“Seek the Lord while he may be found; call on him while he is near.” — Isaiah 55:6
I woke up on the morning of my 30th birthday to discover that my once blush-pink lips had faded into the rest of my face. From that day forward, lipstick became a quiet necessity. By 40, my hair had begun its slow metamorphosis into a dull, ashen gray. At first, I plucked out the unwanted strands one by one — a small act of defiance — until the battle grew too vast to win, and surrendering felt like conceding a piece of my youth. I still remember the first time I reached for a box of hair color, never imagining it would be the beginning of what has since become an endless, if familiar, labor.
We moved to Orange County in the early eighties, and the only person I knew who exercised regularly was my husband, Mike. He ran up and down hills and back home again — our streets weren’t yet dotted with 24 Hour Fitness centers, and personal trainers were virtually nonexistent. As a young mother, my days were consumed with raising children, tending to the household, and working part-time in our family business. Exercise was rarely on the list. I didn’t think it needed to be — a mistake I would come to understand in time.
Something was quietly happening in my body that my mind had failed to register. Five pounds a year doesn’t sound like much — until it’s five pounds for eight years. By 50, my weight had begun its slow migration, and my first instinct was denial. I’d purchase clothes a size smaller, convinced that the right motivation would follow. It never quite did. Eventually, the realization settled in: what had begun as a gradual shift had quietly gathered speed. I collected the unworn clothes — tags still attached — and gave them all away.
At 60, pretty much all hell broke loose. I had a cancer scare — but thanks be to God, no cancer. I was also diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, though on a trip to France, I was healed in the Grotto of Lourdes.
My teeth became a huge issue that required bone grafting. Bone grafting is a procedure in which an oral surgeon saws into your jawbone, lifts it up, and places a piece of animal bone inside to stimulate new growth. In my case, pig bone was used. I simply could not live with the idea of being part pig, so the grafting did not work for me — or so I told myself. I never actually read the list of side effects beforehand, but Mike did. He looked up from the paperwork and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? It says fingers could start growing on the side of your face.” That kind of thing never scared me. I just wanted my teeth fixed.
Of course, my family had other ideas. Remember the movie Austin Powers and the character Mike Myers played? They took great delight in quoting him — pinkie raised to the corner of the mouth — declaring, “One million dollars!” I did not find that nearly as funny as they did.
My oral surgeon is the best in Orange County — her clients include the players of the Anaheim Ducks. She was completely dumbfounded and told me I was her first failed case. After spending a small fortune, the specialist decided she wanted to give it another shot. More pork in my mouth, and again, failure. Mike was so upset that he insisted on coming with me to the follow-up visit. Honestly, we could have purchased a nice small vehicle for what we spent. Following her evaluation, the specialist suggested that I first get braces to correct an underlying problem — and she offered to foot that bill as well. Two more years were added to this dental odyssey, and there I was with a cheesy 12-year-old smile. And for the rest of my life, I must wear a retainer at night.
But it was not over yet. After the braces, we still had to deal with the missing teeth — yet another specialist and another enormous expense. I now have German molars. Yes, made in Germany.
From my teeth, the health concerns shifted to my feet. This Thursday I will have a procedure to alleviate my hammer toe. Trusting God that this will work — otherwise, surgery will be needed. The hammer toe causes severely dry feet, and I tried every home remedy imaginable, including rubbing Vicks on my feet. All that did was collect debris, and naturally my daughter Sonja looked down one day and asked me why I had leaves on my toes. Now the foot and ankle specialist is telling me that three toenails must be removed entirely in order to correct all the damage caused by the dreaded hammer toe.
My oral surgeon is the best in Orange County, and her clients include the members of the Anaheim Ducks. She was dumbfounded and told me that I was her first failed case. After we spent ton of money, the specialist decided that she wanted to give it another shot. Again, more pork in my mouth and again, failure. Mike was so upset that he decided to go with me to the follow-up visit. We honestly could have purchased a nice small vehicle for the expense that we were put through. The specialist’s observation led her to suggest that I get braces to correct another problem first; she said that she would foot the bill as well. Two more years were added and there I was with a cheesy 12-year-old smile, and for the rest of my life I must wear retainer at night. It was not over yet because after the braces, we had to deal with the missing teeth, yet another specialist and another huge expense. I now have German molars, yes, they were made in Germany.
Within the last ten years, exercise has become a regular part of life — working on gaining muscle tone, if for no other reason than to hold up this frame. For years the focus was on the spiritual, and peace has been attained. The spirit has been striving to know God more deeply, but the body had been lacking attention.
These health issues come with age, and as a fully-fledged senior, entering this era of life was not done kicking and screaming — probably because the limping got in the way. There are no grand illusions about what has been missed by serving God. It is through this rocky path that wisdom has taken hold, not only of the mind but also of the heart. Prayer comes more naturally now than argument. Opinions and values are kept close, offered only when asked. This is the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi, who wisely said, “Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words.” The importance of Godly wisdom cannot be overstated, especially as we grow older. We must learn to allow the wisdom of God to rule our lives. The world insists that everyone’s opinion matters — but for the most part, they do not. That is precisely why we find ourselves in the great mess we are in today. The real truth is there for the asking, and yet we cannot seem to grasp it.
My own health problems are minuscule compared to those of my sisters in Christ. My sweet friend Glenda, suffering with advanced lupus, fights for every breath. My precious sister Carol is battling stage four cancer with extraordinary courage. And my dear friend Jane recently lost her beautiful daughter Elizabeth. These three women are my examples of wisdom seasoned with grace. They are in my prayers daily.
“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given to him.” — James 1:5
Within the last ten years I have incorporated exercise on a regular basis and am working on gaining muscle tone, if for any reason to hold up my frame. For years I have worked on spiritual and have attained peace. My spirit has been striving to learn more of God, but my body has been lacking attention.
