Take Nothing for Granted: On suffering and the preciousness of ordinary life

A while back I wrote about some recent medical issues. At the time I was very positive. I believe that was entirely owing to God’s grace. He drew near and seemed to shed His love abroad in my heart. Though I had times of anxiety, my overwhelming experience was joy.

But in recent months it’s been more difficult. In November I learned that I likely have a rare metabolic myopathy. If so, there is no cure. What makes it particularly challenging is that because my condition is so rare, we still don’t know where this is going.

When I last wrote I had what I thought were significant limitations. But in the months that have followed I have experienced a fairly significant decline. When I am not in a flare I can still walk short distances. Often I use a cane and sometimes a walker.  And then two nights ago I needed a transport chair to get to the washroom. Even when I am not in a flare, going around the block or shopping are out of the question. For longer trips like those I need a wheelchair. But even this is proving challenging. The other day I spent an afternoon out with the family. Though I was pushed in a wheelchair, it exhausted me. The next two days, even though I spent them lying down, I battled nausea and dizziness. My legs often feel as though they are filled with concrete, and even small exertions—or sitting for long periods—leave me exhausted.

I used to be able to do 100 pushups, and now sitting in my walker and washing some dishes feels like an accomplishment. And it’s discouraging. I don’t know what the future holds. Several weeks ago I was feeling better than I had in months and took the opportunity to have a brief “dance” with both my daughters. I know that—apart from a miracle—there are some things I will never do again, and other things I can do today I may not be able to do in a year.

In addition to these mobility issues, I have been having heart episodes, sometimes needing electrocardioversion.

In short, it’s been a tough season. Out of a desire for privacy I stopped using social media months ago, and for the same reason I have been hesitant to write about these things here. But after writing that previous post it seemed somehow dishonest not to share the other side of this.

For a few years I struggled with depression, and thankfully that hasn’t returned. But the battle with discouragement and anxiety is real. I miss my old life. I’d give a lot to have just one day back in my old body. But since I can’t, what can I do?

First, I can keep trusting God, whose ways are higher than mine. I can trust that a loving Father has decreed this for my good and the good of others. He ruled over the affairs of men long before I was born, and I can trust Him to continue to do so while I live.

Second, I can resolve—with God’s help—to enjoy the good gifts God has given as long as I can. There is something wonderful about this life. Instead of focusing on what I can’t do, I can make the most of the things I can.

Third, I can be thankful for what I do have. I often battle thoughts about the things I used to enjoy. But there is still so much to be thankful for. Though limited, I am still somewhat mobile. I can see and hear. I have a family. I have friends. And many times more than any of that, I have a Saviour who is not ashamed to call me His brother. And if I don’t know what tomorrow holds, I do know what eternity holds.

Fourth, I can worship and I can pray—and no condition can take that away from me.

But what about you?

I suspect you can do just what I can, which makes you—like me—truly blessed. But perhaps you can do more. Maybe you are still able-bodied. You can walk and run. You can go to the gym. You can play a game of pickleball or soccer. You can hike. It could be that—like me just a year ago—you don’t realize how rich that makes you. Let me assure you these are blessings worth more than silver and gold.

The other day I heard Steve Gleason say something that struck me. It was along these lines: we should enjoy these things as if this were the last day we could. I was thinking today about the gym and what I would give to have one more workout. It’s a small thing, but valuable to me. Or if I could go to Algonquin Park with my daughter like we used to each year and take in the Centennial Ridges Trail one more time—how I would treasure it.

But if I can’t, many of you can. So in the midst of your busy schedules, make sure to take in this beautiful life God has given us. If you go to the gym, work out as if you may never do it again. If you like to hike, go and enjoy it as if it were the very last time.  And if you preach, preach as if you never will again.

These ordinary things are far more precious than we realize.

Take nothing for granted.