Three Out of Four... ain't bad?

Jesus said, “Do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body…”

Hard to admit that those four commandments are just the latest that I have disobeyed in the last few weeks.

Well, maybe only three. Three out of four.

I am not anxious about my life. Check. BUT... I am anxious about others’ lives: my son and his (potentially serious) girlfriend; my daughter and her new husband; my ex-wife, who is surely dying and way too soon; and, most especially, my granddaughter who will be four in August.

I AM anxious about their lives, wanting them to be well and happy; wanting to spare them grief and scars; wishing them health and prosperity; hoping to see all of it—more grandbabies, great-grandbabies, every wedding, every graduation, every joyous moment—and knowing that I will not. That I cannot. At least not all of it. At some point the procession will leave me behind and that, of course, is the way of the world.

I am also clear that seeing them, their events, their joy—or even being present to them in their sadness—is much more important to me than it is to them.

This last week, I watched my poor ex-wife—who is suffering from a very rare and quickly debilitation neuro-muscular disease that leaves her diminished in so many ways—I watched her watch our lone grandchild move here and there about the room among a house full of folk, gathered for our daughter’s remarriage. There were children and toys and the baby had no interest in older folk, her or me or even her mother (though she did cry after the ceremony, apparently wondering if her mother would still love her after taking vows to her new husband; she was assured she would be, and she will be!). I could sense how desperately the grandmother wanted to engage the granddaughter, to no avail. The child, and the world, is leaving her and the sadness of that, and the incomprehensibility of her situation, weighed heavily on me that night, and still.

I am anxious about my daughter, new husband, new house, new situation. I want everything to be as sweet and prosperous and redemptive as it can be, and especially given the pain and difficulty she has endured.

And my son, who has had a hard time figuring it out with women, but finally is in a relationship that seems so right for him. I want him to marry and have kids; and I would like for him to do all that before his mother dies, but I don’t want him to do any of it—nor, strong of character as he is, will he—for the wrong reasons in the wrong timing.

So, my apologies to my Lord, I do take thought, am somewhat anxious, for their lives. I guess that is what Dads do and are. But I also trust them into His care. One time in my life I thought I had had a stroke and was dying. Not very far into the crisis (which was serious, but not that serious) I found the serenity to let go—to let myself go into the care of Jesus, and to believe that He would take care of those I was leaving behind (since He, unlike us, is not bound by time or human parameters). Now, again, when my mortality is a metallic taste in my mouth, I leave them to the Lord. But still I worry a little. And wish. I would so love to see my girl start school, finish school, date (though I may hurt any boy who presumes he is worthy of her), marry, have kids of her own… alas, that is not up to me.

More worrisome than breaking the "do not worry" commandment is the “take no thought of what you eat and drink” commandment/s. Ever since my doctor took me off caffeine of any sort, and cigars—which I do not smoke often but dearly love—and alcohol in all its forms (I have done better with the first two than the third!),  I have realized how much of my day is organized around eating and drinking. More the latter than the former.

I am of a constitution that allows me to not eat as often as others. When I try to, I gain weight. When I eat only when I am hungry, which I do not often notice, I lose weight. But I have gotten into a routine of afternoon study with beer, dinner with wine, and bourbon before bed. Not all those every day. Not a lot of any one of them, usually. But part of my routine. And especially as I am single and live alone, kind of my companions.

It’s been hard. Mary in a Sunfish, pray for me.

As to food, I have so wanted to lose some weight, so I have been over-concerned with what I am eating and when. Not good. I should not, at 64.5, be concerned with body image or the curvature in my spine that makes my stomach look as if I have swallowed a basketball… but there is vanity at work, I have to admit.

Meanwhile, “(take no thought) of your body…” Jesus goes on to talk about wardrobe. That is not my concern. More is the fact that prostate cancer killed my father. Bladder cancer killed my maternal grandfather. It has been three months since the diagnosis, and while the doctor assures me there is no rush (my surgery will be three months to the day from the diagnosis), I do wonder what is going on down there. I wonder what he will find. I am a bit anxious about what my family and friends will hear from him when he comes out of surgery and says… what?

“Everything went great! No sign of cancer in his bladder or lymph nodes or surrounding tissue. Consider him cured.”

Or, “The surgery went well, but we were surprised to see more cancer than we expected. He will need radiation and chemo. He has an 80% chance to live five years,” which is what the doctor told us about Dad and, sure enough, he lived to within a few weeks of 5 years. I do not know how long my grandfather, for whom I was named and never knew, was sick before he died.

But Jesus says, I am of more value than the birds. Jesus says I need not worry about tomorrow, for today’s anxiety is enough for today. Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, and let Jesus take care of it all.

I will do my best, dear Lord. Dear Lord, pray for me.

I am doing my best.