I Don’t Want To Go Back

Often I hear folks say, “Oh, to be twenty again.” “If only I could go back and live my life again—I’d do it differently. I’d get it right this time.”

I don’t want to go back.

For the first time in my almost 74 years of life—I like myself. For the first time in almost 74 years I even like my fly-away baby-fine hair that is immune to attempts to style or “fix” it. For the first time in nearly 74 years of life I can look into a mirror and not be disappointed by the reflected image.

Because now I know—now I understand the truth of Psalm 139:14, “I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

It’s been a long hard road. For those of us who were sexually abused as children it is difficult to navigate the self-blame and self-loathing because we feel somehow guilty for what happened to us. Especially me since the perpetrator who had no medical training performed two backwoods abortions on me to hide his crime and I nearly bled to death both times. I survived. The babies didn’t. Abortion is murder.

I took my one and only writing course when I was 23. It only lasted a few weeks, but I never forgot the teacher’s advice on the first day: write about what you know. Hard advice for me at twenty-three—I didn’t know anything. I had only been a Christian for a few days, but that was long enough to know that I should pray about things so I asked God to give me something to write about.

God answers prayer. Now I know.

I know what it’s like to live with an alcoholic, abusive spouse. I know what it’s like to live with a drug-addicted spouse and attempt to help him. I know what it’s like to go through divorce when you don’t believe in divorce and don’t want it. I know what it’s like to be a single mom and work two and three jobs to support myself and my child. I know what it’s like to help a new spouse battle cancer, to take care of him until he died, and then speak at his memorial service.

I know what it’s like to bury my child.

I know what it’s like to undergo back surgery, knee replacement, and a hip replacement, and to spend three months in the hospital after the hip replacement became infected. I wrote and published three books while I was in the hospital.

Now I know. Now I have things to write about. My life experiences are sprinkled through my 48 published books, some sprinkled more liberally than others. The book I’m working on right now draws from the painful chapter of childhood sex abuse.

Go back to another time and a younger age? I don’t want to go back. I’ve lived through it once. Once is enough.

I’m ready to go forward to heaven where there is no sin, sadness, illness, sorrow, pain, or parting.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve loved my life. I wouldn’t exchange even one day of it for someone else’s. Even the hardest places and the most disappointing moments have been spun into the greatest blessings by the hand of the God who spun the stars into the universe and spins the earth upon nothing.

I’ve lived in and visited states all over the U.S. and lived in two different countries. I’ve lived in Bandera, Texas, home of my heart—and cowboy capital of the world. I’ve spent years working on several different newspapers as a staff writer. I’ve cuddled wild animals; a fox, raccoon, jaguarondi, African lion, raven, snakes, skunk, possums, dogs, cats, horses. I’ve been bitten on my stomach by an African lion.

I’m ready for the unending chapter in my life—heaven. The Bible describes it as having streets of gold, but all I want in heaven is a rock wall with flowers growing over it and animals coming to visit me. And to be with my son Luke again.

I’ve lived in the desert with Luke, who taught me to see—really see—the wind. I’ve danced through tumbleweed circuses and followed porcupines and coyotes to see where they were going. I’ve panned for gold, wet-washed for gold, metal detected for gold. With Luke’s help I’ve rescued possums and ravens and had remarkable dogs.

I’ve had a blast. And it’s given me something to write about. Now I’m a caregiver for my husband who is dying of cancer. I’ve got silver strands mixed into the brown of my hair. I’ve got puffy circles under my eyes from fatigue. I frequently pull muscles moving Alan about since he can’t weight-bear and must be pulled up and moved with equipment. But the joy of the Lord is my strength and nothing can steal my joy.

That’s why I can look at myself in the mirror and like what I see. I can see myself through God’s eyes. He loves me. He loves you also. So when you look into a mirror, like what you see and repeat, “I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:14

No one in the world can be you. God created you for a plan and a purpose that only you can fulfill. You are a poor imitation of anyone else. You are a true you.

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Where Newton Got it Wrong

Most people know how Sir Isaac Newton sat under an apple tree and an apple fell and hit him on the head. Anyone else would have yelled, “Ouch!” But Newton discovered the law of gravity.

Newton was a brilliant scientist and theologian and he can’t be blamed for not discovering the second principle of gravity—because he was only 22 in 1665 when the apple hit him on the head. Gravity’s pull on a person grows stronger as the person grows older and weaker. Even now—I am typing with a broken arm. Gravity. The older a person is the easier they fall because the pull of gravity increases with age. Thus the body parts “gone south” truism.

First it was the left knee. Doctors called it arthritis, but I know it was gravity. The cartilage got tired of supporting the top half and the bottom half of the knee and said, “Vacation time! I’m out of here.” It left and forgot to come back. Bone-to-bone, the two halves of the left leg couldn’t get along. Their lack of cooperation made it impossible to walk pain free and nearly impossible to walk at all. Thus a human adjustment to neutralize the power of gravity so the top and bottom half of the leg would stop bickering. A knee replacement.

And if this isn’t enough proof of gravity’s increasing power on aging bodies, the right hip joined the fray. Again, the orthopedic surgeon called it arthritis, but it’s not his fault that he never heard about the second part of Newton’s law. Newton was brilliant. He advanced to other spectacular achievements like building a reflecting telescope and discovering the theory of color. Plus, he was a professor of mathematics—and that would keep anyone busy.

Then it was the arm. My final proof that the fall of the knee and the fall of the hip were gravity-related. I’m sitting here typing with a cast on my left arm and arthritis is not involved. The culprit was gravity. I fell. As people age, they fall more easily. God is good all the time and all the time God is good. I did not land on my newly installed left knee or my newly twice-installed right hip. I landed on my good right knee—and my arm. While I am ever so thankful to God for His protection, I am still pondering His creation and installation of that natural law of gravity—especially the second part. Suddenly those moon shots look pretty good. And I am wishing that Sir Isaac Newton had carried his theory to completion so we could have learned it in school and expected it in latter life: as the body ages and grows weaker, the pull of gravity magnifies and grows stronger.

God rules. Psalm 59:13

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