Stuck in the Middle

A glass coffee mug held my morning brew—an unusual choice for the car. But with an hour drive ahead of me, I chose a comfort mug. One my daughter-in-law purchased. 

Rain drizzled as WAZE led me down side streets I never take. In fact, I’m still not sure the GPS type system directed me the fastest way. But since I was on my way to a long-awaited eye appointment, I trusted the invisible powers provided by cellular service.

Thankful I arrived at Emory Midtown five minutes early, I pulled into the first parking lot I found—to no avail. With no empty space available, I asked the attendant for help. “Left, right, right,” is all he offered. But I understood.

Soon, I sat in a line of cars waiting for valet service. With time ticking by, I'd decided to go upscale. But when the guy in charge approached my car he said, “I’m sorry mam, our insurance won’t let us park any car with hand controls.”

“Seriously?” I shot back, adrenaline pumping. “You can’t help people who have so much trouble with their legs they need hand controls to drive?”

“I’m really sorry,” he continued. “I’ll carve out a space for you up here.”

To his credit, in time, the nice man, who has to follow odd rules, gave me a curb-side space, ten feet from the hospital front door. 

Seriously!

Relieved, I opened my door, swung my booted left foot around, and stood, unfolding my stiff body. Since my walker was buried behind a container of give-away items in the back of my van, I decided to save precious time and just go for it. 

A few feet away, a tall, gentile-looking black man watched me stagger his way. “Where's your crutches?” he asked. "It's a long walk in there."

Aware of my awkward stride, I almost ignored him. But when he looked at me like Morgan Freeman in Driving Miss Daisy, I turned around. 

After wrenching the device from behind a plastic bin, I passed him again, leaning on my walker. “Much better,” he offered, nodding in approval.

Between the drive, the parking, and digging out my walker, my face pulled tight and my eyes saw double as I waited for the elevator. And the fun had only begun.

For the next hour, my orthoptist bounced my eyes around in effort to take her best guess at a new prism prescription. So, as I write tonight, I have a stick-on prism on my short distance readers and half a stick-on prism on my long-distance pair. 

It’s annoying. Confusing. And visually a little disturbing. 

The more tired I am, the more my eyes drift. Even the orthoptist was stumped. Regardless, the increase in my close-up prism is making a difference. A good difference. And the surgical boot is resting my degenerative, frayed left peroneal tendon.

Oh happy day!

Compared to nuclear war, my plight pales. 

Compared to eternity, it pales even more.

So here I stand, stuck in the middle, with my "light and momentary troubles" (1 Corinthians, 4:17), striving for peace, longing for joy, and trusting a plan and purpose far beyond what I can comprehend.

Does it get challenging? Yes. Is it doable? Triple yes.

So I'll keep living, squished between the darkest of dark and the blazing light of eternity. For there's coming a day when, "There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light" (Revelation 22: 5 NIV).



All photos courtesy of pixabay.com