Oy, not again! After submitting to x-rays a week ago, I hobbled homeward armed with instructions. No broken bones, but for two weeks, amid my escalating stress levels and widening fissures of all kinds worldwide, I have to . . . Totally. Baby. My. Dumb. Foot.
Turns out the great, grey seize of arthritis (think Attila the Hun, on an inside job) chose me for a rampage. Look out, small yet ingenious bones, formerly broken. Meds and rubs, heat and ice, elevation and rest, day after day — Oy, I miss running. And snowshoeing. And walking.
How to reshape a sidelined life? Begin with laughter. (Note leftover “Joy” candle from Christmas.)
Oy is a long-used Jewish word for “woe,” also meaning exasperation or regret, warning, annoyance, pain or dismay. “Oy, my feet are killing me.”
According to Google, “OY,” used as an abbreviation, can signify Oh Yeah or Only Yours. Even Listen Up.
So I do. As of today, I’ve been laid up for a week. Today my recovery coincides with an ancient celebration known as Candlemas. During this annual ritual, people bless candles to be used over the coming year. The custom dates back to AD 496, and the prayers still spoken over wax and wick are lovingly offered by many, including Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox believers.
Goodness, why not consecrate one’s tools? I pray over my hands and keyboard whenever I write. And a candle usually flickers beside me, on the desk: a quiet way to honor the Light of the World among us.
Hope impels the match — a simple spark, struck against the gloom.
Thankfully, since I’m extra grumpy, a small prayer has evolved. It launches and rounds off an Oy Day. I say it, mentally, when lighting a three-wick candle (Would you believe it, $3.33 at Walmart?). But it works equally well for the lone votive. Or no candle at all.
Paced for the cadence of a relaxed breath, pray the first half of each line on the inhale; the second half on the exhale. I call it my Trinity-Wick prayer, and I watch for what kindles within me afterward. Try it with me . . .
(inhale) Holy God: (exhale) commune with me
Perfect Love: suffuse me
Light of the World: illumine me
(extinguish match to the following words)
Three-in-One . . . I, in Thee
Here am I, use me
“The very act of lighting the candle is prayer,” writes David Steindl-Rast. “I enter into it as one enters a room.”
Fired afresh by an inner expectancy, my foot duly propped on a pillow, frayed nerves settle. The mind clears. The stress within calms.
Despite being laid up, I experience the pleasure of going somewhere by holding still.
What helps when you feel sidelined?
Read more about Candlemas here:
“Vey,” a word later added to the Jewish expression, is oy’s Aramaic equivalent. Today, they’re often used together.
Thank you Laurie, for asking the question what helps?? I love your trinity wick prayer. That helps! And in a previous post I learned the Yahweh prayer from you. I see someone else mentioned it in their chiming in response. That prayer is an anchor for me. It is my; I have no words, no ideas, no thoughts, I am turning my face to you Lord prayer. And upon breathing His name, Yahweh, I am safe. I am in His arms. Thank you for sharing and thank you for having others share as well. What helps one, often helps another. And may your feet be better. Oh how we need our feet! Blessings to you Laurie.
Roberta
Oh, I’m delighted it works for you, too! Thank you so much for telling me.
The Yahweh prayer is my go-to, especially upon waking and going to sleep. Or waking in the night in distress or sorrow.
Yesterday morning I spontaneously raised one cupped hand on the YH (inhale), gently turned it palm down on the WH (exhale). A movement like a sigh. A moment that soothed. Then of course I tried both hands, imagining the infilling more vividly, then simultaneously turning hands palm down while allowing middle fingers to meet as both hands drifted downward. (Note: This is the second half of the sign the deaf use for “peace.”)
Perhaps you’d enjoy it too.
This community blesses me like no other. I am beyond grateful to be part of it.
Roberta, thank you for those prayers for my feet. There was some improvement in my gait yesterday, the foot accepting a little more weight, moving ahead toward its work—which strikes me as emblematic of what we’re all doing, by grace, in these raveling times. Little by little, for God’s renown.
