Life was changing. Focus was shifting from developing a consulting business to preparing for the ministry that had been a lifelong “calling”. There were some bothersome physical impediments to my usual agile maneuvers. A limp, noticeable first to others was becoming more pronounced. My right hand was becoming stiff, causing more than the usual mistakes on the computer keypad and the treble clef at the piano. My primary care doctor had recommended a visit to a neurologist to get a clearer picture of what might be going on. I was after a quick fix to get on with my life as I then had it planned. The visit with the neurologist was cordial. He asked me a few questions, requested that I walk to the end of the hallway, turn around and walk back to the starting location. He asked that I follow his pencil as he made movements left to right, right to left, then up and down. The request to tap tap tap middle finger to thumb met with some resistance in my right hand. He paused, looked down as he jotted a note in the file, then looked at me and said, “You have Parkinson’s disease.” I honestly didn’t hear anything after that. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I knew about Parkinson’s and the usual progression of the disease. I had not even thought of it as a possibility since I was not experiencing any of the classic symptoms. Suddenly, I was thrust into the morass of negativity; that cauldron of fear that I would now experience what I had so astutely observed about others back when I was in the pharmaceutical business. Grief overtook me there in the neurologist’s office. He recognized my plight but was ill equipped to do anything more than simply look away as he completed a prescription for what turned out to be a not so helpful elixir. After leaving the office, I sat in my car weeping, feeling sorry for myself, and thinking, “Well; now I know from what I will die.” It took a day or two of wallowing in my pit, mostly in my silence, before I began to emerge with the understanding that fortune telling was not a spiritual gift. What I could be sure of, I reasoned, was God’s eternal presence and the feast that was set before me. I decided then to dine at the table of life rather than gather the scraps tossed on the floor of death. The pressing thought then moved from how I would die to the more challenging one of how I would live. That movement was a blessing” The question never grows old; it has eternal significance and establishes the priorities of the day. The question is: “how will you live?”
Leave a Reply