Walking with Larry

Larry and I like to walk. There's a park with a half-mile track next door, and we spend time there almost every day. We could get a gym membership I suppose, but we prefer being outside.  We're sky watchers, and no one except Charlie Brown has seen more characters hiding in those cloud formations than us. I suppose we've always been that way. There was a creek next to our first parsonage, and we walked it regularly. While serving in Honduras, we took every opportunity we could to walk the streets of La Ceiba or head to the mountains outside the city. Our last pastorate in New York had a park with a track right across the road from us. Rudy was still with us back then, eagerly pulling us along with his leash. 

Larry has dementia. Ok, let's call it what it is. It's Alzheimer's. And with that, there are many things he's no longer able to do. It's hard to watch, to see. The same man who built an entire wing on to the mission house in Honduras with just one person assisting him is no longer able to handle the simplest of tasks in or around our home here in Alabama. 

That's why he likes to be busy outside. Though he's no longer running the mower, he can still take a machete to the brush that runs alongside the tree line of our property. Raking and bagging up the leaves and pinecones that blow across our backyard brings him a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. The last time the hedge clippers were charged up, he was able with some help to lop off a few of the tree branches that hung over our lawn. Our neighbor Rick came over last week and did some trimming around our place. I was grateful as even the little things are getting more difficult.  

But there are harder things. Reading is a thing of the past. A year ago, he could still read one of his old sermons, though very slowly, his finger pointing at each word on the manuscript as he sounded it out. When we first met with a neurologist in Rochester after his diagnosis, she reassured us that because of his advanced education and pastoral skills, he had a good reservoir of vocabulary stored up. But as time has passed, most of that reservoir has been depleted. Conversation is difficult. As a preacher, words came easily. That's what he did. He spoke. He taught. He counseled. And now he struggles to form the simplest sentence. That's what Alzheimer's does. It's a robber. 

But the one thing it has not stolen from him, from us, is our love of a good walk. Even when the weather is especially uncomfortable, this is Alabama after all, we make time in the morning or in the early evening when the sun isn't beating down. No, the disease couldn't steal that from us. But something else could. And it tried. 

It was in the spring of last year that Larry started complaining about pain in his feet, making it increasingly difficult for him to walk very far. An appointment was set up to see the podiatrist and x-rays were taken revealing several prominent bone spurs running along the sides of his feet. The doctor explained that there was just one option for removing them. "We can set you up for surgery," he said. "Just let us know what you decide."

I knew Larry was discouraged and disappointed at the news. The one thing he was still able to do, that which brought him such satisfaction and joy despite the health battles he was facing, were our daily walks. 

We were sitting in our living room a few nights later when he was asked if he would like his feet to be anointed for healing. He nodded. As the oil was rubbed into the bone spurs, he was prayed over in the name of Jesus. It was quiet for a moment, and then as he stood, he began to jump up and down on his feet as if testing them. The pain was gone.

That was almost fifteen months ago. We told the podiatrist to forget about scheduling Larry for surgery, there was no need. Our walks started up once again, and they've not stopped. There are days we walk three or four miles, sometimes we might get to five or six. It wasn't long ago that we did seven. We high-fived each other on that one. 

As we walk, I believe God smiles as we marvel over a beautiful butterfly or when we find and pluck ripened berries from a bush. When we exclaim at the sight of multi-colored blossoms bursting all around us, he delights in that. And finally, as we walk and talk with him about the things and people who are upon our hearts, we know he is listening. I think that's the best part of all. 

I don't know if God is going to heal Larry's mind or not. There is one thing I do know, however. To our God, there is not a bit of difference when it comes to taking out bone spurs or wiping away memory-robbing plaque from one's brain. He can do it all and one day he will. But in the meantime, we are enjoying our walks, a gift that a loving Father gave us to share. And we could not be more grateful.