My Frail Body
When I watched Evita (Eva Peron of Argentina), I was pained much at the end as she died. She had so much energy and desire to be the leader of her people yet she became a prisoner of her failing body and eventually death conquered her at age of thirty three. I looked at myself. I always have such intense desire to accomplish so much in my life, yet my health has always been so delicate. I was always so sickly. Working three days per week wiped me out. I found myself having to rest most of the other non working days. Why is it that I who want to accomplish so much is imprisoned in this sickly body. Deep melancholy would set in. This is when I wish for what I cannot have. That I would be in security of Tom’s provision instead of me providing for the family. The greater wish should be that I would be so healthy that I could continue to work part time and be so fulfilled with my life. The irony is that I need to have a professional life to be satisfied. I find profound fulfillment working outside of home and having a significant financial impact. Often I go beyond whatever energy I may have, finding myself sick again … my frail body has no respect for the desire of my being, and leaves me in anguish and sometimes in tears.
Just this past weekend, our small church had a conference. It was wonderful. As a small church, we were hosting one hundred fifty guests and we were less than thirty. Our preparation to get ready was profound. Sherry and other few women worked tirelessly from morning to night in serving meals and other preparations yet I was not able to help. Sitting in the conference meetings in my sickly body was all I could do. The sense of remorse overwhelmed me in my helpless state. I could not help them in hosting our guests.
As I remember my childhood, I was always frail. I got sick easily. During school years I remember that I always took naps after school. In high school my mother commented that I may never be able to handle a household due to my weak physical disposition. In my twenties I knew that I did not have the stamina or the energy that my mother had (she was in her forties).
Why dear God, some one like me could not have abundant energy? This is the moment of anguish, when I am forced to be resting, I am forced to be in a wasteful mode, like watching TV or just laying in bed reading. And when I am not able to do anything, I find myself writing and painting. And the sweetest time for my soul is when Tom sings to me, plays guitar or piano for me, reads to me, and when we share sweet nonsense.
As I am with my family, I remember what my mother said. She always worried about my health. She still does. I wonder if she remembers about her comment to a frail high school daughter. She said, "You may not be able to carry a home, husband, and children. You are so fragile..." I am still that frail daughter but with four children and a husband and I am the one providing for the family. Life is so ironic.