I love this tree. He greets me at the entrance to one of our favorite walking trails along the Little Miami River. I love him when he’s full like this as summer begins. He looks strong and capable, even as his skeleton shows through all that green. I love him in the fall as the leaves become brilliant with color. But I love him best when he’s bare and exposed. Naked. Showing all his secrets and brokenness for the whole world to see.

Several years ago I named this tree Ceorl, (prounounced CHA-orl):

“In the Old English poem Beowulf, the word ceorl “man” (Modern English churl) is used for old kings and wise nobles, which is unparalleled in other Old English writings, where it often means a freeman of the lowest class or a peasant. The Beowulf poet uses it always in certain set phrases, and they seem to have been formed in close connection with its original meaning ‘old man’, which is lost in Old English but is retained in its cognates in some other Germanic languages.”
*researchgate.net

He has always reminded me of a wise, old man, so this name seems so perfect. And although he looks tired, even dead in the winter, I can picture him smiling wisely and patiently at me every time I pass him.

Every year, fresh growth emerges from what appear to be only dead and broken branches. Many of those leaves are from other plants and vines that grow along his twisted old trunk and bowed branches, depending on him for support and foundation, but I always look closely each spring to be sure, and . . . yes, much of that green is his own. He is still alive in there. Providing that support for all those other plants, and his own kind of incredible beauty to this beloved trail. I think of him as mine.

As I continue processing this new diagnosis and wrestling through a myriad of emotions, wavering between acceptance and rebellion, I feel a little like Ceorl right now. The naked version of him. No matter how many times we say to ourselves, or out loud to others, “Age is just a number,” “I’ll never give in to age,” or one of my favorites as our family grew and we aged, “You’ll never grow old as long as you have someone to potty train,” we cannot stop the march of time and its effects on our bodies. I cannot hide the way this new disease is robbing me of breath and strength right now. My weakness and oldness are exposed.

Every single day the words, “heart failure,” whisper through my brain as I still keep thinking, “Really? Aren’t I just imagining this? Is this really happening to us?” Except the words actually sound like this: “heart Failure. Failure! FAILure. FAILURE!” As if I’ve done something myself to bring this on my family. Let them all down. Brought this into their lives in some shameful way.

I know that’s not true. But I find myself apologizing repeatedly to all of them. It’s part of the process. I know this. I’ll work through it and move on with a few new broken branches, but it’s where I am at this moment.

I am feeling my body laugh at me right now about all those things I said through the years as I shook my fist at coming old(er) age, and I feel all of the broken and bowed pieces acutely.

But I also feel life inside of me! I feel my weakened-but-still-there desire, and even ability, to stand firm but twisted while those I care for, and about, use me for a support and a foundation, latching onto me for what I have to offer them, and to offer what they have for me. We will get through this as we figure it out.

During my quiet time this morning, Joni had this to say in her book, “Songs of Suffering: “[Even as Christians] We still wrestle with pain and become easily discouraged. We have questions about suffering that seem unanswerable, and we struggle to stay satisfied in God. Even when we read the many promises of God, they often feel out of reach. . . You may be suffering, but do not stop singing. Do not stop believing. The long-expected one has come (and has promised that he is on his way back)! You can bank on every single one of his promises because Christ sealed them with his blood. So turn to him in your pain, for the promise maker always makes good on his word.”

Of all the things I’ve been afraid of in my life, I’ve never dreamed of heart issues. I didn’t want this. I certainly didn’t ask for this. But I have asked God so many times through the years to help me know him better. To trust him more. To feel the realness of him deeper in my soul. And this seems to be the next step he has planned for answering that prayer. My main prayer now is that I won’t waste one second of whatever he has to teach me — to give to me — in this new season.

“Affliction is a pill, which, being wrapt up in patience and quiet submission, may be easily swallowed; but discontent chews the pill, and so embitters the soul.”
~ John Flavel (c. 1627–1691)

May God give me the courage and grace to swallow this pill, fully aware that his loving hand has placed it on my tongue. May I see it for what it is. A sign of his love and an invitation to enter in and know him better.