My Body's Betrayal

    My right ankle is my Achilles' heel.
    Ambushed by osteoarthritis, my right ankle refuses to allow an agile living--or so is the feat she tries to accomplish in me.  Today, I am being offered a deeper understanding of betrayal--physical betrayal.
     Physical betrayal?  Yes. Betrayal is not limited to human interaction.  Betrayal is alive and well in physical form.
    Physical betrayal has two layers: acute, and chronic.
    Acute physical betrayal is the sharp deviation of physical health from what is normal for a given individual.  For me, last year, acute physical betrayal was sharp pain caused by bone spurs in my right ankle.                                            
     Chronic physical betrayal is the ongoing deviation from what is considered to be normal physical health.  Once again, this year, my chronic physical betrayal is my Achilles' heel--my arthritic ankle.  It is not sharp, unabated pain.  It is stripped physical stamina, that is the physical betrayal with which I interact.
     Physical betrayal requires negotiation toward a new agreement--a negotiation from which emerges a new way of living.  Physical betrayal requires ongoing negotiation, not a one-time arbitration of grievances.  Such would be wonderful!  Such is not reality.
     For me, that has meant compromise, and accommodation.
     In recognition of my ankle's way of being, I am slower in my immediate speed of movement, and more deliberate in my pace of living.   Most importantly, I listen--with a keen ear, I listen.  I craft probing questions to ask--of my self, and of my ankle.
     Of my self, I ask, "What is most important to me that I do?  What gives me joy?  What am I willing to do to do what is most important?  What am I willing to do to make joy possible--not guaranteed, but, possible?"
     Of my ankle, I ask, "What must I do?  How much may I do? If I dare not to submit to your betrayal of me, how much may I do without compromise--without accommodation to you?"
     My accommodations to you?  First and foremost, I address you by name.  I know you are a part of me on which I stand--on which I live.  Second, I give you support.  For now, I give you a brace--an ankle foot orthotic.
      Beyond my willingness to compromise is my mental and spiritual health.  My mind--my mental well-being-and spiritual being-demands that I strive for more.
     I am not alone in needing to acknowledge physical betrayal.  I sure hope not.  I am the lucky devil for whom physical betrayal is more pronounced--easier to recognize.
    I thought that I understood the terrain of accommodation.  Last year, I learned that my ankle would not support my old way of living.  My ankle placed demands on me.  I engaged doctors in partnership toward diagnosis, and healing.
     Yet, with bone spurs debrided, my mind cries out for equal time.  I partner with orthotists, and insurance companies, and medical vendors to be given wheels to roll outside my ankle's limits on my feet.
     Easy though it may be to do, I cannot surrender to the question of, "What is it--what activity--that I am trying to trip over my ankle to do?"  I have come frighteningly close to doing so.
     I am not my life's guarantor.  I must resist being resistant, fierce, or defiant.  I must not be submissive.  I must not be a victim.  My body's betrayal will continue.  Her speed of acceleration is not mine to know.  I must be willful without being defiant.

Heroes

A different perspective--a societal perspective--regarding heroes presented itself to me this morning listening to television coverage of the crisis in Egypt.  On a personal level, prior to the coverage of this story, I was averse to the notion of heroes.  Yet, I acknowledge that heroes exist in public opinion.
     The leader of Egypt--Hosni Mubarak--was described as a "war hero" of the war between Egypt, and Israel in October, 1967. Immediately following that description, the anchor said that it is likely that the Egyptian protesters did not care about that fact.
     Am I being optimistic to think that we might be moving away from heroes--from the undue deference to heroes?
     I watched coverage of President Obama awarding a soldier publicly for saving the lives of some of his comrades.  The details of the situation are lost to my memory for the most part.  Yet, what does stand out was the soldier's response to the award.  When dubbed a "hero," the soldier ascribed his actions as being what anyone would do in a similar situation.  He lived up to the oath of service he took--acted upon the military instruction he was given.
     Yet, as I move condemning hero in whole, I am reminded of what true value hero may have, and the good hero may do, is in how it is used.  At Thanksgiving, CNN airs a program, which is entitled CNN's Heroes.  Viewers are asked to submit candidates, who are doing work that benefits others globally.  At Thanksgiving, the work of--the causes championed by--ten individuals is profiled.  The program does more to focus on the work--the causes--than it does to trumpet individuals.
    So, I pray we may move away from worshiping the heroes individually.  Rather, may we worship--honor--the work of the heroes by means of our own actions.    It requires more work. Yet, I think it enables us to live  lives with greater integrity.

