The Grace of Slowness

For about three years now, I've been afflicted prematurely by a degenerative condition that is osteoarthritis. I say prematurely because it's a common ailment of the elderly, and although I'm no spring chicken, I am not yet a senior citizen. My doctor said that it's in my genes.

OA has slowed me down significantly. It's painful to stand and to walk. I've undergone therapy and have spent a lot already but my condition although improving, has not yet allowed me to walk at a normal pace, let alone pain-free. I've gone through several levels of frustration, anger and depression, but at the end of the day, I remind myself that there's still a lot to be thankful for and that I am better off than most.

Having led an active life, I would manage events practically on my feet for hours on end. I would teach or conduct training sessions animatedly, walking and standing. To "go slow" was something alien to me. I never thought that I would have to be at the mercy of my lower limbs until OA struck me down. I'm on slow-mo mode all the time, something that makes me avoid most activities especially when I know that my companions would have to re-arrange their schedules and look for venues for my convenience. Much as I appreciate the concern and consideration, I feel uncomfortable being fussed over.

These days, though, I try to see the grace in my slowness and in my pain. I manage my time well and start much early than usual as I move slow. I check what else I can pick-up, get or bring on my way to a certain part of the house, to avoid going back and forth. I have learned to be more patient and considerate, more tolerant and accepting of both people and situations. I have appreciated my family more for their efforts to ease my discomfort and to assist me with my needs. Once quick and steady, now slow and ungainly. I used to walk with as much confidence that I could muster with squared shoulders and chin up. These days, I walk hunched, while looking down to avoid uneven floorings. It has indeed been very humbling.

I still pray for the day when my legs will be restored to their former, healthy state. I've bargained and made promises, cried out and whispered my supplications. But I'm better off than most, I remind myself, so I should really just be grateful.

I don't know if I ever will get better. I'd like to think that I would. But in the meantime, while I am slow and the world spins by quickly, I will take in everything with a deep sense of hope. I will look for ways to make the most while I'm in this state and be as productive as I can, despite my limitations, offering each slow and painful step to the One who is the source of all healing and who suffered much, much worse for my sake.

And I will wait...hopeful, with much faith.