Oy! Laurie, this missive was in my Inbox for far too long and was soooo welcome to read at last. Your gift for weaving simple wonder out of the most (annoying) mundane things never ceases to amaze me.
Praying your foot is on the mend…and praying w i t h you, using that breath prayer. Thank you.
Dear Jody, a belated Happy Valentine’s Day to you. Your words unfold for me like a valentine in my inbox this morning. : )
Thank you for your prayers for my foot . . . and for joining me in the breath prayer!
Such an abundance of small simple wonders awaiting our notice . . . Lord, teach us to see
Fractured moments that lead to illuminated hours. Not how you’d choose the time, but hoping Yahweh gives you glorious hours of illumination as you await healing.
I love the candle lighting prayer. I always light a candle when I write as a symbol that I don’t want to write without His Presence flowing freely. I’m going to add this beautiful prayer now. Thank you.
“Fractured moments that lead to illuminated hours”: Carol, I LOVE that observation. Immediately I visualize medieval manuscripts, traces of gilt. And mosaics. And quilts.
Thank you so much for those beautiful words and for your prayers.
I’m so glad you love the prayer! I’ve been using it on and off throughout these past weeks, with candle and without. : > )
Your comment arrives like a valentine.
May I return the joy? Happy Valentine’s Day, Carol!
I’m sorry, really – for your suffering.
You know we’ll make mention(s).
I’m thankful, for your sharing.
Transparency.
Faith.
Love, for the Lord – in the midst of your suffering.
I’m hopeful.
Because.
Just because.
Oh ya, also thankful for songwriters.
Because they say things like this through their talents…
“Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain.”
~Bob Dylan
Oy vey!
Rick, thank you for those prayers. I’ve been making mention(s) for you and yours, as well.
Love reading you’re thankful and hopeful. Those three hope lines shimmer for me this evening. Something contagious about the way they rest on my screen.
Oh, and I’m nodding over songwriters as gift and especially the line you mention: Dylan’s astute observation. Truth, simply said.
I assumed you’d heard/read this before, but just in case…
When you correctly pronounce the consonants in the name, Yahweh (JH-VH), you’ll notice that you cannot use your tongue or close your lips. In fact, the sound you hear would sound like breath, inhalation and exhalation. On the inhale, the “YAH” is sounded, and the “WEH ” on the exhale
Hi Rick, I appreciate you sharing this here. Thank you.
I first learned about this from Richard Rohr, who then led a large group of his listeners in several repetitions of the reverent utterance. Since that time, I’ve relied on this Name prayer a lot— especially during the wee hours when anxiety wants to muscle in. It quiets me. And sometimes makes me thirsty!
His book, “Breathing Under Water
Spirituality and the Twelve Steps” is on the essential shelf here.
It is absolutely essential that we find a spirituality that reaches to the hidden level.
If not, nothing really changes.
~Richard Rohr
WOW.
Rick, that poem is bend-the-knee glorious! The voice is so confiding, so inviting and humbly wonderstruck, my breath catches each time I read it. Thank you for sending this. It’s new to me and will be one of my favorites from now on.
I have loved much of her work as well as what I’ve observed flowing through her when she teaches a workshop.
So grateful for this poem, on this day, at this hour. Thank you!
Good morning, Rick. Thank you for sharing that quote and its source. I will order the book from the library today!
Introduced to this poem today.
Heard an echo from your latest post…
This poem met me today.
Annunciation
Marie Howe
Even if I don’t see it again — nor ever feel it
I know it is — and that if once it hailed me
it ever does —
And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction
not as towards a place, but it was a tilting
within myself,
as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where
it isn’t —I was blinded like that — and swam
in what shone at me
only able to endure it by being no one and so
specifically myself I thought I’d die
from being loved like that.
Where to start , prayers for your speedy recovery and return to those carefree days without the likes of stress fractures and such .