Frustration's Gift

     I marvel at the words I hear regarding Gabrielle Giffords' condition as she arrives in Houston for her rehabilitation.   I feel so good for her.
     The doctors are pleased that Gabrielle has acknowledged the speech of other people around her.  If the doctors did not express the optimism they have, two layers of frustration would set in.  Most acknowledge the first.  When she regained consciousness, the efforts to use the human faculties impaired by the traumatic brain injury impose frustration that all may understand.  Yet, far more frustrating than being unable to perform--to exhibit--any given task, is the unspoken frustration that screams to be heard--unspoken screams to loved ones.  
     "I can hear you talking to me.  My body is not cooperating with your orders.  But, I am here.  Be still. Listen. Pray. I can hear you.  I am here.  Let us not despair.  Let us be together in this moment's challenge."
     As I listen with others to Gabrielle's recovery, I cringe.  I pray.  Will she return to normal to satisfy her family, friends, colleagues, and doctors--her healers?  Or, will she be allowed to be turned to a new life that may emerge from what has changed her? Will she be given, not the old words to be spoken that acknowledge healing, but, the instruments to re-create her life anew?
     I hope--I pray--that Gabrielle may be spared the full onslaught of Frustration's Screams.  May she be given enough that she may open Frustration's Gift of Appreciation.

The Breaking of the Bread

     Just now, I rediscovered a reflection written last winter, after Mass one Sunday.  It is easy for me to make my pronouncements. They--my pronouncements do not represent achievements being lived.  They are realizations that I hope I can achieve at some time.  
    I have been relinquished of the daily pressures and deadlines that are integral to everyday life for most everyone.  That is not lost on me.  I am eternally grateful for the relief I have been given, so that I may navigate my journey.

     Leo fell several times and severely injured his leg.  He had a metal rod implanted in his leg.  Since his surgery in mid-March, he has used one crutch to walk.   I feel closer to Leo than I did before his fall, and surgery.

     On Sunday, someone behind me commented that he was still walking gingerly.  He meant no malice. I said nothing.

     Yet, I at a very deep level, I hoped that he could have been awakened…jolted…into the vital reality so clearly before him.

     We are called to bring our imperfections into our walk….our journey….toward perfection….a perfection that is far from our own making, however repulsive that seems to our mental faculties--our reasoning self.

     Do we?

     Hardly.

     I am as guilty as the next person at wanting to put forth my best exterior inside the door of the church, and to my “reserved” seat.  It makes me feel good.  Likely, I will continue to do so.

     We are not called to exhibit deliberate foibles to the public square.  We are not called to project with a megaphone for all to hear our foibles, so that we may be credited for being “imperfect.”

     We are called to listen.  We are called to bring a keen ear to our lives--to our foibles.  We need to resist nothing other than to give alms, to do acts of penance to avoid facing…re-forming our imperfections.

     As it is, we try to time human healing, when whatever life force imperfects us.  We try to run toward the safety of convenience--a convenient life lived on our human deadlines--at our human pace.

     On Sunday, I felt betrayed by my brace that I could not walk perfectly at my own pace.  I thought I saw tears in Leo’s eyes as he broke the bread.  Whether he did have tears in his eyes is unlikely--almost irrelevant.  The sense of betrayal at that moment brought me to tears.  

     Quick. Find a tissue. 

     God forbid someone see me vulnerable at the moment of a revered offering.  Yet, it was the breaking of the Bread, after all.

Am I One of THOSE People?

