My Mother's Prayers

My mother used to tell me that for years she prayed for a piano player.  God apparently answered her prayer because I play the piano and I LOVE to do it!

There's another prayer she used to pray often.  She would ask God to heal my feet.  I have absolutely no arches and two large-sized bunions.  It's not the foot of a model, that's for sure!

I had a flashback to childhood when I was at my first appointment with the physical therapist a few weeks ago.  He looked at my feet and I could tell he was a bit taken back.  When he saw the big calluses I have on the bottom of my feet, he asked if I ever rub them.  That's when I remembered the days when I was a little girl and my mother would offer to rub my feet.  She would use 'bag balm' that she swears by (if she were a swearing woman, which she's not) into my feet and pray that God would heal them.

So here I sit in the physical therapist's office needing healing in my foot.  Apparently my foot structure did not tolerate the ice skating venture.  There has been no specific injury, but a gradual intolerance of all that I was asking of my foot, based on my poor structure.  The orthopedic doctor said he doubted I'd ever be able to skate because of it, but the physical therapist believes they can construct a support system for my ice skate that will allow me to skate in the future. I choose to believe the P. therapist.

It's been a terribly long journey of healing and it's not over yet, but this morning I was told that I can take a 15 minute medium-paced walk and see how it goes.  From there I can begin to increase the amount of time, though not the speed.  I have renewed hope.

I'm sure I will have a much stronger ankle and overall body when I go back to skating because I am faithfully doing all the exercises they are giving me and doing them on both feet so that both ankles will be strong.

I'm so glad God answered my mother's prayer for a piano player and that He chose me as the recipient of that gift.  I use it with joy.   I wish that God would answer her prayer for my feet and that I would have arches and no bunions.  He hasn't answered that one....yet. But I'm learning a lot about developing my feet in preparation for going back to skating and it will pay off in the end.

There is one big prayer that my mother prays regularly and I have joined her in the prayer.  She wants to go home to heaven.  I want her to be able to go, since that's what she prefers.  She's tired.  She's lived a long, full life.  She's lost two sons and two husbands and she's a tad weary of life here on earth.

I don't understand why God doesn't answer this prayer of hers, but I think somehow in the long, drawn out process of aging, there is some therapy that is strengthening her, and I, until the day He does answer that prayer.  She and I would prefer the 'quick fix' but that's apparently not the road we will be granted.

Someone Else's Shoes

When I was a little girl, I loved trying on my mother's clothes and shoes.  Of course, they never fit, but that didn't matter. It was all pretend.

It takes years to grow into someone else's shoes and sometimes it takes something drastic to make them fit. I wish it wasn't that way.

My father passed away on May 31, 2001 and in the midst of my grief, I stopped writing songs.  It wasn't on purpose and I'm not even sure I noticed at first.  But I just didn't have anything to say.  I was still writing by 'inspiration only' in those days.  Grief had stolen my inspiration and the songs went with it.  Fortunately, since then I've learned how to write by inspiration and perspiration thanks to writing songs for terminally ill children.  I couldn't wait for inspiration then, I had to write a song no matter what.

A year after my father died, I took my mother to visit his grave and when I stepped out of the car to walk over to the sacred spot,  I heard a distinct melody and lyric in my head:

"Now I understand, things I couldn't see before"

I went on to finish the song and it remains one of my favorites to this day.  It jump-started my songwriting and I entered another season of writing.  The song pretty much tells the story.

When I was a little girl

we would go and visit my grandpa's grave

almost every holiday we would stop and see

I would watch my mother kneel

say a word maybe shed a tear

I would wait so impatiently

I guess I couldn't see

But now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

Here I am I'm older now

I go and visit my daddy's grave

almost every time I'm near I stop and say hello

I share my heart and shed a tear

I'm feeling things I never felt before

I guess I see what my mother saw

and what it meant to her

Now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

It's amazing how I'm right back in that same spot of awareness again, but in a different set of circumstances.  

I was recently in an airport utilizing the handicap services they provide because I've been on crutches for weeks due to an ankle injury.  The skycaps had to keep reminding me to sit down in the wheelchair from the side, not try to hurl myself over the metal feet sticking out from the wheelchair.   After having to be reminded each time, I had a flashback to my mother and I on many excursions where I continually have to remind her to sit down in the car first and then swing her feet around after her.  It's easier than putting her feet in first.  We learned that in physical therapy when she fractured her hip.  But she always needs reminded and I have tried to be patient with her every time.  

Now the tables were turned, or perhaps it's better to say the wheelchair has turned, and I needed reminded of the same principle, each time.  She has the excuse of being 91 years old and lapsing in memory.  I have no idea what my excuse is.  

But the last time I needed reminded, I smiled.  I was so glad I have been patient with her. 

My graveside experience with writing "Someone Else's Shoes" came to my mind and once again I knew that it's always easier to extend mercy to others when you yourself have somehow stepped into their shoes, if even for just a moment.  

Buy "Someone Else's Shoes" here if you like.