As I step out of the dungeon, I pause to adjust my eyes to the dazzling light. I take my first few steps gingerly, slowly, deliberately, a bit awkwardly. Until I look around and see that I’m not alone. So, to keep up appearances, I square my shoulders. Then I bend slightly to my left until my back goes “eeeek.” Then backwards. Another “eeeek.” Once adjusted, I now concentrate on striding forward purposefully, confidently, smoothly, not hunched forward and not gimping along like Festus from Gunsmoke. By the time I reach my car, I think, “Glenn, 70 ain’t 7!”
And what do I mean by that? To understand, you’d need to know about the dungeon from which I just escaped. It’s the basement of the Aspirus Eagle River Hospital. That’s home to an Aspirus Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Center. I have been getting Physical Therapy since March for a messed-up lower back and an injured right hip. Erin is my Physical Terrorist, excuse me “Therapist.” For 45 minutes she prods me, stretches me into pretzel-like positions, and forces me to go uncomfortably beyond my physical/mental pain boundaries toward the Promised Land of regained mobility and renewed “core strength.”
Since March this has been going on! I’m no math major but I think that means I’ve been in PT close to 6 months. And unless I double down and continue her prescribed home torture (excuse me, “therapy”) exercises for the rest of my life, I will be doomed to shuffle through life like Festus.
Which is why I think, “70 Ain’t 7!” At age 7, if I fell off my bike and scraped up my knee, Mom would dry my tears, bandage me up, and I’d be back on my bike in minutes. If I fell off the Monkey Bars on the playground at St. John’s Lutheran School, Newtonburg, I just brushed myself off and got right back up there. I had no knowledge of or interest in terms like arthritis, compressed disks, pinched nerves, or neuropathy. Nor did I give a hoot about what a damaged sacroiliac joint was. But now those terms have been woven into the fabric of my everyday life, because my 70-year-old body doesn’t mend the way it did at 7.
70 ain’t 7. But here’s some comfort. The Lord hasn’t changed one bit over the span of those 63 years! (See Malachi 3:6) Nor will he ever change! (See Hebrews 13:8) And his divinely-inspired guarantee comforts me even more today than it did when I was a child. “Until your old age, I am he, and until you have gray hair, I myself will hold you up. I myself made you, and I myself will lift you up. I myself will hold you up, and I will rescue you.” (Isaiah 46:4) For I know that my Lord has done so much more than give me a hand-up when I’ve fallen and struggle to stand back up. King David explains, “He reached down from on high and took hold of me. He drew me out of deep waters.” (Psalm 18:16) My Father rescued me from the deep seas of my sin. He did this by reaching down into my murky, sin-filled world by sending his Son, Jesus who lived for me, died for me, and rose for me. That Savior now walks beside me every day.
And my Lord knows---far better than I do—that 70 ain’t 7. He knows—far better than Erin my Physical Terrorist (excuse me, Therapist!)—the precise causes of all my pain. And he knows all about yours. Plus, he cares. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are, yet was without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15) So rather than despair, you and I can cling by faith to the Lord who invites us, “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.“ (1 Peter 5:7)
70 ain’t 7. That thought pops back into my brain as I look in the mirror and see my mussed-up gray hair, first thing in the morning. But that prompts a broad grin, because I realize, “Glenn, you’re having a bad hair day. . .at 70! YES!”
“The splendor of young men is their strength, but the majesty of old men is their gray hair.” (Proverbs 20:29).
Privileged to serve,
Rev. Glenn Schwanke
And what do I mean by that? To understand, you’d need to know about the dungeon from which I just escaped. It’s the basement of the Aspirus Eagle River Hospital. That’s home to an Aspirus Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Center. I have been getting Physical Therapy since March for a messed-up lower back and an injured right hip. Erin is my Physical Terrorist, excuse me “Therapist.” For 45 minutes she prods me, stretches me into pretzel-like positions, and forces me to go uncomfortably beyond my physical/mental pain boundaries toward the Promised Land of regained mobility and renewed “core strength.”
Since March this has been going on! I’m no math major but I think that means I’ve been in PT close to 6 months. And unless I double down and continue her prescribed home torture (excuse me, “therapy”) exercises for the rest of my life, I will be doomed to shuffle through life like Festus.
Which is why I think, “70 Ain’t 7!” At age 7, if I fell off my bike and scraped up my knee, Mom would dry my tears, bandage me up, and I’d be back on my bike in minutes. If I fell off the Monkey Bars on the playground at St. John’s Lutheran School, Newtonburg, I just brushed myself off and got right back up there. I had no knowledge of or interest in terms like arthritis, compressed disks, pinched nerves, or neuropathy. Nor did I give a hoot about what a damaged sacroiliac joint was. But now those terms have been woven into the fabric of my everyday life, because my 70-year-old body doesn’t mend the way it did at 7.
70 ain’t 7. But here’s some comfort. The Lord hasn’t changed one bit over the span of those 63 years! (See Malachi 3:6) Nor will he ever change! (See Hebrews 13:8) And his divinely-inspired guarantee comforts me even more today than it did when I was a child. “Until your old age, I am he, and until you have gray hair, I myself will hold you up. I myself made you, and I myself will lift you up. I myself will hold you up, and I will rescue you.” (Isaiah 46:4) For I know that my Lord has done so much more than give me a hand-up when I’ve fallen and struggle to stand back up. King David explains, “He reached down from on high and took hold of me. He drew me out of deep waters.” (Psalm 18:16) My Father rescued me from the deep seas of my sin. He did this by reaching down into my murky, sin-filled world by sending his Son, Jesus who lived for me, died for me, and rose for me. That Savior now walks beside me every day.
And my Lord knows---far better than I do—that 70 ain’t 7. He knows—far better than Erin my Physical Terrorist (excuse me, Therapist!)—the precise causes of all my pain. And he knows all about yours. Plus, he cares. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are, yet was without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15) So rather than despair, you and I can cling by faith to the Lord who invites us, “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.“ (1 Peter 5:7)
70 ain’t 7. That thought pops back into my brain as I look in the mirror and see my mussed-up gray hair, first thing in the morning. But that prompts a broad grin, because I realize, “Glenn, you’re having a bad hair day. . .at 70! YES!”
“The splendor of young men is their strength, but the majesty of old men is their gray hair.” (Proverbs 20:29).
Privileged to serve,
Rev. Glenn Schwanke
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