     By my persona, some might say, "Patty is an enlightened advocate of individuals, who are often thought of in low esteem in society."  Yet, truth be told, I find myself desperately trying, without wanting to admit so, that I am better than other people--better than those people.  Other people?  Who?  The very people for whom I claim myself to be an advocate.
     I do not want to believe that this describes every ounce of me.  But, today, the unattractive truth was revealed to me.
     How you ask?  Receiving certification to use a paratransit service, which will help me to get out, gave me knots in my stomach.
     Ungrateful?  I should be happy.
     Yet, as I walked down the sidewalk to get my id picture taken, loud and clear came the Voice, "You are one of those people now...unable to be spontaneous in motion--spontaneous in your daily living.  You are wholly dependent on other people to meet your needs.  You are needy.  You are one of those people.  Your are at the mercy of other people.  You have NO control over your life."
      Needy is SO extreme.  Is it possible to soften his edges--discover her acceptable soul that makes me human--and become an intimate with her human heart?
       He continues to question me.  She eludes my answers' box.

Courage. Bravery. Heroes.

     The words "courage," "bravery," and "heroes," re-present themselves through the stories in the Tuscon Shootings tapestry.
     Never have I been comfortable with any of these three words.  Yet, others gravitate toward them--blare them proudly from a megaphone.  Why do I shun the words?  Why do others claim them worthy of admiration?
    Courage.  
    Twelfth century Old French defined courage as, "heart, innermost feelings; temper." 
    In my humble opinion, to laud any human being as a hero serves only one purpose.  "A hero" is an excuse not to aspire to living beyond ourselves--beyond what we imagine we of ourselves.
    Bravery.
    In the 1540s, the French braverie was defined as "daring, defiance, boasting." I doubt that bravery is used today intent on conveying boasting.
    In the 14th century, hero was defined as "man of superhuman strength or courage."  By virtue of the 14th century definition, it seems impossible for any human being to be a hero.  How is it possible to be super-human?  
    To laud any human a hero serves nothing but a selfish purpose.  A hero prevents any of us from striving for--aspiring--more than what we imagine we might be capable of being.
     Bravery.  Courage.  Hero.
     We have yet to embrace a word that nurtures a curious spirit committed to learning, and exceeding what any one of us has accomplished yet today.
     I have resisted admiration for precisely the same reason.  Yet, my view has change.  I feel deep admiration--a quality that in no way is encapsulated in deep respect, or deep regard.  I have been given deep admiration for my family, my friends, and my life.  Deep respect, nor deep regard do not go deep enough to embrace the fullness admiration offers.
    So, I continue to search.  Deep respect is the pathway to deep admiration.
    May deep admiration be the journey toward a companion more worthy than a brave, courageous hero.  May we admire deeply--may we be admired deeply--for the companions we may be on this journey.

Lip Servers to Our Days or Civil Servants to Our Precious Lives

     Evil.  Heinous Act.  Enemy.  Vitriol.  Lip Server.  Civil Servant.
Listening to coverage of the shootings in Tuscon, I have been struck by the words we use to describe harsh experiences--harsh realities.  It is not to say that harsh words should be avoided, at all costs--at the further, unintended impacts they may have.  
     Evil has not been blared from the megaphone of Tuscon's experience.  Thank God.  May we commit ourselves to not embrace Evil--be it not in our explanations of actions taken.  Evil's Stinger is deep.  Deeper than we may realize.  
     Heinous Act?  Yes.  In the Vocabulary of our Culture's Speech, Heinous Act does not have Evil's stinger.
     Heinous Act possesses the same precision in its attack on our soul.
     Harsh words--harsh realities--call for us to be anesthetized.  Our spirits--our souls--must be strengthened--not calloused--by our wound's healing.  From our anesthetized wounds, we must commit ourselves to remember the color of our wound in the person we live on to be--to become.  Our wound may lose her sting.  Her color may fade.  Yet, her lessons to the better persons we might be must be heard.  Her lessons must be given voice in the persons we live on to be.   
     May we never enunciate the words, "the Enemy," to explain a Heinous Act.  May we not ignite the vehicle Enemy offers to transport our wounded soul.  May we never be a lip server--an endorser of The Enemy's word.    
     I pray Vitriol's lesson may be our guidepost on our journey to Civility. 
May we be Civil Servants to our lives, not Lip Servers to our moments--to each day we are given to live.
     I am hope-filled.  A fool I may be.  Yet, rather a hope-filled fool than a cynic's champion, or a skeptic's slave I hope to be.