Tuesday I did something that six months ago I could not have imagined, and for a variety of reasons I'm still trying to untangle, it was humbling and even embarrassing.

I borrowed a walker from my eighty-year-old friend - for me.


It's the morning I dread. I lie in bed - Louis at work - and I wonder how I am going to get up. I wrap the heating pad around my right hand and wrist or under my knees and linger a bit longer - soaking up the healing warmth.

But the longer I stay in the bed, the greater the challenge. I simply must get up, but as I try to stand, my ankles buckle in pain and my knees will neither bend nor straighten.

I struggle with every single step. Lord help me.

I clearly need help. But I am the helper - the giver of care - and asking for help does not come easy.

Tuesday morning I knew I could not be the helper my older friend Joyce needed. I could barely get dressed or brush my hair. I swallowed my pride and called a friend for help.

I asked Joyce if she might have a walker I could borrow, and she led me to her garage and a brand new walker - with tags still hanging from the handles - that for at least three years has been stored - unused.

I helped Joyce get a shower, and my friend Linda took Joyce's dog for a walk, changed the sheets, and later drove Joyce into town.

Linda told me she was dressed in riding shorts when I called her that morning. She'd planned to go bike riding with a neighbor, but the neighbor had just called to say they couldn't make it.

I wonder what I will do now, Linda thought - just as her phone rang again.

It was, of course, the call for help from me.

Out of my distress I called on the LORD;
the LORD answered me and set me free.

(Psalm 118:5 ESV)

I love the LORD, because he has heard
my voice and my pleas for mercy.
Because he inclined his ear to me,
therefore I will call on him as long as I live.

(Psalm 116:1-2 ESV)

Addendum: That was Tuesday. Wednesday morning I got out of bed much easier with the help of the walker and I called my rheumatologist. My current medication regime was obviously not working. Until I go for lab work and see him next month, he wants me to return to the higher doses of prednisone I was taking back in December. It's a mixed blessing. It means having to do all the hard work of coming off prednisone all over again, but the benefits far outweigh the pain and disability I have been experiencing. I'm confident that when I see the doctor next month, we will find a medication regime that will work, but for now, the prednisone is getting me back on my feet.

On this Good Friday, I have much for which to be grateful - beginning and ending at the cross and I will call on my Lord as long as I live.

Photos: Late Tuesday afternoon I pushed myself to wander through the pasture. I'm determined to learn how to use my new camera. The photos are from that rather painful wandering.