Wednesday, May 1, 2013

When courage doesn't roar, but tries again

It was the way his eyes held her, completely held her, in adoration.  The way his hand slid tender down her arm as he leaned in to ask her a question.  This ninety-year old husband of a beautiful woman in the nursing home I visit each week, he's there so much he became a volunteer.  Nine hours a day, seven days a week, he comes to be with his wife, pass out the mail and the newsletters, help with anything he can.  I stole glances at these two and blinked back unexpected tears.  I had to look away.

Pure, holy, aged, selfless, tender love.  

How I ache to give that love, and yes, to receive.

Oh, but how?  How did they get here and from where did they come?  This is their story to tell and I only know but pieces of ours. 

. . . . . . . . . . 


Four consecutive, uninterrupted days we had to ourselves this past weekend.  A luxury we haven't had, ever.  Days to cruise quiet beach town roads on bicycles; to walk barefoot in silky white sand and chilly Oregon coast waters; to bundle up in early mornings and watch all the people digging for clams along the low tide and walk to the local bakery for pastries and coffee.  Days to browse antique stores and garage sales and thrift shops for little treasures; to hike trails along the coast; to climb rocks with waves breaking around us; to explore caves and marvel at creation and unabashedly take too many tourist pictures.  To share breakfasts, lunches and dinners in each others' company and fall into bed at the same time and not wake up in a groggy rush. 

We both felt it, more than a page turning.  A new chapter beginning.  And this is where new begins, sometimes, with forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what lies ahead.  Not because we really do forget, but because we'd rather build something new.  Sometimes, we just need to tear it down and start over.

Can we just start over?


. . . . . . . . . . 

I felt like my hands were melded to my brakes, felt the whole frame rattling along the streets, this afternoon as I ventured out for a ride.  Seattle's streets are not for the faint of heart, and maybe I haven't wanted to admit after several tumbles off my bike and still recovering from last year's big injury, how faint of heart I really am.  I'm downright, high blood pressure, tense forearms, hyper-vigilant paranoid on this old, creaky bicycle, on these streets.  I navigate cracks, crevices, cement drop-offs, roughly grated strips of road, full-on potholes and everything in between with my eyes scanning hard, my heart pounding, like I'm riding through a field of land mines.

I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this, I'm pruttering (half praying, half muttering) to myself and God and whoever else might be in my path. 

I'm so nervous of falling, because I remember how much it hurts.  I remember the road rash, the cleaning out of raw wounds, the burn and the sting, to avoid infection.  And I remember the scabbing, the stretching and pulling of healing - the scarring.  

But I know this, too: if I want to dream of triathlons again, I have to get on that bike and ride through, ride past, that fear.

So I steer my way back home, a short ride, and I dismount to walk down the steps.  I can't do this today the way that I want to, but tomorrow.  Tomorrow, perhaps, I will ride just a little bit further, with a little less fear.  


. . . . . . . . . .

Yes, today we lean in, and tomorrow, we will write a few more sentences; write our story a little further out, what we live that day in love.  And there will be days, it's a pruttering, a dismounting and walking, but always, we pray with feeble hands clasped together, let it be a trying again tomorrow.   So that one day, whether we're ninety or fifty or thirty-nine, our love pours out in that gentle courage of presence, of service, that look that passes between us of complete acceptance and adoration. 


Joining with Heather and Emily and Jennifer.

16 comments:

  1. I love the "pruttering". Such a great mash up. I am so glad that you are having a new beginning.

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    1. Thank you, sweet friend. I'm praying new beginnings for you, too, please know that. Love you.

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  2. Dear Amber
    This dear old gentleman made my day! I am sure they must have had an incredible marriage and still do! I like your courage to admit you are still scared and that it is okay to get back into action at a slow pace you feel comfortable with ... little be little.
    Blessings from Emily's.
    Mia

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    1. So sweet, Mia - he made my day, too. Thank you for your kind words, always.

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  3. Thank God for new beginnings. I love your honest hope here, friend...and I am so happy to read your words. Your casting eyes toward beauty, your receiving the good gifts of your days, your marriage, your body. And that you recognize that the couple's story of deep and selfless love started somewhere long before the tender moments you saw. Your struggle, your hard-fought scrapping and scraping for healing -- all beautiful, as are you.

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    1. Amen! I am beyond grateful for new beginnings. And I treasure that you are witness to some of this journey I am on - and I to yours. This is precious, is it not? You honestly help me cast my eyes toward more beauty, friend.

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  4. i treasure new beginnings. step forward brave in faith, sister.

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  5. Amber....what beautiful words. Truly. It's that trying....that every day, every hour, every minute trying....That's what keeps us all going, all brave. And I imagine it was an every day, every hour, every minute love that your beautiful couple shared that built itself such beauty.

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    1. What a good reminder, Brenna - the every day, every hour, every minute trying - and love - is what builds beautiful stories. Brave stories. Thank you for that.

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  6. Well.... well... Well.... I've been looking for the amazing Amber Cadenas. And here she is. Every bit as shimmering and beautiful as I was told. :)

    So glad you're linking with us at #TellHisStory.

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    1. Are you kidding? I've been hearing about the amazing Jennifer Lee, and so I'm honored, that you found me here. I've been hearing from my Jumping Tandem friends of how beautiful your heart is. I hope one day to be able to meet you in person.

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  7. oh friend, i get this. i really do. my husband and i have started over so many times. it is the grace of being married to each other and to the creator... because he can recreate our marriage, and our hearts. that opening story? made me tear up too. bless you girl.

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    1. Thank you for this, Em. This year, I'm beginning to appreciate more and more the great grace in this promise - that in him is abundant redemption (Ps. 130:7) - and that means the grace to start over again and again and again, to have hearts and marriage recreated. The kindness of the Lord... blows me away. Love to you.

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  8. I'm going to go back to this post over and over again this coming year (we're still in our first year together). Starting over...such a pertinent message for me right now. Thank you for this and everything you write.

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    1. Lauren, there are so many starting overs, doesn't it seem? I had no idea. I'm thankful this spoke to you, where you're at. From your last post it sounds like you're starting over in your work? I hope to read some more of that soon.

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