"Have you had a stroke?" She had no way of knowing. We'd been out of touch for decades, but her question took me by surprise. Do I really look that bad? I wondered.
In public I'm simply embarrassed.
I shuffle and hobble, stiff-legged and off balance. In a restaurant, I dread getting up from the table. I'm certain everyone is watching. I'm not that old. I bet they think I'm drunk.
I survey the shortest path to where we sit in church but it takes me through a door where I imagine that all eyes are on me. I try to walk faster, but it only accentuates my broken gait.
At Gavin's party, the other grandmothers wear skates and play with the baby, and the little ones laugh. I sit at the table. I'm grateful it's not far from the restrooms, but the distance between where I sit and where almost everyone else is laughing and playing looks as challenging to me as a marathon.
I can't skate. I can't play. But I can take pictures. I grab my camera and make my way across the room that gets larger in my eyes with each step.
~ ~ ~
At brunch with a friend, she tells me that Pollywog Creek is a gift - the photos and family stories. She is sure it is a blessing to many. And I want to cry.
"What if I can't take pictures?" I ask. I can barely walk around the backyard, much less venture out to the creek or pasture. It's a monumental task to sit on the ground.
"What if I can't do the one thing I do that people love?" I bite my lip, but I know my chin is quivering. Crying in a restaurant would only add to my embarrassment.
My friend is compassionate. I see her tears. But she is also wise - and she reminds me of this: it is God that empowers me to do whatever He wants me to do.
Or am I trying to please man?
If I were still trying to please man,
(Galatians 1:10 ESV)
{Photo}the goldfinches are coming back to Pollywog Creek - can the painting buntings be here soon?
