There are some days when the phrase goes through my mind: I hurt, therefore I am.
This has been one of those days.
Not debilitating pain; just chronic, low-level pain that causes me to stop and think and wonder if Descartes, brilliant as he was, may have missed the boat. When I hurt, I can definitely tell you that I'm aware of my existence. I may not be aware of much else but I am absolutely aware of self and if someone ticks me off, I'm pretty sure I can prove that I exist... ha!.
It's also been an unusually busy day and tonight was extremely frustrating. The words "insurance", "re-enrollment", "internet login", and "easy" should never, ever be combined in a sentence unless it's a joke or a complaint. (That last sentence was not a joke...) After an hour and a half of fruitlessly trying to log in, I was ready to beat my computer into a plowshare and pessimistically wondering if growing older is a lot like arranging deck chairs on the Titanic - frustrating, futile, and at times quite scary. I mean if I can't even figure out the enrollment part of the insurance plan what will I do if...
And then, thankfully, another phrase came to mind: live for the line, not for the dot.
This earthly life is the dot; eternity is the line. I'm not always going to have to wrestle with body aches and insurance plans.
And then I remembered this quote from the Discover God Study Bible by Campus Crusade for Christ: Because Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, my future is eternal and secure. That's pretty permanent: my future is eternal and secure. Doesn't sound like there are any health insurance headaches in Heaven...
And then I went out on the porch, stared at the absolutely amazing fog - which earlier had simply reminded me of all those Jack the Ripper type of stories that are forever associated with London fog - and decided to sing.
My brain told me not to. First, I don't have a good singing voice. Second, people just don't sing at 9:30 p.m. in the 'hood. They may drive 90 miles down the road with an oversize speaker system booming out nasty lyrics but they don't sing. Third, I really didn't know what (or who) was out there in the fog listening. People don't give a lot of slack in the 'hood...
My joints told me not to. They reminded me that people in pain don't sing. Instead such people sit. Or they recline. And/or they take Ibuprofin and use heating pads and they most definitely complain. But they don't sing.
However, I'd already done most of that and it didn't help. So when my heart said, "Sing!" I just did.
I bellowed out the words, "Give thanks with a grateful heart..." and when I didn't know the lyrics, I just sort of fudged on the wording, ad libbed a bit within the guidelines of the basic message.
I still hurt and yet it's not quite the same. It's like my joints are still planted on Terra firma but my heart took a leap in a different direction.
Someday - I don't know when - my body will follow my heart.
Until then, I can sing.
Maybe Descartes and I both have it wrong. Maybe the quote should be:
God exists; therefore I can sing.