Adapting to life at my age has become a very interesting game of compromise driven by pain and then relief ( oh that feels ok ) . I use to find comfort with Advil lol but now I’m on blood thinners so I have to rely on photography to distract me . I’m easily distracted a blessing of sorts , kind of an old age bonus lol . The best parts about photography are all the seemingly endless beautiful things in our life . Plus the challenges of changing light , conditions and most important it
doesn’t involve me playing with matches . They took those away years ago lol
( fear of candles) . Good luck Laurie with the hopefully temporary set back .
Dear Larry, you are ever an inspiration to me, my friend. Your love of meaning and Beauty and your myriad ways of “framing” both so that others can see more deeply and clearly stirs up wonder in me. I LOVE your work! It’s a visual hymn of praise. You help me glimpse the wild world and, therefore, its Maker. In chaotic times like these your daily offerings nourish my longing for Beauty and order. That you’ve transitioned from Advil for relief to creativity and f-stop focus (or digital?) as well as a laser-focused gaze (despite chronic pain, and with your sense of humor intact) is a luminous testament to Grace. I thank God for you, friend.
Shucks! I know about pain in my bones. I’ve had both knees replaced, arthroscopic hip surgery, and a spinal fusion L5 to S1. In pre-op prior to my first attempt to have my knee replaced my heart stopped for 8 minutes and 20 seconds. Oy, getting old ain’t for sissies! But then on the news I saw a high school kid who injured his back playing hockey in a physical therapy session. He supported his weight with his arms on parallel bars while two physical therapists, one on each leg, moved his feet. I felt lucky. I also go to the VA for medical care and see Gulf War vets who are much younger than I struggle with horrific mobility issues. I feel lucky once more. So I space activities, take breaks, take meds, and make do. Haven’t tried candles, but I might! Welcome to the ranks of the walking wounded.
Dear survivor, Wow. That is one formidable litany! Yet your upbeat recounting and optimism shine through your words. Seems to me you have been, and continue to be, a lifelong, compassionate agent of healing—despite being personally beset by various ills of the body. I’m inspired by your gratitude. THANK YOU for sharing your seasoned, time-tested approach. And for the welcome to the ranks. : >)
Hi Laurie!
So sorry to hear about another stress fracture! Praying you’ll be able to walk again soon!
Hopefully you have some good books to devour and a nice puzzle to sit down and work on. Of course your fans would love you to spend the time writing more inspirational words for us!
Get well soon! I miss seeing you!
❤️Deanna
Deanna, thank you so much for those prayers! I do have a stack of wonderful books by my chair, and yes, I really should start another puzzle. It’s been a while. Promise I’ll keep writing, too. Love you!
I am so sorry to hear you’re side-lined for a bit–such a nuisance! But I’m encouraged by your determination to make the best of it and even laugh. Your paragraph about praying as you write while a candle flickers caused a surprised “Me too!” response. I light a candle for quiet time, as I write, and to ward off the gloom in the evening. Another blogger friend, Jean Wise, offered enlightenment about the lighting a candle symbolizing a welcome to the Light of the world. And with you I pray for God to guide my thoughts and my words as I write, to accomplish his purpose. Your Trinity-Wick prayer is rich with heartfelt meaning, Laurie. Might it lend itself to a tune?!
Nancy, candles delight me. I love knowing you’re a fellow wordsmith-by-flame as well as by-name. One more kindred spirit tie.
Hearing from friends is such a BOOST! I’ve wondered once or twice since the prayer settled into its form about a possible tune . . . thank you for the nudge.
I let you run out of THE candles? Shame on me! May your foot be off the shelf soon!
John, I placed little tea lights inside the dwindled husks of the beeswax candles so I can still enjoy their incomparable glow when I sit at the table. They fill a tray. The bum foot means I’m sitting in my chair with the ottoman, for now. And Walmart is a definite comedown. : > )
Oh Laurie! First, I had the thought last night: Where is Laurie? And lo and behold, today: Here you are!
