Meditation 5/9/25

Ephesians 3:14-21 – A Prayer for Strength and Understanding

“For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power… to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ…” (Ephesians 3:14–18, NIV)

This passage resonates with me more deeply these days. As I age and reflect more on my physical limitations, it’s as though Paul’s prayer for “inner strength” is being whispered into my own daily struggle—a divine encouragement to realign my spirit even as my body falters.

Last night was another restless one. I didn’t sleep well, likely for a few reasons. Since my illness and retirement, I’ve associated "rest" with lying down more often—perhaps too often. But I now realize that the way I lie in bed is problematic. My mattress is flat and firm, and my pillows don’t support my cervical spine well. I often read on my Kindle, use my laptop, or watch TV while in bed—sometimes with the screen at the level of my feet. This forces my neck into prolonged flexion, which is the worst possible position for someone with C5-C6 impingement and spinal stenosis.

The result? Persistent numbness and tingling in my hands, particularly when I lie down. It’s clear now that my increased time in bed—doing anything but actually resting—is contributing to these symptoms. My old life involved movement, routine, purpose. Now, I drift into long hours of passive lying down between meals or in lieu of activity.

Take yesterday, for instance. I walked early in the park—a good 5,000 steps in 50 minutes. But after that, between 10 AM and noon, I mostly laid in bed, bouncing between reading and tapping on my laptop perched on my chest. It’s a lazy kind of multitasking that puts undue strain on my neck. By late afternoon, I was back in bed again, asleep before 5 PM, only to awaken at 8 PM with weird tingling in my right arm that kept me up until almost 3 AM. That’s when I really began to reflect on how my posture and positioning have been silently working against me.

So today I made a small but important commitment: no more extended tasks while supine. I’m sitting upright as I type this, and I’ve set a timer on my iPhone to prompt me to get up every 20 minutes. I’ve also ordered a Casio watch with an activity reminder to reinforce this habit. After all, movement was the core of my life pre-retirement. Rest, I now know, doesn’t have to mean lying down—it can mean moving gently, sitting with awareness, and staying actively present.

I’m also trying to redirect my energy into creative outlets. I hope to start working on a new Canva video—maybe something simple but meaningful for my health site. I also plan to continue reading The Fires of Heaven (Book 5 of The Wheel of Time), eager to discover what happens to Suan, the deposed Amyrlin.

A familiar face greeted me again today at the park—John, the older man I often chat with. He’s 66 now, three years my senior, but his walk has become slower and more burdened. He told me he slept at Boca beach the other night. I wonder where he was last night. His stories are sometimes suspect, but there’s a quiet truth in his weathered presence. I used to envy his freedom—sitting alone reading, undisturbed. But I know myself too well: I’m too sensitive to my surroundings, too easily distracted, to fully embrace that kind of solitude.

I saw fewer regulars at the park today. Maybe the police cleared them out again, as they sometimes do. There are those who may be unhoused, and others who just prefer the peace of the outdoors during the day before heading home. If not for my spinal issues and allergies, I might enjoy doing the same.

Today has been a near miss—almost good, if not for the lingering effects of last night’s discomfort. I did meditate this morning, which grounded me. But I also wasted time and money on an app to manage my iPhone storage before realizing I could do it manually. That ate up more time, but I still made it to the park. I intended to do some resistance exercises and maybe film them, but I didn’t follow through.

Still, I take comfort in small wins. No return of last night’s symptoms so far. And now, nearing the end of this day, I am once again writing—an act of reflection that feels more enriching than scrolling through social media or watching TV.

Yes, I sometimes feel like those aging warriors in the book I’m reading—those who remain in service to their aging lords, recounting tales only they truly remember. My stories may no longer captivate younger ears, but I know there’s still meaning in remembering and telling them. My generation has its own archive of glory and defeat, and even if our audience dwindles, we remain witnesses to a time and a way of life now passing.

I retired after many years serving patients, most of them in their final stages of life. Many had lost their independence, faculties, or social worlds. But with them, I shared a bond—we occupied the same temporal plane. What they valued most was simple conversation and presence. That’s why I still seek connection, whether through this blog, brief park conversations, or shared stories with others my age.

So here I am, not just surviving but still walking, still thinking, still creating—even if slowly. My life may have shifted, but the Spirit that strengthens the inner being, as Paul prays, continues to move within me. And that, above all, is what gives me hope.
2025-05-09 09:46:48
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