Didn't Expect to Hear That

So last week I'm visiting my mother in her nursing home and she says to me, "Kevin, can you find my underwear?"

Dumbfounded but without missing a beat I replied, "Sure Mom, what in particular are you looking for? A bra?"

She replied, "Well I know I have a whole pile of bras and panties but the aid couldn't find them. Would you please look for them?"

This is what happens when a person's world shrinks after eight months of health setbacks. In little more than a year, my mother has gone from a woman living on her own in a two-bedroom condo packed with possessions gathered over a lifetime, to a woman in a hospital bed with a few family pictures on the window sill, some clothes hanging in a closet, a few books, some jewelry, toiletries, and, well that's about it. I could fit her possessions in a medium-sized suit case. And, unfortunately, there was no underwear anywhere to be found.

At my mother's insistance I telephoned my sister. A few months ago, when my mother could no longer stay in her little apartment after falling and breaking her back, my sister moved my mother's few furniture pieces into storage and is keeping most of her clothes. She explained to me that my mother didn't need additional underwear beyond what the hospital had provided. However, we agreed, that since she was asking, she'd bring some bras and panties to the facility.

Wow. It took nearly fifty years, but that was my first-ever conversation about women's underwear with my mother. Fortunately, when I visit we talk about other things as well. Many topics are new, like how she needs to keep working in physical therapy, that her family loves her and wants to see her up and about, and that if she can't find the strength to get out of bed, we may not have her around too much longer.

While I still believe my mother can recover somewhat and live independently again, there's no guaranty I'll see anything better than this. The years have taken a mighty toll and she's tired. I don't blame her for her condition, because she has been the wronged party in many relationships--from her overly strict parents to her philandering husband, my mother has endured a life where she didn't feel celebrated or wanted. She, however, did soldier on giving unselfishly (though imperfectly) to her family and succeeded in launching four children relatively unscathed into adulthood, which is a pretty amazing feat.

I don't know how to help my mother get better. I know I can be a better son, but I talk to her more frequently now than at anytime in my adult life. I consult with my siblings as we talk about how best to support her, and we've become closer as a result. I've even spoken to medical and legal professionals for advice. However, when I'm with her, there's not much to say beyond, "I pray for you Mom." "I want you to get better." "Your grandchildren would like to see you more." "You can do it!"

And, when I'm with her I'll do whatever she asks, even if it involves looking for errant panties.

Detour on the Path to the Fountain of Youth

The road to maturity is not a straight line. It zigs and zags and sometimes backtracks. Youth on the other hand is fleeting. Once it's gone, it's gone. Youth leaves strong memories that flash to the front of your mind through sights and sounds and feelings.

Baseball reminds me of my youth. So do popsicles and lazy summer days. Something about being outdoors and carefree reminds me of being young. I love summer and I love the memories of summers past.

My summer opened with a flourish this past weekend as I competed in my season's first triathlon. After my successful return to competition last year, I trained throughout the fall and winter with hopes of greater success this summer.

2011 was going to be my breakout triathlon season. Having fallen in with a few seasoned veterans who know how to train, I developed a training routine that got me faster and stronger. Also, because I turn 50 this year, this season I get to compete against older athletes. In fact, in many races this year, I'm going to be the youngest competitor in the 50 - 54 group.

My hopes for great success were dashed somewhat in January when I had my first ever operation--a bilateral hernia repair. That stopped my training for nearly two months. Then, in early April, just when I was getting back up to speed, my left shoulder became so sore, I could barely lift it.

But, I soldiered on, and continued training. Slowly I added more swimming laps, testing the shoulder. Then I started adding distance to my runs. I even took the bike out for a couple of spins. Ready or not, race season was here and it was time for me to get moving.

While competing in triathlons doesn't make me feel young, it does help me contend with aging. Training helps me keep my weight down, my joints flexible, and my spirits up. Since I have no choice but to turn 50 this year, I might as well be the strongest, fastest, meanest 50-year-old I can be. So I run, I bike, I swim, almost every day.

Youth is so attractive, which is why finding the fountain of youth is a never ending quest. While adventurers and explorers no longer drudge through malarial swamps in search of the fountain, hordes of middle aged strivers flock to physicians hoping to find a pill an injection or an operation that will give back at least the appearance of youth.