Second, BUT I’m so sorry about this stress, pain, fractured expectations of a snow day and week. Ugh. I get it. I fell last autumn, and while my foot was not broken/fractured, for which I praised God, still, I had to *be* still for weeks. So I get all those necessary instructions. Not for the faint of heart to execute when a snow day beckons.
I love this line here, and it is both noteworthy and quote-worthy!
“Experience the pleasure of going somewhere by holding still.” Stillness does not mean stagnation. You can go somewhere in your insights, spiritual growth, prayer, breathing.
So, my dear Laurie, patience in the stillness. May the Lord bless and heal you as you eventually go out and serve Him with gusto!
Happy New year and Candlemas. (I never knew the meaning, so thank you for informing).
xo
Lynn
Ah, you’ve survived similar frustrations — and mined the downtime for hidden gold. Just the encouragement a grousy girl needs today, thank you. : >)
I hope you’ve recovered fully?
Your heartening words about potential “insights, spiritual growth, prayer, and breathing” arrive like a scenic “Wish you were here” postcard. Amen to that scope of terrain from an armchair vantage!
On a lovely snowy day, armchairs aren’t so bad for staying cozy and gazing out onto those Norman-Rockwell-Hallmark scenes. And thank you! Yes, finally, my foot is so much better. I can wear a shoe again and the swelling and bruising have nearly subsided. I lamented missing long autumn walks, but again, from my recliner-vantage I could watch the colorful season changing hues regardless. Love you! I pray this season will pass as quickly as possible. Your snowshoes await. xo L
Lynn, so glad to hear you’re free of the foot pain and limitations and mobile again. May the last of the swelling and bruising subside completely asap.
Bet it was great saying slipping back into favorite shoes again.
We had a little snow yesterday so the pine boughs are showing off their collars of snow today, easily seen from my chair. 🙂 xo
Praying that you will be slipping on those snowshoes, as well, very soon! Thank you for these lovely words all around.
xo
L
Thank YOU, my far away friend, for all your encouragement!
Oh no, Laurie! So sorry your foot’s in pain and anchoring you to the couch when you’re hankering for snowshoes!
Your candle’s timely message is fabulous. (Generous of you to allow a smile in the midst of all this!) And thank you for offering us a moment of calm during these frustrating times. I got to try your prayer suggestion and will be coming back to it.
Lighting a candle and saying a prayer for you during all this stress. Seven more days, one day at a time…
Dear Bethany, your understanding kindness is so soothing, thank you. You have me musing on the positive aspects of “anchoring” now. What a well-chosen word.
The breath prayer has done me good. I think of it often. And then yesterday, it spontaneously surfaced during a conversational lull with a friend. That really surprised me!
Could it become second nature, I wonder . . .
What a comforting way to pass through that moment, Laurie. I’m going to print out your prayer as a little reminder for me. I have plenty of lulls (awkward, and otherwise) that could benefit from this focus. 😉
That is a lovely encouragement. Here’s to the gentle filling of lulls!
YOU. ARE. A. TREASURE. I love that candle, and your words and grumbles, and as always, the worship that you lead with your very breath. Prayers for a peaceful sidelined season and recovery. <3
Michelle, thank you for that prayer. Just what I need. That, and your warm assurance that even the “grumbles” play their part in the whole. I treasure knowing this. Thank you!
Humor helps me. I laughed out loud twice while reading you words. Thank you. I find myself amazingly funny (as in the absurd definition of funny). It’s an amazing gift even if I’m the only one to appreciate it.
Sidelined. Or forced peace. See…I kill myself. Paradox or absurdity to laugh at. That’s where I’m at watching my hair grow out after chemo.
Oh, isn’t laughter the BEST?! Thank you for telling me you laughed out loud when you read this. Wish I could do that more often for folks. Maybe humor is in my future . . .
And funny/absurd, even for an audience of one, tickles me out loud. That you bring this gift right down to the scalp level amazes and inspires me, my beautiful friend.