Yes, I can still move my arms and legs.
But these legs can no longer bear the weight of my body,
Nor, can my hands hold anything heavier than a book.
A call light regulates the pace of my day.
But I have no control over when it will be answered,
Nor, do I hold any assurance anyone will remember to come.
I took simple movement for granted until mobility left me.
Hour after hour passes while I lay in bed.
But my mind finds no benefit from the idleness that drowns me,
Nor, can my body find the restoration it so desperately seeks.
My eyes are continuously heavy; I’m prone to doze.
But I can’t seem to enter the peaceful sleep I crave,
Nor, can my dreams produce one image of happier times from yesteryear
For years I denied myself rest, believing everything else to be more important.
I pursued contentment relentlessly in happier times.
But it could not be found in exhausting my resources,
Nor, could it be attained with busyness, productivity or fraternization.
In solitude, a chorus of “Is this all there is?” constantly mocked me.
Recently disease has stripped me of all I hold dear,
And left me with nothing save the faith I once considered childish.
Perhaps, I’m my own worst enemy as far as contentment’s concerned.
Self-assurance always kept me from investing in hope.
But brokenness proved the hope I did have was sorely misplaced,
And when death reared its head, nothing on earth could chase it away.
It was then I returned to my faith completely; mind, heart, soul and strength.
Because faith’s stated purpose isn’t “Living to die,”
Instead, God grants me the promise of everlasting life, which extends beyond the grave.
With hope, the contentment I vainly pursued now tugs at my heart as I struggle to pray.