Thursday, August 23, 2012

Do What You Must While You Can

Now finish the work, so that your eager willingness to do it may be matched by your completion of it, according to your means. For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what he does not have. -- 2 Corinthians 8:11-12

There is something surreal about watching a metal gate flying through the air and knocking an 82-year-old man to the ground. I stood there horrified, yet too far away to reach him in time to prevent the gate from hitting him.

Those moments turn seconds into forever, as I rushed to him. Thankfully, God’s hand was on him and he is fine. Bruised. A little sore with a swollen knee. It could have been much, much worse.

He is getting older and yet holding on to yesterday with everything he’s got. I appreciate that. I know it keeps him relatively healthy. Yet I worry that failure to admit he can’t always do the same things, the same way as he did before, will one day kill him.

He doesn’t seem to know when to back down or walk away. It becomes a battle of winning or losing when, really, it isn’t so important. He refuses to see that sometimes backing off is better, allowing him to see a different perspective or try another angle.

And he won’t listen to me at all. Not at all. I’m not the one he wants here and yet I am what he has. Both of us do the best we can to rub along and yet I am forever aware that I will never meet his expectations. It took me a long time to realize that. I wasted a good many years before I finally made an uneasy peace with it all.

I’m tempted sometimes to walk away. To run away. To let someone else handle it all. I joke that I don’t get paid enough for this but no one understands. They see the goodness, the kindness, the laughter. They don’t see the meanness, the hatred, the arrogance.

I long for his love, knowing all the while that I will never have it. So I try to do what I can to ease this passage of time so that he might continue to live with the illusion of being as he’s always been. He rarely acknowledges this unwanted gift, preferring to pretend that he is the helper and I am merely the burden. So be it.

I am doing what God has called me to do. Not because I feel like it, because I don’t. But because it is the right thing to do. Because when the day is done and tomorrow will never be, I want to know that I did all I could.

It isn’t easy. And some days it is scary. Yet I know that one day he won’t get up and life will never, ever be the same. No more chances. No more illusions. Just an aching void where a proud man once stood.