On the other hand, old age can be repellant. As my mother's health continues to decline, I'm amazed at how uninviting are her nursing homes. Unlike my son's school that is filled with youth and virtually throbs with energy, my mother's nursing home feels cold and lethargic. Though smiling staff give a welcoming appearance, the residents are hunched, unsmiling and lifeless. I want to leave the minute I get there.

So in my quest to remain lively, if not exactly youthful, I've found triathlon training the right tonic for me. As I push myself I'm engaged, alert and alive. It's the best I can do right now.

After Sunday's race, I was satisfied with my results. Considering that I lost almost eight weeks of training this year while recovering from major surgery and injury, to finish 8th of 30 in my age group was not a bad result. My goal is still a top five finish sometime this summer, and I have several races ahead for me to achieve that goal.

Being young is easy. In the world's eyes, you are appealing simply because of your youth. As you get older, however, the world turns its gaze away ever so slightly as each day passes. By the time you're my age, you are interesting only if you've achieved something or can do something for others. As you connect with the world, to stay relevant you must give more and expect less in return. Just at the time when you have more to offer because of your wisdom and experience, the world looks to younger faces for fresh ideas and creative energy. I can't control that.

But I can shave some seconds off my quarter mile splits. I can improve my swimming stroke. And I can get a decent racing bike, finally! And I can crack the top five. Don't worry, you'll be the first to hear it. Haha.

The Power of Penance

King Nebuchadnezzar felt miserable when he should have been overjoyed. As the King of Babylon and head of an empire that dominated the known world he was certainly the richest and most powerful man in the world.

Yet, his sleep was troubled by dreams. Dreams that gnawed at his insides and invaded his waking hours. On top of the world yet during the darkest hours he saw brokenness and devastation.

"What do these dreams mean?" the King asked his trusted advisor Daniel. Daniel hesitated--because he loved the King and hated delivering bad news. "I wish this dream belonged to your enemy, not to you," he said.

"Tell me anyway," the King demanded. "Well," said Daniel, "you have not honored God for your accomplishments, therefore, all this will be taken away from you. Beg God for mercy and maybe this fate will pass."

The story jumps from Daniel's plea to a day in the future when Nebuchadnezzar was on top of his palace, surveying his magnicent city and empire. "What great works I have done," he said to himself with a satisfied smile. Clearly he had never begged God for mercy--and perhaps the dreams ceased to trouble him. In any event neither the dreams nor Daniel's pleas made a lasting impression.

At that moment, the King hears the voice of God who says, "Because you have not honored me, I am taking this all away from you."

The story then shifts to a first person narrative. Nebuchadnezzar speaks directly to the readers and tells of his ordeal--how at that moment he lost his mind and lived like a wild beast. However, after a year, he turned his face to heaven and as quickly as it was taken away, everything was returned to him: his sanity, his position and his wealth.

Apparently that singular act of looking to God was all the King needed to do to show the creator of the universe that he was truly humbled. At that moment he knew in his heart that the splendor of his life came as a result of God's favor, not simply because of the King's merit.

Sin is disobeying God either in the things we do, or the things we fail to do. In Nebuchadnezzar's case, his sin was one of omission, not one of commission. He had not committed any particularly evil act, on the contrary, Nebuchadnezzar's rule was reknowned for its wisdom, tolerance and mercy. No, the King's sin involved a failure to act. In his pride he refused to honor the true power behind his throne, the Lord God Jehovah. And, for failing to acknowledge God, the King was humbled.

Many of us consider ourselves "good" because we don't do a lot of "bad" things. We don't beat children. We don't post pictures of ourselves in our underwear on the internet. And we don't steal from the elderly (though wrong change we consider a "gift").

But how many acts of goodness do we do simply to honor God. Do we praise him for a beautiful day. When breaks seem to fall our way to we congratulate ourselves for our good fortune?

The lesson from the Scriptures is that humans are supposed to praise God not just when the mood strikes, or when we need something, but because from deep down in our hearts praises seem to well up, almost without conscious thought. Until we reach that place--where the love of God is something we feel without any special prompt or reason, we may find ourselves in Nebuchadnezzar's shoes. God's favor is not something we earn. It's not something we can manipulate. God's favor comes when our spirit finds union with the Creator. And sometimes achieving that union, if it comes at all, requires a long sojourn in the wilderness.

May we all find that place of union and harmony with God, without encountering too much pain and suffering first!