Stone Thrower

Rolling into the classroom with art supplies and caretaker in tow, I assessed the best place for me to set up.  Twenty easels bordered the room with four easels in the middle.  It was quite crowded and there was little room between the easels.  I needed a place relatively easy in which to maneuver.  Having an electric scooter required some space behind my easel.  Since this was only my second week in class, I was still figuring out how things would work best for me and my classmates.

Arriving 15 minutes early afforded me some luxury of time in which to find the space that was functional for me.  Most people, it appeared, arrived when the class was scheduled to begin.  There was a smattering of people in the room in various stages of preparedness.  One elderly man was sitting in the middle of the circle.

I picked a spot near the door that had a walkway behind the easel.  If I moved the easel a little further into the circle, I could get my scooter behind me and leave room for people to use the walkway without having to scooch behind me.  Being mindful of the tricky business of using space needed without extending too far into the cramped room, I asked my caretaker to move the easel a little bit further up.

Suddenly, an angry voice said, "You can't sit there.  You are blocking the way.  I need to be able to get in and out."  I looked up in astonishment to see a red-faced man glaring at me.  Surveying the space around me, I could see a clear walkway to my left for those to have egress from the center and a clear walkway behind me.

Calmly, I replied, "I have left space to my left and rear.  I am not finished setting up and plan on leaving room for others."

Ignoring my statement, he said, "You CANNOT set up there.  I need room to get in and out."

Aware of the other classmates looking on nervously, I knew that my response was important to defuse the situation. Yet, I needed to stand my ground.  The space I had chosen was the only viable space for me and my scooter.  Looking him squarely in the face, I responded, "I need space for my scooter.  I am not blocking your pathway.  I am not finished getting my stuff set up."

Again, he ignored my replied.  Incredibly, he said, "YOU CANNOT SIT THERE.  YOU ARE BLOCKING MY WAY."

Realizing that this was now a serious problem with an irrational child-man, I asked, "Where do you suggest I sit?"

He continued his tirade and I continued to repeat the same question four times.  Finally, pointing to the corner of the room furthest from the door, he said, "You can sit over there."

Using my "let us be reasonable voice," I said, "I cannot get there.  It would require 10 people to move their easels forward because the space behind them is too narrow for me to get around."

He repeated his demand, "They can move.  You can sit over there."

Finally, I said flatly, "I cannot get there.  It is not accessible for me."

Turning away from him, I finished setting up my painting space.

Since this event, every time I roll into the classroom, I think about Mr. Angryman.  His outburst has affected my feelings about the class.  I have attempted to ignore the feelings, thinking time would make the uneasiness melt away.  Time has not healed this wound.  I have attempted to identify him as an unreasonable character given to narcissism.  Labeling him as such has just added to the anxiety.  After four months, I decided that I am acting as a "stone thrower."  Here, I am sitting in judgment of his character.  He may have acted in a selfish, angry manner but that does mean he is always such a man. Moreover, I need to look at myself.  Have I ever acted inappropriately?  If so, and without a doubt it is so, then I need to turn it around and find another way to tell the story.

The Distilled Life

Slowly, the atrophy claims more muscle mass.  I am relegated to accepting this erosion of my body.  Myotonic Dystrophy does not care that I exercise and force myself to go beyond - always beyond - my physical limitations.  It is not denial that forces me to always push, always try, always make every effort.  No, it is the belief that if I do not continue to use my wasting muscles, they will waste away faster.

Even though I push myself, the disease gains ground and gravity forces me to sit for long hours.  Thus, my life has taken a new course.  Recently, a friend said, "I use to think that God's plan for my life changed.  But, now, I know that God's plan has not changed.  My circumstances have changed."

Enlightening, right?  My circumstances have changed.  God is still right here, helping me.  As a result, I find quieter activities allow me more time with God.  I am still able to think, write, paint (with much accommodation), pray, read, and knit.  Rather than filling my days with physical activities that can serve as a distraction, I now am finding my life distilled; a noise-filter is in place.

The veil is torn from my eyes and I can see more deeply into my heart.  What matters?  Love.  The giving and receiving of love for which we were created.

2 Peter 1:5-7 provides a step-by-step guideline of how to develop more love in your life.  Distilling your day-to-day activities by making "every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control, and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love."  Sounds almost impossible, but it is possible.

We have heard about the "Seven Habits of Highly Effective People."  I am recommending the "Seven Steps of the Distilled Life."  To reiterate Saint Peter:  Make every effort to add to your faith: Step One: Goodness:  Step Two: Knowledge.  Step Three:  Self-control.  Step Four:  Perseverance:  Step Five:  Godliness.  Step Six:  Mutual affection.  Step Seven:  Love.

These steps are applied one at a time. Little steps that will take a lifetime, but the reward is worth the effort.  Imagine your life being filled with these qualities.  A distilled life.

The Dash Between

Recently, an acquaintance in his 50s made a comment that struck a deep chord with me.  He mentioned that the previous day, he had attended the funeral of a friend who was younger than he.  The cause of death: heart attack.  Suddenly, his friend's life on earth was finished.  However, the remarkable comment was this:  a headstone makes note of two dates separated by a dash.  It is the dash between the two dates that matters most.

Earlier this month was the fourth anniversary of the death of a 25 year old woman.  A lady of great character.  At an early age, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  After many years, the doctors were able to perform non-invasive brain surgery that resulted in the shrinkage of the tumor.  Even though she was handicapped with paralysis from the tumor, she took dance classes and participated in dance recitals.  After high school, she started attending college.  She was a happy child whose physical challenges produced wisdom and, ultimately, peace.  As one of those who stood in her shadow, I was touched by her gentleness.  To our dismay, the victory was short-lived; in her early 20s, the tumor returned and finally claimed her life.  She was courageous and steadfast to the end.

Through it all, her faith in God and love of people pierced through the darkness.  Please do not misunderstand me, I am not brushing off the depth of her struggles or the continued struggles of her family.  Yet, she made a difference - she chose to make her dash a long one between a short time span.

It is not to what family in which we are born or where we die that has the deepest impact, but how we fare along the way.  Some of us may look around and think that others have comparatively easy roads, but we do not know the grief they have borne or the burden they are carrying.  I encourage you not to compare yourself one to another, but to seek to make your dash a long one.

We all have the opportunity to reach outside of ourselves and get involved:  One on one.

I reiterate: "May your dash be long."