I Will Survive

 

Cue up the music.

Though Gloria Gaynor’s disco anthem, I Will Survive seems to tell the straightforward story of a women unwilling to put up with a cheating partner, it is more.  It is more than a simple story of surviving cheating, it carries the universal themes of strength, pride, independence, and overcoming self-doubt.  It has been embraced by many groups and individuals as a anthem of glaring hope . . . of survival.  It has become my theme song as I continue to journey through this circus call life.

 

Especially after the latest eclipse of the sun.  One esteemed politician from Georgia proclaimed it and recent earthquakes on the east coast to be a message from God . . . shape up or else.  An apocalyptic message in the congresswoman’s estimation.  And . . . I survived.

 

I survived another one.  Now I don’t want to brag, but since my birth in 1958 I have now survived approximately 76 end of the world predictions and 22 “second coming” scenarios.  I have taken some of the best hits from some of the best naysayers over the years: Hal Lindsay (The Late Great Planet Earth), Billy Graham (Approaching Hoofbeats: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse), Edgar Cayce (the “Sleeping Prophet”), Jim Jones (the Kool Aid” idiot), Pat Robertson (The End of the Age),  Charles Manson, Jerry Falwell (End Time Politics), Tim LaHaye (Left Behind), Jeane Dixon, and a whole slew of religious zealots over the generations and self-proclaimed prophets.  Throw in there the infamous Y2K into the mix. 

 

I have somehow missed out on the zombie invasions.  Missed out any form of nuclear annihilation.  Side stepped all the natural calamities and disasters.  Came through the pandemic in one piece.  Dodged all the asteroid showers and space junk falling to earth.  So far have avoided any super volcanic explosion of Yellowstone.  Still have Artificial Intelligence under control . . . no invasion of robots.  You name it and I have so far steered clear of being kaput. 

 

Oh, there have been moments when I had my doubt.  Take for example the Rapture.  As a pastor, before retiring, there had been times when I got to church and waited for the congregation to arrive.  There were Sundays when few showed up to worship and I began to worry . . . worry where everyone was at.  Worry that maybe I missed the signs that the “end” had come . . . that I got left behind.  But I survived.  Usually, their reason for the dismal attendance was something better was on the television.  Think about it . . . would you rather listen to me or some flashy, millionaire evangelist?  Either way . . . I survived.

 

But I have my moments, especially in the world climate that all of us are existing in right now . . . these are crazy times.  It is easy to slip into paranoia.  Easy to interpret what is going on as “signs of the end”.  Of course, the Bible tells us that there will be “signs” that the end is near before it is all said and done.  It also said that every generation will have such “signs”.  That is enough to hang a hat on and jump into the panic that the “end is near”.

 

For example, take our nation’s politics right now.  Have you ever seen or experienced a bigger circus?  As I stated earlier, we have a congresswoman from Georgia telling us that God is sending us messages through earthquakes and an eclipse of the sun.  She said we Americans need to listen . . . or else.  The “great orange one” has equated himself as Jesus.  Makes me wonder if he might be that anti-Christ I read all about in the Bible.  Signs, signs, everywhere signs.  Ya see . . . it is easy to slip into this convoluted thinking and see the “end” coming all around you.  I’ll admit it . . . I have been guilty of such thinking from time to time.

 

But . . . I have survived.  It ain’t bragging.  It’s a fact.

 

And so have you.

 

The sun came up this morning.  The birds were singing.  People went to work and school.  People went shopping.  They were enjoying one another.  Life continued to roll.  We are all here despite the anxiety we are all feeling.  We have survived.

 

This is not the Creator’s show set on a continuous loop.  No.  This is creation set in motion and it is our choice on how it plays out.  We can jump onto the craziness of the “end is coming” band wagon or we can choose to live our lives as we have been challenged to do . . . to love and bring the family together.  The choice is ours.

 

I appreciate Miss Gaynor’s words in her song, I Will Survive, especially the chorus:

 

No, not I, I will survive

Long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive

I've got my life to live

And all my love to give and

I will survive

I, I, I will survive

 

It’s my mantra . . . my theme song.  You see, I have survived (once again)!  So have you.  Yea, cue up the music . . . we have survived.  Go ahead, brag!

The Warranty Expired

I have always thought of 1958 being a good year . . . an exceptional year.  That was the year that I was born.  That was the year that my wife was born.  We are pretty good people.  Nice people. The year 1958 was a good year.  Unfortunately, those of us born in this exceptionally great year are beginning to show our wear and tear.  Despite it all, I am wearing out.

