This might be July 2017, but just now it might as well be New Year. Along with taking-a-deep-breath and buying a new car, I’m getting a new knee, and moving into the final stages of publishing a book – my first.
The day before yesterday I took delivery of the new car. The handover was accompanied by a little car dealership liturgy – with a flourish the salesman pulled back the large black cloth decorated with a Christmassy red bow, revealing my new car in all its silver newness.
The car I left sitting in the trade-in parking spot was seventeen years old and like myself, battle-scarred by the years. No accidents, just shopping centre scrapes and dints as well as marks left behind when I was learning to negotiate our narrow carport and curvy driveway. Together we had covered well over 200,000 kilometres, lived in four different locations and received one speeding ticket and another for running a red light.
Then there’s the total knee replacement, a TKR as the surgeon calls it. Arthritis is responsible for the cartilage around my knee joint deteriorating, making it difficult to walk distances and affecting my balance. I had similar surgery some years ago and it’s a painful process, the rehab challenging.
Right now I am a jumble of expectations around all this newness. I know the car will be comfortable and safe, but will I ever come to grips with the technology winking and blinking at me every time I turn the ignition key?
I long to be mobile enough to walk down to the river or stroll along the winding streets that twist around our hilly suburb. I place these expectations in the surgeon’s hands.
And it’s no easy thing to write a book that tries to be true to the past, to capture long ago decisions and recognise that God was there in all the turns and twists – then invite people to read it.
All this newness is my present, my now. Over the next couple of months while I’m learning to use new technology, slowing down and letting my body and a physiotherapist dictate the how of my day, taking the risk involved in exposing my vulnerability in words on a page, the now will open out minute by minute. Every moment will be a new invitation and God will be there, right in the middle of it.
I read this during the week, “Prayer happened, and I was there.” If we’re not in the moment, then we miss out – and God misses us.
For the next few months posts on Tarella Spirituality will be shorter and infrequent while I recover my mobility and work with the publisher to finish the book. If you’d like to chat you can reach me on email@example.com