I Write…But Will Not Listen!

Ok, my readers….you’re in real-time with me right now. After all, that is the literal manifestation of “in-the-moment.” So, here you are, with me, breathing in and out…in-the-moment.

So I wrote last week in my real time experience and mentioned at the end, “the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” It seems that I’m not listening to what God is messaging as I write, live, and breathe.

The preamble to this moment began with me moving into Monday from my Sunday writing and profound literations…to “It’s Monday and reality bites….again!” Maybe you’ve been stubborn before and can accept having a thick skull…this is my first time (I’m lying to you) and I’m stunned by how easy it is to miss God’s messages and ignore His sent messengers.

Have you ever listened to a song and found that it so completely resonated with you, that when the music crescendos usually at a bridge or in the chorus or refrain….you can FEEL the rush of the crescendo in your breaths in that moment? It’s a rush, rather a tsunami of meaning and pounding in the chest of over-wrought meaning! Well that’s coming, but first…the promised preamble.

Monday I had a dermatology appointment because I’ve reached an age where every physical manifestation of growing old will probably result in cancer. I’m not making light of that…it is often a resulting cold hard truth when people get a diagnosis that is hard to swallow and changes plans.

But, here I am, in a hospital gown with just my underwear on underneath, my cold spindly chicken legs sticking out, and perched on top of an overweight midsection, which serves as the foundation supporting a adequately large head (I literally own prescription glasses from a company label called ‘FatHeads,) with a crop of thinning white hair tosseled atop. In walk….not one, but 3 young girls (I suppose they were women) that looked to be in high school and came to work straight from cheerleading camp.

With a rush of horror in my heart, the lead cheerleader introduced herself as Dr. ????? (I honestly couldn’t hear anything after she said doctor) and these other two cheerleaders were going to assist her in closely scrutinizing my body (MY BODY??) to assess if there were any concerning (albeit microscopic) spots. Of course I’m concerned….i have old age spots cropping up everywhere. Wait….are they going to scrutinize everywhere??

I’ll spare you any further descriptors as suffice to say…it was a humiliatingly humbling horrific experience. I know this; my son Jordan and daughter Sarah will guffaw loudly as they read this with utter glee. Lyssa (the good daughter) will circumspectly let loose a small chortle in comparison. So that was Monday and since I haven’t heard back regarding the 3 biopsies taken…I’m assuming, of course, that I’ve 30-90 days left on the planet.

Thursday, again with the amazingly open to interpretation (literally) hospital gown adornment, I spend 30-40 minutes in a grinding and banging and chunking MRI machine having my trick knee (that’s old man talk for I’m falling apart) scanned, so they can once again get back the results that indicate I’m old and parts of me are dying.

Now, those of you who know me, understand that I’m at home now on the Mayo Clinic web page and clicking on “bone cancer of the knee,” “age spots are not your friend,” and “what to expect after 60.” and then I’m off and running in my mind.

I’ve also spent the week not getting calls back yet from companies wanting to hire someone for the 30 job applications I put out there (for the benefit of every potential company) so that I can try and recoup the retirement funding I no longer have. So this week I came close to scraping the bottom and by Friday, I’m in a full-blown mini existential crisis ( look it up…I don’t have time left to explain) and I’m in full “I have 20 years left to live if I’m lucky” mode.

A good Christian friend called to see how I was doing, and could hear in my voice that I was leaning hard on the panic button. I was invited over for a face-to-face assessment and the pot boiled over. My friend listened to my fears of old age. Words and phrases like, “I’m not relevant anymore,” and, how will I survive retirement if I can’t retire,” followed by the biggie, “my body is falling apart.”

My friend recognized my fear, but more importantly; this friend heard my grief…felt how palpable it was in that moment, and chose to not talk…but to accept my tears as my truth. After several minutes of joining in my pain of heart, this wise Christian simply looked me in the eye and said this message to me: “This isn’t you.” That was God’s first messenger.

I left there, and went to my daughter’s house to do a few daddy-do’s projects, eat dinner and watch the NFL playoff games. In the process, she (off the cuff) gives me an idea for a job she knew about and thought I’d be really good in the position. Just a few hours earlier my pot boiled over because nobody will want this old irrelevant has-been with dermatological danger spots on his body. And suddenly I’m feeling like I could do that job. Unbeknownst to my daughter, she was servant messenger number two.

I went home from my daughter’s place and saw a text from another Christian friend and I decided to brag about my football team being great. He queried how I was doing? I shared my disappointments and he literally became God’s third messenger when he wrote,

“I knew that you were spiritually starving (before you moved away). I watched as your countenance kept falling. My respect for you grew during the time you were here because of the man you continued to be during the challenges you were facing here.You handled that situation like a GODLY MAN. You’re number one in my book!”

I pondered all these things from one day. That was Saturday.

I awakened Sunday morning and read a devotional that comes daily to my phone from Chuck Swindoll. He has decided that day to discuss how we should face old age and its frustrations. Are you kidding me right now? Lord…. Are you speaking to me?

Chuck said this, “God, however, brings about birthdays . . . not as deadlines but lifelines. He builds them into our calendar once every year to enable us to make an annual appraisal, not only of our length of life but our depth. Not simply to tell us we’re growing older . . . but to help us determine if we are also growing deeper. These lifelines are not like that insurance policy you invested in last year. There’s no automatic promise of annual renewal. Obviously, if God has given you another year to live for Him, He has some things in mind . . . He has some very special plans to pull off through your life. Surely it includes more than existing 1,440 minutes a day!”

I drive to church that morning and my pastor decides to deliver the exclamation point to God’s message in this “existential crisis” I’m wrestling with as he opens his sermon, literally, with these two questions:

1. Have you felt like life is spiraling ŷout of control?
2. If so, have you asked God, “Where are you?

Of course I sat there with tears dripping down my cheeks and mouthed these words: Lord, I’m listening.

I’ll close with the prayer that was in my heart, “O Lord…I know you can hear the words that I cannot sing or speak today. Thank you for the relentless pursuit of me with your messages of love and promise to me.”

A worship song the congregation sang today, was a new chorus to me…and once again I felt the meaning feeling in its big crescendo moment: “Lord, I want to sign your name to the end of this day…knowing that my heart was true. Let my life song sing to You!!!

I’m present and in the moment with you.