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| STEPS One at a time. |
Last weekend I was given the honor of serving as best man for my nephew's
wedding. Despite the progression of my health problems, I had given my word, so being
there was both an honor and an obligation.
The round trip to and from Louisville was difficult, but worth it. My nephew had a
simple, yet elegant wedding. At the rehearsal all seemed concerned about my ability to
walk down the aisle. There are days that the ataxia is worse and there are days that it is
better. When I get enough rest, I know the next day will be much easier. I had hoped
that at the actual service I would be able to move without difficulty, but that simply was not
the case. So, black cane in hand and lovely Maid of Honor on my left, I made it down the
aisle—one step at a time. Each shuffle of my feet brought me a bit closer to the end,
where I got to see something wonderful happen, a commitment of love.
I had planned on this trip to visit what I consider to be the most beautiful place in the
world, Bernheim Forest. Located about 20 miles south of Louisville off of I-65 in
Clermont, KY, is 14,000 acres of forest and park land. Isaac Bernheim set up a trust to
maintain this little piece of nature, parts of which one can hike to and not see a single
sign of humanity's effects upon the world. When I was in high school, other than the local
bowling alley, Bernheim was my retreat. I guess it is the Lenape Indian in me, but I have
always felt closest to God in this peaceful slice of creation.
My favorite hiking trail at Bernheim is also the oldest. Rock Run Loop was carved out
by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the great depression. The half-mile trail, while
full of ups and downs and creek crossings, should take only thirty minutes. As I shuffled
my clumsy feet and cane towards the entrance to the trail, I knew it would take me much
longer. Jamie asked if I was up to this. I told her I was, but to be honest I was not sure.
Still, I knew that once inside I would feel a spiritual serenity I had not felt for some time. I
had to try—one step at a time.
Lincoln's ataxia makes one walk like a drunk. Lifting my feet over roots, rocks, and
limbs and still finding a firm foothold proved to be more trying than I had thought. Twenty-
five years ago I scampered along this trail with the agility of a young deer. This day it
was a slow, stumbling labor of love. I was in paradise, and each step would give me a
slightly different view of the beauty that is God's creation. After each step I would pause
briefly to get my balance; this afforded me the opportunity to savor the slightly different
view I had found. While the ataxia made the hiking difficult, today I was thankful--for the
slowness of my pace gave me the chance to drink in the wonder of it all. I stumbled and
tripped numerous times, still I plodded on—one step at a time.
The last few months have been difficult for me. The pain and fatigue from my other
health problems have conspired to make life seem like a chore. There are days I hurt so
much that I feel the urge to surrender and let my body succumb, but the love of and for
my family makes me push on—one step at a time. The chores that I am able to do can
seem daunting now. Even cleaning the litter box can tax my reserves. Jamie and my
children scold me and beg to help, but they do not realize that these small duties are also
a stubborn refusal to give up my independence. There will come a time when I will not be
able to do the dishes, cook dinner and the like. But as long as I am able, I will attack
these chores—one step at a time.
I have not had a sponsor for four years. I am determined though, to prod on and
bowl one more tournament. I will learn to manage these new problems and be healthy
enough for at least one more professional tournament. I lack a sponsor, so I am saving
up—one step, one dollar at a time.
I have other, more important goals and aspirations. I hope to walk Ally down the aisle
and see Alex graduate from college. I might stumble and even have to stop and rest
along the way, but I will get there—one step, one day at a time.
There is another way at looking at all of this. While all of it has made life very difficult,
it has also made me slow down and appreciate life itself and the beauty around it. While I
could complain about our dog Freddie waking me up for his morning walk, I rejoice in the
sunrise I saw today. I got to see the most amazing mural God painted in the sky this
morning, so we walked on—one step at a time.
Dear readers, in your own lives I am sure there are daunting tasks you have to face.
If you dig down deep you will find the strength. Do not look at the long journey, only at
the next step. If you make it through that, you have won a victory of your own. Years
ago, after all of those operations, I set a huge goal for myself. When my arms were
strong enough to lift a ball, I saw the long path I had to take to qualify for the Professional
Bowlers Association. Qualifying for the PBA takes most only two years. The same task
took me, a legally disabled man, SEVEN years. Despite the scoffing of others and the
numerous gutter balls I threw along the way, I made my childhood dream come true—one
step, one frame at a time.
Life will be difficult, as it is for all of us. I do not know how many tomorrows I have, but
then again which of us does? As I pause to catch my breath and regain my balance I will
be thankful for the opportunity to savor each passing moment. As I type this, tomorrow is
13 hours, 20 minutes and 42 seconds away. Still, like you I will make it through—one
step at a time.
