Patience
I was playing Solitaire on the computer this morning while I waited for the first batch of laundry to be ready for the dryer. When I finally won a hand, I looked at the score and was amazed to discover that it read - $147 . I'd dug myself a hole so deep that even winning couldn't put me in the black!
Once, years ago, during a difficult time of my life, I became addicted to computer games. I would sit down "just for a minute" after the kids left for school to play a game of Tetris or Mahjongg, then all at once it would be 3:30 p.m., and I would still be sitting there in my nightgown with the breakfast dishes piled on the table behind me. I tried to set a kitchen timer, but ignored it. I also made up little rules: "I'll only play until I reach the next level," or "I'll quit when I've lost more than I could make by winning a hand." At long last, I asked my son to erase the game files from the computer. The first few days were agony, but I regained control of my life -- well, at least, a little, anyway.
So, it was a bit of a shock to see myself so far in the red. I thought I'd banished that demon.
I finally saw the neurologist last Friday. He did a standard initial neuro workup, commenting to the resident he had in tow that the reflexes in my lower extremities were "brisk" -- such a crisp, descriptive word for the way my legs jerked themselves almost horizontal when he tapped my knees -- and out of balance with the reflexes in the rest of my body. We discussed my symptoms, the tingling, the numbness, the way my feet and legs feel so tired after a short stroll, the loss of strength in my arms and coordination when I'm tired. We talked about my mother's unusual diagnosis of MS, and also my sister's. Then he gave me the results of my MRI. It was all very low key: one white spot and evidence of some brain tissue shrinkage, could be nothing, could indicate MS, could be a couple of other things he carefully left unspecified. He ordered a bunch of blood tests, and another MRI, this one of the cervical spine, for next Friday. I'm to see his nurse-practitioner again the following Tuesday to learn the results and consider the next steps.
When I miscarried our first baby the first year we were married, it was the last blow of several. I couldn't find a teaching job, then I couldn't keep the one I found, and I seemingly couldn't perform that most basic of feminine tasks, give birth to a child. In the depth of my mourning, we sang all of the verses of "How Firm a Foundation" one Sacrament Meeting in our married student ward, and as we concluded the final verse, I heard that unmistakeable voice in my head say, "Have you learned patience yet, Mary Lynn?" And, suddenly, I was comforted.
It's been thirty-two years since that horrible summer, and I've tried, I've really tried to be patient, to be calm, to wait on the Lord. It hasn't gotten much easier, though.
One of the other names for the game of Solitaire is Patience.
Once, years ago, during a difficult time of my life, I became addicted to computer games. I would sit down "just for a minute" after the kids left for school to play a game of Tetris or Mahjongg, then all at once it would be 3:30 p.m., and I would still be sitting there in my nightgown with the breakfast dishes piled on the table behind me. I tried to set a kitchen timer, but ignored it. I also made up little rules: "I'll only play until I reach the next level," or "I'll quit when I've lost more than I could make by winning a hand." At long last, I asked my son to erase the game files from the computer. The first few days were agony, but I regained control of my life -- well, at least, a little, anyway.
So, it was a bit of a shock to see myself so far in the red. I thought I'd banished that demon.
I finally saw the neurologist last Friday. He did a standard initial neuro workup, commenting to the resident he had in tow that the reflexes in my lower extremities were "brisk" -- such a crisp, descriptive word for the way my legs jerked themselves almost horizontal when he tapped my knees -- and out of balance with the reflexes in the rest of my body. We discussed my symptoms, the tingling, the numbness, the way my feet and legs feel so tired after a short stroll, the loss of strength in my arms and coordination when I'm tired. We talked about my mother's unusual diagnosis of MS, and also my sister's. Then he gave me the results of my MRI. It was all very low key: one white spot and evidence of some brain tissue shrinkage, could be nothing, could indicate MS, could be a couple of other things he carefully left unspecified. He ordered a bunch of blood tests, and another MRI, this one of the cervical spine, for next Friday. I'm to see his nurse-practitioner again the following Tuesday to learn the results and consider the next steps.
When I miscarried our first baby the first year we were married, it was the last blow of several. I couldn't find a teaching job, then I couldn't keep the one I found, and I seemingly couldn't perform that most basic of feminine tasks, give birth to a child. In the depth of my mourning, we sang all of the verses of "How Firm a Foundation" one Sacrament Meeting in our married student ward, and as we concluded the final verse, I heard that unmistakeable voice in my head say, "Have you learned patience yet, Mary Lynn?" And, suddenly, I was comforted.
It's been thirty-two years since that horrible summer, and I've tried, I've really tried to be patient, to be calm, to wait on the Lord. It hasn't gotten much easier, though.
One of the other names for the game of Solitaire is Patience.
posted by MLEH | 11:12 AM
1 Comments:
My prayers are with you.
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