband cooking, cleaning, and more
- A phone call from your son while he’s traveling on business
- A short visit from your next-door neighbor
- Bags of meals for several nights picked up by the same neighbor
- Thoughtfulness from anyone
- Numerous healthcare givers treating you well
- The first sight of spring 2019 when Bob rolled me in a wheelchair outside the rehab center to see the daffodils blooming
- The day I learned I was going home
- How good my own bed felt after three weeks in the hospital and rehab
- Enjoying the answered prayers offered by many friends and family members
Today I’m joining a talented group of writers at Five Minute Friday. This community connects each Friday in an online, unedited free-write based on a one-word prompt. My timer is set for 5 minutes. Let’s see where this week’s prompt—BACK—leads me.
Right now, in this very moment, my days are focused on the word “back.” In a variety of ways, yes. But because of one distinct meaning for this word.
First of all, I think of back, and I think of making a comeback. I really want to come back to writing more. More of anything–essays, memoir shorts, perhaps my memoir–I just want to write. And I haven’t done much of that for almost four years. Why?
When I toy with the word “back,” I also think of the last almost four years. The chronic pain in my lower back and legs kept me distracted, unable to focus, therefore unable to write. At least that’s how I’ve experienced it. It might be different for others, but then it’s my back, my pain, my experience I’m writing about now.
So, following surgery in March, I’ve been working hard to come back from that almost four years. I’m not there yet. There’s more rehab to get through, more progress to make, more fog and darkness to push through, and more prayers to pray and patience to learn.
When I’ve accomplished all this, with God’s help, I’m certain I’ll be ready for a comeback to so many things, but most of all, to the joy of writing.
Today I’m joining a talented group of writers at Five Minute Friday. This community connects each Friday in an online, unedited free-write based on a one-word prompt. My timer is set for 5 minutes. Let’s see where this week’s prompt—PACE—leads me.
The word “pace” has many meanings:
- The timing of music and the necessity for all to keep the same pace;
- The pace car that keeps everyone at the same speed until the gun goes off to start the race;
- The beat of your heart has a pace;
- The runner has a pace to win, breathe, relax;
- A mother has a certain pace depending on where she is in her day;
- So many other meanings that I don’t have time to list.
I’ve always walked at a fairly fast pace. In the last few months, I’ve earned that isn’t my normal pace any longer. The work I’m doing with my physical therapist is my road to getting back to my normal pace. However, for now, my pace is something new and irritating. It’s slower than I’m accustomed to.
Granted it’s getting faster by the day, but for me, it’s not fast enough. When that happens and I sit and brood, the pace of the rest of me slows down. I get depressed and frustrated. I have only one pace left at that time.
I invite God to come and sit beside me, and I ask him to teach me patience and acceptance. He chuckles. God reminds me, “Sherrey, I’ve been trying to teach you patience all your life.” And He’s right—He has.
So, I smile and tell myself to pace myself. Take what comes a day at a time, one step at a time, and one day I’ll find myself walking like I always did.
Feature Image Attribution:
As I sit here in my hoodie and long pants, the question on this first day of summer remains, “Summer begins?” For days, we’ve been in a weather cycle of cool temps, scattered drizzles, and no sun until mid-afternoon. Does that sound like summer?
Granted our daisies are blooming. Today Bob found buds on some of our hostas. The geraniums are loaded with blossoms. And believe it or not, our Christmas cactus now residing on our back deck is setting buds. The plants obviously believe summer is here.
I’m sorry, but it doesn’t feel like summer yet. Not long ago we had temps in the upper 90s. We turned our furnace off. The mornings have been crisp and cool, so I’ve kickstarted the furnace to take the edge off.
Summer comes every year. I know that in my mind and heart, but I want to see it, feel it, be outside in it. And in August or September, I’ll likely be begging for a cool down.
You can’t please some folks, can you?