I would hear her calling me through the intercom system. So I would put down the basketball I was furiously dribbling or the book I was currently devouring or the homework I was trudging through, and I would go to help my grandma.
You see, Grandma Rosey had Parkinson’s Disease, and she lived with us while my siblings and I were growing up. We kids took turns caring for her in the afternoons and evenings after school. When it was our turn to be on call for Grandma, we took that intercom with us everywhere.
She knew which one of us was on call, so she called for us by name, and we came running. Sometimes we would be sweaty from exercise or half asleep from taking a nap, but we came to her aid. She could walk with her walker, but Parkinson’s had caused her feet to shuffle, which made her unsteady. So she preferred to have one of us walking beside her whenever she needed to walk anywhere.
We would slow down and walk beside her, sometimes making conversation, sometimes in our own worlds of thought, but we would slow down and ensure that she could confidently and safely make the trek to the bathroom or the kitchen or the living room or her bedroom. She didn’t have far to go, but with advanced Parkinson’s, every small step is an adventure – a possible victory or a possible injury.
All my life, I’ve been a fast walker. I don’t know why. Perhaps I’m impatient. Perhaps I like the exercise of a brisk walk. Or maybe I love feeling productive. I like getting things done, and if I can get them done quickly and move on to something else, that’s even better.
But when we cared for Grandma Rosey, it was imperative that we slowed our pace. Otherwise, we would be of no help to her if we were steps ahead of her when she fell. We needed to be right there, by her side, just in case she needed us.
I recently saw a short video clip of an older gentleman with a cane, walking a Dachshund dog. And this dog was just the sweetest thing because it would take two tiny steps, then stop and wait for its owner, who was walking very, very slowly. And once its owner had caught up and begun to take that next arduous step, that precious dog would take its two tiny steps and then stop and wait.
I could really relate to that because for the past several weeks, I have had to painfully hobble around and accomplish very little. I really don’t know what I did to my left knee, only that it was very angry with me and refused to work. So I hobbled around on my right leg and tried to baby my left knee whenever I could.
Only then my right knee began to hurt because of all of the extra work it was doing. Soon, my back joined in the fray of traitorous body parts all conspiring against me to convince me that I am now over 40, and it’s all downhill from here. As I once heard someone say, enjoy life in your 20s and 30s because once you’re over 40, the “check engine” light comes on.
As I’ve hobbled around the house the past couple weeks, sliding down the steps on my bum like I used to as a child (except then it was for fun, and now it’s in an effort to rest my knees), I’ve thought a lot about Grandma Rosey. How she needed us right there with her whenever she shuffled from place to place, just in case she started to go down.
And I have understood that on a new level lately, the humility of needing other people, the discouragement of not being able to pop out here and there and grab groceries or go to the gym or even clean the house. (I am promising myself never again to complain about going to the gym or cleaning the house because it’s such a blessing to have the health to actually do these tasks!)
I have thought about some dear friends who live with illnesses or in chronic pain, who don’t have the assurance that they will ever feel that much better on this side of eternity. I have thought about how getting older is just hard in so many ways, how losing one’s health or mobility affects so many other pieces and parts of one’s life. How taxing, too, it all can be on one’s families and friends.
I am not one who ever wants to ask for help, but what a blessing to have my daughter put away groceries and my husband run to Costco for me, to have them wash dishes and grab things that I need. It makes me think of that sweet Dachshund walking its owner. I’m sure the owner would like to be the one walking the dog, but that little dog is walking him as much as he is walking it.
So my takeaway from this experience is the beauty of helpers, the kindness of those who care. And yes, the surrendering of my sometimes-idol of productivity, of working out and feeling in shape, of having a spotless house or a well-stocked pantry. But also, the importance of slowing down and walking alongside those who need us.
In some seasons, we will be slowing down to walk with others; other seasons, we will be the one hobbling along who needs others to slow down for us. That’s why I love what we find in 1 Samuel 22:2. David is on the run from Saul, who is trying to kill him. And we find out who his friends are, who his men are, in this verse:
And everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was bitter in soul, gathered to him. And he became captain over them. And there were with him about four hundred men.
What a band of followers David had! These don’t sound like, at least from this verse, the type of people one would choose first, do they? That’s why I love this so much. David becomes captain over men who are in hard places, feeling discouraged, maybe even hopeless. He slows down to walk alongside them during their tough times.
Why would David do this? Because he is in the midst of his own tough time. To go from killing a menacing giant and becoming the people’s hero, featured in their songs, to being on the run from a man who had once accepted him as a son – that had to be rough. But he wasn’t alone. He and his men could take comfort in one another as they all walked through the mire together. They could strengthen one another as they waited and trusted in God.
I love how Paul deals with this in 2 Corinthians 5:6-8 (The Message):
That’s why we live with such good cheer. You won’t see us drooping our heads or dragging our feet! Cramped conditions here don’t get us down. They only remind us of the spacious living conditions ahead. It’s what we trust in but don’t yet see that keeps us going. Do you suppose a few ruts in the road or rocks in the path are going to stop us? When the time comes, we’ll be plenty ready to exchange exile for homecoming.
Or 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (ESV):
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
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