Be well,
Sponge
07/15/2009
http://www.bernheim.org/
wedding. Despite the progression of my health problems, I had given my word, so being
there was both an honor and an obligation.
The round trip to and from Louisville was difficult, but worth it. My nephew had a
simple, yet elegant wedding. At the rehearsal all seemed concerned about my ability to
walk down the aisle. There are days that the ataxia is worse and there are days that it is
better. When I get enough rest, I know the next day will be much easier. I had hoped
that at the actual service I would be able to move without difficulty, but that simply was not
the case. So, black cane in hand and lovely Maid of Honor on my left, I made it down the
aisle—one step at a time. Each shuffle of my feet brought me a bit closer to the end,
where I got to see something wonderful happen, a commitment of love.
I had planned on this trip to visit what I consider to be the most beautiful place in the
world, Bernheim Forest. Located about 20 miles south of Louisville off of I-65 in
Clermont, KY, is 14,000 acres of forest and park land. Isaac Bernheim set up a trust to
maintain this little piece of nature, parts of which one can hike to and not see a single
sign of humanity's effects upon the world. When I was in high school, other than the local
bowling alley, Bernheim was my retreat. I guess it is the Lenape Indian in me, but I have
always felt closest to God in this peaceful slice of creation.
My favorite hiking trail at Bernheim is also the oldest. Rock Run Loop was carved out
by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the great depression. The half-mile trail, while
full of ups and downs and creek crossings, should take only thirty minutes. As I shuffled
my clumsy feet and cane towards the entrance to the trail, I knew it would take me much
longer. Jamie asked if I was up to this. I told her I was, but to be honest I was not sure.
Still, I knew that once inside I would feel a spiritual serenity I had not felt for some time. I
had to try—one step at a time.
Lincoln's ataxia makes one walk like a drunk. Lifting my feet over roots, rocks, and
limbs and still finding a firm foothold proved to be more trying than I had thought. Twenty-
five years ago I scampered along this trail with the agility of a young deer. This day it
was a slow, stumbling labor of love. I was in paradise, and each step would give me a
slightly different view of the beauty that is God's creation. After each step I would pause
briefly to get my balance; this afforded me the opportunity to savor the slightly different
view I had found. While the ataxia made the hiking difficult, today I was thankful--for the
slowness of my pace gave me the chance to drink in the wonder of it all. I stumbled and
tripped numerous times, still I plodded on—one step at a time.
The last few months have been difficult for me. The pain and fatigue from my other
health problems have conspired to make life seem like a chore. There are days I hurt so
much that I feel the urge to surrender and let my body succumb, but the love of and for
my family makes me push on—one step at a time. The chores that I am able to do can
seem daunting now. Even cleaning the litter box can tax my reserves. Jamie and my
children scold me and beg to help, but they do not realize that these small duties are also
a stubborn refusal to give up my independence. There will come a time when I will not be
able to do the dishes, cook dinner and the like. But as long as I am able, I will attack
these chores—one step at a time.
I have not had a sponsor for four years. I am determined though, to prod on and
bowl one more tournament. I will learn to manage these new problems and be healthy
enough for at least one more professional tournament. I lack a sponsor, so I am saving
up—one step, one dollar at a time.
I have other, more important goals and aspirations. I hope to walk Ally down the aisle
and see Alex graduate from college. I might stumble and even have to stop and rest
along the way, but I will get there—one step, one day at a time.
There is another way at looking at all of this. While all of it has made life very difficult,
it has also made me slow down and appreciate life itself and the beauty around it. While I
could complain about our dog Freddie waking me up for his morning walk, I rejoice in the
sunrise I saw today. I got to see the most amazing mural God painted in the sky this
morning, so we walked on—one step at a time.
Dear readers, in your own lives I am sure there are daunting tasks you have to face.
If you dig down deep you will find the strength. Do not look at the long journey, only at
the next step. If you make it through that, you have won a victory of your own. Years
ago, after all of those operations, I set a huge goal for myself. When my arms were
strong enough to lift a ball, I saw the long path I had to take to qualify for the Professional
Bowlers Association. Qualifying for the PBA takes most only two years. The same task
took me, a legally disabled man, SEVEN years. Despite the scoffing of others and the
numerous gutter balls I threw along the way, I made my childhood dream come true—one
step, one frame at a time.
Life will be difficult, as it is for all of us. I do not know how many tomorrows I have, but
then again which of us does? As I pause to catch my breath and regain my balance I will
be thankful for the opportunity to savor each passing moment. As I type this, tomorrow is
13 hours, 20 minutes and 42 seconds away. Still, like you I will make it through—one
step at a time.
Be well,
Sponge
07/15/2009
http://www.bernheim.org/
| Photo taken by Jamie McCullough |