Will I Need a Chairlift to Heaven?
Conversations with my husband about our future sometimes go south. Particularly when the subject of “chairlift” comes up. To him it’s a positive possibility in the event that we spend the rest of our lives in the home we have come to love. Winter stays in Florida, travels in a luxurious motorhome, and reposes in resort campgrounds along the Pacific shorelines or surrounded by majestic mountains have not deterred us from the comforts of our home in Virginia. Our lovely old home may need some upgrades. That's what some would call it.
A lift to carry me up to the second floor is not on my idyllic radar. I don’t want disability directives messing with my dreams. I don’t want a chairlift; what I want are squats, treadmills, hikes, and a Barr Class. I want my strength back, not even my youth.
What I want, when you come right down to it, is Grace. This aging thing along with daily challenges of rheumatoid arthritis is closing in on me. Reminders of it like senior discounts, jars that won’t open, Medicare notices, and sagging you-name-its make me irritable. Okay, fearful and defensive. I need Grace.
LORD, You promise me another home where a Senior Pass is not needed, looks don’t count, and disabilities aren’t even known. I understand my residence there in Heaven with You is around a shorter corner. Please, LORD, help me to be content with that beautiful hope.
Meanwhile, on earth as my fingers cramp and throb, my legs won’t help me out of a chair, and a warm bath feels better than an aerobics class, I want the grace to find this all joy and, yes, even funny. I may not be who I used to be – active, energetic, and capable. I am still wholly God’s. Within me is His Life, His Purpose, and His Significance. I suppose if the day comes that I will need a chairlift, I will push the “Up” button and ride with dignity and grace. Pretending I am ascending to Heaven, I will be covered in glory and radiant in God’s love. Wrinkles and all. I'd still rather take the stairs ...