Anyone in the family will tell you that I am lousy at buying cars.  In fact, they would say that I suck at it.  I have purchased more “lemons” than “gems” in my lifetime.  Especially when it comes to buying used vehicles.  I’m just not good at it.  It seems I always select that car that always needs something . . . some type of repair.  All vehicles wear out . . . usually six months after the warranty.

 

It seems like something is always needing to be replaced or repaired.  Earlier this week the wife was driving back from her water aerobics class in a nearby town when her dashboard lit up like a pinball machine.  Engine light!  Brake light!  Car going to blow up light!  Okay, not the last one even though it crossed her mind.   A justifiable panic attack set in.  I received several calls from her.  We cried.  We gnashed our teeth.  I cursed a lot.  We survived.  The mechanic told us it needed parts replaced.  Informed us that we might want to consider taking out a second mortgage.  All is well now.  The whole point of all of this is that the car was showing its age despite having been a great year for Subaru.

 

Like anything else . . . the human body can’t escape entropy—the “gradual decline into disorder”.  It wears out.  Even exceptional years like 1958!  And I hate it!

 

The wear and tear on my 1958 model is filled with the usual suspects.  The balding head of hair.  The fading eyesight.  The loss of hearing.  The migration of weight to the mid-section.  The wonderful aches of arthritis.  The achy feet.  Wear and tear, but no need for replacements.  But the body is letting me know that it’s feeling its years . . . that the warranty has expired.

 

For the most part I can handle it.  I can cope with it.  I’ve got hats for the balding.  Glasses for the eyes.  I turn the television up louder for the hearing—I believe in sharing with the neighborhood.  I wear baggy clothes for the weight migration.  I put up with the sudden attacks of arthritis.  I wear my Crocs at the end of the day for my weary feet.  Suffice it to say, I’m hanging in there.  I just turn up the volume of distraction like the radio in the car so I can’t hear all the complaining noise.

 

Most of the time it works.  I don’t worry too much.  I figure it is a part of aging and I am aging.  There is only one part of my anatomy that creates extreme anxiety when it comes to my body—the back.  The back worries me because I have seen too many others deal with back issues and it never turned out well.  Backs are the worst.  Guess who has been knocking on the door of my physical health.

 

My back.

 

About a week ago I woke up, jumped out of bed, and screamed.  Screamed bloody murder.  You would have thought I stepped on a Lego block.  Nope, it was my back.  Now it is true that this is not the first time my back has made its presence known.  Usually once a year it likes to make an unannounced appearance to complain.  Always the same way.  I somehow tweak my back while I am sleeping.  And it hurts.  I look like a 200-year-old trying to get out of the chair.  I must get on my hands and knees to pick stuff up off the floor.  I brace myself to walk up and down the stairs.  I must sit down to put on my socks . . . underwear and pants are not too far behind.  I scream and double over in pain when I sneeze or cough.  I can’t bend over.  That part of my 1958 model is sending me a message and I don’t like it.

 

If I knew how I did this to my back, you know darn good and well that I wouldn’t do it.  Not even my male stupidity and stubbornness would get in the way of avoiding this pain.  I imagine you are thinking that I should go and see a doctor.  Get it checked out.  The wife knows better than to throw that suggestion out.  As much as I appreciate my doctor—and she is a good one—that is where the anxiety sets in.  All the worse scenarios come flooding in when I think of all those people I have known with back issues.  The doctor would be the last resort.  When that time comes I will either crawl into her office or be wheeled in by the wife.

 

Normally the pain goes away in a week or two.  Just disappears and I go on with my life.  Until then the back is a pain in the . . . well, back.  It likes to fool around with my emotions.  For example, this morning . . . I carefully rolled to the side of the bed, sat up, put my feet down and stood up—no pain!  I felt wonderful!  I felt great!  I was cured and no one laid one hand on me or prayed over me.

 

Wrong!

 

Thirty minutes later, the pain was back with a vengeance.  Relishing its glory.  Crippling me.

 

Oh well, that is the price one pays for getting older even if it was a great year for that model.  I broke down and took an Aleve despite my aversion to it.  My wife suggested it.  It doesn’t agree with my stomach, but I took it.  I am not sure that it has been helpful.  Basically, it covers the pain but does nothing to take the pain away.  It is the medical form of turning up the radio.  It made the wife happy.  A happy wife is a happy home.

 

It is just part of getting older, this pain.  I just need to be patient.  Let it run its course.  See what happens.  I’m tough, just ignorant.  If I must, I will consider repairs since I can’t really get a new model.  Probably will cost a bundle since the warranty on the 1958 model expired years ago.  I hear the newer models are great, but expensive.  There isn’t much of trade in for 1958 models.  I guess I am stuck with this classic.  It is great when it is running.  The problem is that it doesn’t run like it used to. 

 

Oh well . . .