Decade Challenged

2009

2019

This “decade challenge” (posting a picture of yourself ten years ago and comparing it to a selfie of today) has me searching through old photos on my facebook page.  And I am shocked at two things.  First of all, to the facebook eye, I don’t think I look any different today than I did ten years ago.  The people in the photos with me may have aged, especially my kids! But honestly, I think I look pretty much the same—on the outside, at least. Perhaps this should be a hint to me that it’s time for a different hair style. Or at least a different coat. Secondly, I am flabbergasted at just how quickly ten years has flown by.  The photos I found were of memories that couldn’t possibly be TEN years ago, could they?  And yet, there’s the 2009 time-stamp, verifying my flight through an entire decade faster than you can say “Madison Reed.”

Ten years ago, I had just dropped my firstborn off for his freshman year at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago.  The same weekend that we left him waving goodbye in the quad, my precious Grandma passed away. My mom had to reach me by calling me at my in-laws’ house in Detroit, where our family had stopped for the night between Chicago and Vermont.  I wasn’t carrying a cell phone then.

Ten years ago, I only had three piano students, and all of them on the same day of the week. (Today I have 25.) Back then, most days after school I was driving my daughter to a flute lesson, or a voice lesson, or a dance class.  Our talks in the car were priceless.

Ten years ago, I wasn’t leading the worship team at Panton Community Baptist Church; I was merely the pianist, spending most Friday nights rehearsing with dear friends in the old, creaky sanctuary.  All of those fellow musicians have moved on now—either out of state or to another calling—and amazingly, God has brought new people into our church to fill those needs.  People I thank God for every Sunday. 

But ten years ago, I could walk into the church by myself on those Friday nights. I may have been using a cane, but I did not yet need my husband’s arm to escort me from the car, up the walk to the back door of the church, through the fellowship hall, through the sanctuary door, and to the piano. 

Ten years ago, I wasn’t circling the parking lot at the grocery store, hoping to find a parking spot next to an abandoned cart, so that I could hold onto the cart to help me walk across the pavement. 

Ten years ago, I could climb the stairs inside my two-story house, albeit holding onto railings on both sides.  Today I use a lift. 

Ten years ago, I had never used a wheelchair at the airport or a museum—an experience that is fairly common for me today.       

I sigh as I think of the way I was ten years ago. I was struggling then, I’ll admit.  But sometimes I wish I could go back to those days, when I could at least walk out to my garden by myself.  My muscles have diminished slowly, day by day, as slowly as a child grows.  You don’t notice it from one day to the next.  You tie your shoes every day, but one day you realize that you’re wrapping the laces around your fingers because you can’t grip them. “When did I start doing that?” One day you notice that you’re grabbing the doorknob for balance every time you walk past the pantry. “When did I start needing that?”  Ten years of slow-motion neuropathy has been creeping through my muscles.

But what about my spiritual muscles.  Have they gotten weaker or stronger over the past decade?  I would like to think that my faith has been strengthened.  I know that I have learned to trust God more, as he continues to provide for me. I have learned to be more patient with myself, as simple things like zipping up my old coat just take longer.  I have begun to share my story and my faith more openly, through my book and my blogs.  I have started memorizing more scripture, and as a result those passages have come alive to me. I am discovering the personality of Jesus—like the personality of any friend—is multi-faceted and very deep.  And as I strive to be more like him, I keep unearthing parts of myself that still need improvement. I hope it won’t take ten years.

My hair style may not have changed, and I might be wearing the same old winter coat, but if you look closely, I hope you’ll see a difference in the person behind the brown eyes in those photos. Ten years older. Ten years weaker. Ten years stronger. 

Suzanne Rood is the author of A LIMP OF FAITH (Credo House Publishers, 2019), her story of daily life with CMT, a hereditary neuropathy that challenges her walking, her music, and her faith. Here’s a link to purchase the book on Amazon.