I'm 49. I just turned 80!

I turned 80 last week.  

There is nothing wrong with turning 80,  unless your  49!  I started writing this article the week after my surgery Aug 27. The day before surgery I ran 8 miles. The doc said, running was fine as long as I didn’t sprint.  So I ran, and the thing was I felt fine. Nothing seemed wrong; all systems appeared to be working as well as ever. Was I really going to have open heart surgery without one symptom? Was I really going to trust the surgeon to opening me up, stop my heart, and makes repairs? Was this faith, or was I crazy? You begin to wonder, perhaps the doc needed some cash for his new boat? Could I really trust the process?  For me, it came down to the question, “Was this a God thing?”  Was God really working to intervening and save me from impending doom? Was this a God thing?

After surgery, I awoke to a reduced reality, a toddler-like helplessness. I needed help to sit up. I needed someone to help feed me. I needed help with ice chips, and for something as simple as taking a drink.  Just the day before, all was well, and now I was totally dependent. It reminded me Jesus’ words to Peter, “when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” (John 21:18)

Is this what it feels like to grow old? If so, old people are tough! Growing old isn’t for wimps! On my hospital unit, the patients were all 15 to 20 years my senior, and they were getting around.  It took me a few days to get up to walk down the hall.   My first stroll I was passed by an elderly man with a walker.  My competitive edge kicked in. The older man passed me with an eat-my-dust look in his eye.  

Each phase of recovery challenged my vanity. Once I was released from the hospital I had to sit in the backseat of the car. Airbags are a hazard for healing sternums. We don’t have a fancy enough cars to make it look like I am someone important there in the back being chauffeured.  So like a little child, I’m sitting in the back.  The bank teller looked at me like I needed a sucker.   

I wonder, is this what it is like to grow old? To not be able to go where you want to go, when you want to go? To be dependent on others when once you were independent and self-sufficient? Perhaps, I was learning some needed empathy?

Where did I see God in all of this? 

God has been with me in this whole process. Through this trial he has shown me how he cares for people through people. I was overwhelmed by the love of the church as we were showered with cards and prayers. I could see God in the love showed by my family. I could see God in the people bringing meals to our house and the people who offered me rides or were willing to sit with me.   I saw God in the prayers that went out for the poor man who was all alone in the room next to mine and those that told Cara they were praying for the man.  I saw God in the Caring Bridge support. And I saw God through the redeeming work of hospital staff and the staff here at church. The church teamed together to do what was necessary.  In this process, this church carried on with the mission.  Where was God? In the love my friends and family showed. 

I am a blessed man.  Thank you for letting God work through you.