Before being diagnosed in 1996, one Sunday afternoon, in fit of rebellion, I decided to go for a walk in the park. No big deal, right? Not for me. I spent hours walking every week. At least I had until the first week of April '96. Oh -- that "no big deal" question -- yes, a big deal. When one is dragging the right side of one's body and is in indescribable pain, a walk in the park is a bit problematic at the least. The park was only four houses away at the dead end of Lawnhaven -- about 300 feet. I made it to the edge of the park and could go no further; so I sat down on the curb and waited for "M" to figure I've been gone long enough and he should come and look for me. In my anger at not being in control, my confusion in not knowing why, and the very pain itself, I cried. No, I bawled. And, finally regaining control of my blubbering and tears, I prayed: Lord, I don't know what's happening to me, but if you just let me play [piano], I'll be okay.
It's like this: I figured I could get along without my left foot, and an eye, and if necessary, perhaps being too weak to walk. But I needed my hands, and I needed to have use of my right foot, even if it was almost as big as a football. Because I needed to play the piano. For the 18 months or so that I could do practically nothing, I could play piano. I may have had to go to a hospital on Sunday afternoon, but on Sunday morning I sat at "my" grand piano at the church where I served, and played the entire worship service. I may have conducted choir rehearsal with everyone singing a capella but on Sunday morning I played. Sometimes my back and arms were ripped to shreds by surgeons' scalpels -- or so I envisioned, but even then I could play.
So why am I remembering such an awful, but wonderful thing today? I really love these easy questions. I don't have to haw and stammer like a politician; I can simply answer. Let me get back on the road and tell you my answer, which has two parts:
First, I have to play this evening. A few weeks ago before my condition worsened, I was asked to play this evening at 6:30. I've had a pity party today about not feeling well. A friend called me this morning and asked how I was, and I said I'm down to about 30%. In retrospect, that's 29% more than many folks with whom we share this so-called orphan disease. How dare I indulge in a woe-is-me session on a fine Friday afternoon with 45 percent humidity and a 77-degree temperature in HOUSTON TEXAS????!!! That means I can go outside!!! Hellooooooo patio! I'm reminded of that song that ends:
Wait a minute, it stopped raining
Guys are swimming, guys are sailing
Playing baseball, gee that's better
Mother, father, kindly disregard this letter
Alright, I'm going out to the patio right now.
Second, this is an opportunity for me to remind readers -- again -- yes, again -- about the upcoming Sarcoidosis walk-a-thon. And yes, I'm going to post the link again.
Alright, I said this was a two-part answer, but let me leave you with this "part third:"
Like many chronic conditions, Sarcoidosis not only robs one of vitality of the body, but can zap the psyche as well. Sometimes until one utters (or writes) those sentiments of dread, one is totally oblivious of being unable to see the forest for the trees. Such is the case here, in which my temporary amnesia blotted from my mind the fact that the God to whom I prayed 13-1/2 years ago is the same God who had sustained me from my premature birth when few thought I would survive, and all the 42 years prior to that mid-1996 diagnosis, who has been with me through every illness, car accident (especially the one where I knew I was going to die [yeah, okay, what do I know?]), the birth of my Sweet Pea, and everything else, is the same God, the One and Only, the Great I Am, who will be with me this evening when I sit at a piano on a campus in a house of worship, consecrated for use by His people to His glory, to praise Him, and to grow His Kingdom. As my pastor Steve would say: Well? What about you? And for this blog, he might ask: On whom will you relyto get you through your next challenge? This day? The rest of your life?
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