I Kept Walking and Talking to God

Last April, as I was on my morning walk, I talked to God. I was troubled. I had recently been to a neuro-rehab clinic to do something about my balance issues. A neurologist did a preliminary examination and told me I had neuropathy and I’d had it for a long time. I was stunned. Two months earlier, after extensive tests, I was told nerve damage from an old spinal injury was the source of my balance problems and there was no evidence of neuropathy.

As I understand it, neuropathy is not, in itself, life-threatening, but it is life altering. There is no cure or accepted treatment. It does not get better; it gets worse. Although it can be painful, mine is not. It can be slow in its progress, as mine seems to be. I have seen others with neuropathy decline from unsteadiness, to using a cane, then a walker, a wheelchair, and finally become housebound. Doctors have told me those stories are not likely to be my story. Still…

As I walked and talked to God about all this, I thought of my wife, Judi. My prognosis was worrisome, but when I thought about what it might mean to Judi, my worry became a sleep-depriving fear. Judi was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago and was symptomatic years before that. Judi needs me. She needs to hear me call her “My princess.” She needs my better qualities of patience, compassion, tenderness, and humor. She needs my reassuring presence as she fights to hold back the terror lurking at the ragged edges of her awareness.

In time, neuropathy will likely impact my ability to watch over Judi. I know others will someday need to take my place in caring for Judi. I am 78 years old, nine years older than Judi. I don’t want neuropathy to interfere with the time I have with her.

As I walked and thought about Judi, I wept. I often do.

As I talked to God, I began to wonder, Does God hear me? My wondering did not rise out of a crisis of faith, and it was not another way of asking, Does God care? It was something else that made me wonder. It was something about the stature of my need amid the terrible miseries in this world.

I thought of a friend who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I thought of a family struggling to raise their adopted son who suffers from the consequences of fetal alcohol syndrome. I thought of another friend with a brain tumor. Surely those needs occupied a much higher place in God’s hierarchy of urgency.

I let myself remember that in the time I spent on my morning walk many thousands throughout the world would suffer and die of starvation, disease, war, and deprivation. In the face of all that suffering and all those countless, desperate cries to God, did God give attention to my plea? Should he? My needs seemed diminished, of little standing, so much less worthy of God’s consideration.

But then the words of 1 Peter 5:7 came to me: “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” There is no mention of “qualifying” anxieties. Peter specifically says “all your anxiety,” not just the ones I judge worthy of God’s attention. I felt a little rebuked by Peter as if he were saying, “How dare you limit God’s attention span? Who are you, Guerrero, to decide what should be important to God?” Indeed.

I felt thankful for Peter’s word.
I felt encouraged by its truth.
I felt assured but still afraid.
I kept walking and talking to God.
Almost home.