“I think the only thing stopping you is that little word ‘can’t’.”

The friendly young man stood on the mat just beyond the half-wall over which I was lopped.  Behind him were all sorts of climbing and hanging apparatuses, just waiting for a willing victim who might be convinced (or embarrassed) by his coercion.

We had arrived just moments before at the old factory building.  The sign out front now said it was a ninja gym.  When I was a kid, we had a jungle gym.  Outside.  In the hot sun.  It was never cold where I grew up.

We didn’t have a ninja gym.

The invitation to the birthday party for the ten-year old said parents would need to sign a waiver.  I didn’t have a waiver.

The lack of a waiver wasn’t what was stopping me, either.  But, the smiling young man was waiting.

Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I gazed over the vista before me, a gymnasium filled with children from six to eleven years old—all clambering blithely (and limberly) through, and under, and over the assault course laid out in front of us.

I declined his invitation, mentioning my age and my ailing back in the same breath.  He frowned at me, clearly disappointed, but I stayed where I was and he moved on to find his next victim.

I have some questions.

To start with—Where can I go to find the book of cliches folks use to embarrass other folks who don’t share their passion for whatever activity it is they think we need to be doing?

I read back over that question and think perhaps I’m being too hard on the young man.

He loves what he is doing.  He ministers to folks every day, inspiring them to stay fit, to leave the sidelines and get into the game.  His upbeat style may help many who are merely reticent, and not injured.

And yes, I said he ministers.  Helping people to move past their self-consciousness—their inner arguments—and out onto the floor where they can build self-confidence and a strong body. . .How is that not a ministry?

That said, some are just not physically (and sometimes mentally) able to do that.  Damage could be done.

Our Creator never expected His world to be a one-size-fits-all playground, a place where we all excel at the same thing.

He gives gifts.  And, allows impediments.  It’s how we learn, and grow, and mature.

I suggested to a friend recently that my back problems might be my thorn in the flesh, my vehicle to grasping the sufficient grace of a loving Heavenly Father.  I’m not sure she agreed.  I’m not sure I want it to be true.

Still, there it is.

God uses hardships to teach us who He is.  He uses our times of ease and comfort to teach us who He is, as well.

My mind drifts back to the young man’s statement.

It is a little word, isn’t it?  Can’t.

If we use it simply to avoid opportunities to grow, it’s likely to be a lie. And, an excuse.

But, there are times when can’t merely describes the realities of our life. Then, it is truth.  Truth that helps us to meet challenges.  Truth that can give us the impetus to find other paths and fulfill other missions.

Did I say I had more than one question?  I did.  I do.

I wonder—when do we stop looking at the ninja obstacle course with a wistful eye, wishing we could still climb the walls and hang from the rings?

Will I ever get to a point where my brain doesn’t think, “I can do that!”?

I could once.  The jungle gym—remember?  Monkey bars.  Chin-up bars.  Parallel bars.

As I write the words, I see in my memory, the devices standing on the playground at David Crockett Elementary School.  I remember recess.  And, PE.

Then I remember that one afternoon.  Hanging upside down by my knees from the chin-up bar.  Six feet, it seemed, from the ground.  The ground that would soon crush the air from my lungs as I tumbled from the bars to land, with lovely form, flat on my back on the brick-hard soil.

Nearly sixty years later, the feeling still comes back to me in a rush.

I can’t breathe!  I’ll never be able to breathe again! 

It seemed an eternity that I lay there thinking, I’m dying!

I wasn’t.  I didn’t.

But, if it happened today, I might.

Die, that is.  At the very least, I wouldn’t be walking normally for quite a long time.

I can’t.  I could, but I can’t.

And saying different words won’t change what I know to be true.

I talked with my friend today—one who has spent her adult life struggling with an auto-immune disease.  I mentioned the subject of this little essay and she sighed.

For all of the years of her illness, well-meaning friends have told her she could change her circumstances simply by thinking positively.  They didn’t mean to be cruel.  They thought she could actually do that.

She can’t.

She does remarkably well with the things she is physically able to accomplish, but she can’t just get out of the wheelchair and run a marathon if she trains for it.

My back is better this week.  Really.  It’s better.

I’m thinking about going back out to the gym and trying the slackline.  I say the words out loud and the placid look on the Lovely Lady’s face disappears.  Her lips form the words. . .

Yeah.  I can’t.

But, there are lots of things I can do.  I can walk up to the coffee shop to visit.  And write these little essays.  I can carry my neighbor’s mail up to her door when she’s not able to.

I can stand out on my deck and paint the window sills later this week.  She says I can do that.

And, I can stand and cheer on the youngsters who can still do the things I once could.

Come to think about it, there are a lot more things I can do than things I can’t.  And, both provide ways in which I can daily grow to be more like Christ.

Our old friend, the Apostle—you know, the one with the real thorn in his flesh—made clear that in both situations we show who He is in our lives.

“I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little.  For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:12-13, NLT)

Many folks think Paul is saying God will heal every injury and illness we ever have.  He’s not.  (Need I remind you again of the thorn?)

He is saying that our Savior gives us the wherewithal to face every single event, every single situation.  And that’s enough for me.

Even when I can’t.  You know.  Can’t jump up and hang from the flying bar as it picks up speed down toward the next obstacle.

But, I do know one ten-year-old girl who can.

 

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV)

Art consists of limitation.  The most beautiful part of every picture is the frame.
(G.K.Chesterton)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.